His to Taste (16 page)

A tiny whimper escaped from my throat when he gently withdrew, my tight inner muscles protesting his absence. He pulled me back against him as he settled us both beneath the covers. His warm, muscular arm wrapped casually around my soft belly, making me feel secure and cherished. Our breathing relaxed to a slower pace as we both drifted off to sleep.

As I was about to drift off, his deep voice softly murmured, “So did it work? Did you feel like the leading lady in my novel?”

“Oh, yes.” I burrowed closer against his masculine heat. “After all these years of just reading my stories, I had to know what it felt like for myself—that all-consuming pleasure. Thank you, Jake”

I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckled. “No, I’m the one who should be grateful.” He tugged me tighter against him and said, “Good night, sweetheart.”

I was so exhausted that I couldn’t remember if I had actually responded out loud. It felt indescribably good to fall asleep curled into his big body with his deep breaths tickling my tousled hair. I had known from first glance that Jake Cochran was capable of wringing every last frisson of pleasure from my body, but I had no idea that I would feel such a warm, fortifying peace with him, too.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next morning, I found myself curled tightly against one of his pillows instead of sprawled across his broad chest. I felt sad and bereft even before I could rub the sleep out of my eyes. I knew I was acting like a lovesick teenager, but the disappointment of waking up alone stung. Rolling over to stretch, I felt the cold crunch of paper crinkling under my back. I pulled out a small note with his familiar heavy, masculine scrawl.

Heading out for a meeting. I suppose my publisher wants proof that I’m still alive. I’ll be back this evening.

Jake

Well. That was decidedly unromantic. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but that curt little note was totally work appropriate. My naked body tangled up in his sheets was definitely not. I knew I should be grateful that he complied with my request for boundaries, but damned, if I didn’t feel a little hurt.

I threw the covers off, gathered up my clothes, and headed back to my bedroom to get cleaned up for the day. After quickly blow-drying my hair, I dabbed on some tinted moisturizer and rosy lip balm, and pulled my hair up into a messy bun. Since he wasn’t due back for a while, sweats and a tank top would suffice while I worked on compiling my grocery list for the dinner party.

My laptop was still sitting on the kitchen table where we had ended that conversation so abruptly. His abandoned apple was still nestled against the table leg. I felt a familiar tingle warming my belly when I bent down to grab it and toss it into the garbage can. A week ago, I never would have guessed in my wildest dreams that I would be on my hands and knees underneath this table, with Jake Cochran’s strong hands stroking the back of my thighs.

After fortifying myself with some coffee, I powered up my laptop to start my work. The screen was still on my erotica pages and I blushed, thinking of Mr. Cochran reading them while waiting for my arrival home. God, I really was being a dummy. Why was I so mopey when I had finally fulfilled my ultimate fantasy? I had no right to be resentful or disappointed when he was accommodating my requests. He was only following my lead and I was embarrassed at myself for being such a ninny. I had told him to keep our professional boundaries, and he was doing just that. It was the only way that I knew I could leave this arrangement whole and untarnished.

Feeling much more chipper than when I woke, I threw myself into my menu preparations. This was my role, serving Jake Cochran and his illustrious guests, not daydreaming about a nonexistent future with an internationally famous writer. With the dinner party scheduled for tomorrow evening, there was no time to waste and I had to get my head screwed on straight. Including a separate portion for me, I had to prepare enough food for six people. Granted, it was a small dinner party, but the pressure to impress people so far out of my social stratosphere was making me feel anxious.

Just as I was shutting down my laptop, my phone rang. It was Grandma.

“Hi,” I said. “Is everything ok? How are you?”

“Just fine, dear. Can you pick up some ice cream for Peggy’s birthday? You are coming, aren’t you?”

Mrs. Rowland’s birthday! Crap, I’d completely forgotten!

“I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to come until much later.”

“But we’re having a luncheon for her,” she protested. “She’ll be so disappointed!”

“I know,” I said, miserably. “But I’m all tied up here until late tomorrow.”

“Is that old coot such a tyrant that you can’t even take some time off? I ought to give him a piece of my mind—”

“It’s not like that, I swear,” I interjected. “He’s…um…not well. His caregiver is scheduled to come late tomorrow night.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Her tone was huffy, but she wasn’t as agitated.

“Um…he’s recovering from a procedure,” I fibbed.

“Oh, my! Is it serious?”

“No, it was minor,” I ad-libbed. “For hemorrhoids.” I swallowed a hysterical giggle. Seriously? Of all the medical ailments in all the world, I had to blurt out that?
Ugh
.

“Oh, the poor dear,” clucked Grandma. “Nasty business, that.”

“Yup,” I said. “Please tell Mrs. Rowland that I’m sorry to miss her luncheon, but I’ll be sure to pop by after to see her.”

“Alright, dear. Tell your Mr. Cochran I wish him a quick recovery. Poor man.”

I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, when I heard the front door open. Chiding myself for acting like an eager puppy, I couldn’t suppress my excitement and sprinted toward the foyer, ready to hurtle myself into a familiar pair of strong arms. Rounding the corner, I skidded to a stop and nearly tripped when I saw a gorgeous blonde goddess smirking at me.

“Oh!” I blurted, feeling my cheeks flame. “I’m sorry, is Jake expecting you?”

She silently appraised me and I knew she was judging my casual sweats and lack of makeup. Stiffening up my spine, I returned her cool gaze and took in her chic black silk sheath dress, blood red stiletto heels, expertly blown out buttery blonde bob, high cheekbones, and generous lips.

Recognition dawned on me when her pale green eyes locked with mine; she was Helena Stewart, the current Hollywood It Girl for romcoms. She and Mr. Cochran had been linked together off and on in plenty of tabloids and gossip blogs. There were countless photo spreads featuring his dark masculine beauty complementing her cool elegance. The more I pictured them together, the more dowdy and awkward I felt in my dumpy tank top and bare face.

Regardless of my discomfort, I still had a job to do. I pasted on a bright smile and threw back my shoulders as if I was wearing my usual professional uniform.

“Pardon me, Miss Stewart,” I said. “You caught me by surprise—we so rarely have any visitors.” I gestured toward the living room. “Mr. Cochran is out at a meeting now. If you’d like to wait here for him, may I offer you any refreshments?”

“No,” she said. “I won’t be here long.” She narrowed her gaze and circled me slowly, her heels clicking sharply with each pointed step. “So you’re his new cook. What’s your name?”

“Lynn,” I said. I eyed her warily, but elected to keep silent.

“Oh,” she said. “So you’re his new cook.” Each syllable dripped with scorn. “I was wondering why he kept refusing to hire a real chef for the dinner party. Now I know.”

My fake smile faltered, but I held my tongue. I didn’t trust myself to respond.

“I thought I’d drop by to approve the menu for tomorrow,” she continued. “God forbid you embarrass us with your amateur, old-fashioned cooking. My expectations are much higher than his. Those provincial biscuits and pork chops won’t cut it.”

“Mr. Cochran didn’t tell me that he was expecting more input. With all due respect, Miss Stewart, we have this under control. Is there anything else that I can help you with?” My voice was calm, but I was bristling under my skin.
Condescending bitch
.

She tittered a fake little laugh that made me grit my teeth. “I’m sure there are a lot of things that Jake doesn’t tell you, dear. For instance, did he tell you that you’re just the flavor of the week for him? He loves shy little mice like you, but you’re just a distraction while he waits for me to come back from filming. The poor man is always so grateful when I resume managing the help…and take care of other mundane little tasks.” She smirked when I flinched at her harsh words.

“Oh, my,” she continued. “Did I hurt your feelings? Did you really delude yourself into thinking that someone like you was even remotely in his league? You’re just a pity project for him—he hates it when women feel insecure about their looks. But sure enough, he’ll be bored with you once he’s had his fill. Can you really blame him when he has me?”

Stunned by her nasty attack, I was struck mute and could only stare at her. Her barbs seemed to land on every single one of my anxieties about my self-confidence and our arrangement. As I watched her self-satisfied glee at my pain, I noticed the unnatural smoothness of her Botoxed forehead and her garish lip fillers. As a starlet, she had been stunning, but her typical Hollywood attempts to retain her youth only emphasized the harshness of her vindictive expression. Knowing Mr. Cochran’s hatred for artifice, I felt sorry for her.

“It really is so kind of you to take an interest in my personal affairs,
ma’am
,” I said, giving her my best innocently earnest wide-eyed expression. “I do appreciate your advice—you remind me of my dear old granny with her lectures. Do you think I could call you when I have questions about my love life? You’re like the aunt I always wished I had!”

Her sharp gasp made me grin, but I managed to hide it, pretending to brush off an imaginary piece of lint on my tank top. She spun on her heel and stalked toward the door. “Just don’t screw it up, you little nobody.” With a hard slam of the door, the only evidence of her visit was a few whiffs of her expensive perfume and her barbs ringing in my ears.

With a shaky little breath, I headed back to the kitchen, and slumped in front of my laptop. I guess her visit was the perfect reinforcement for me to be grateful that Mr. Cochran was holding up his end of the bargain to maintain our boundaries. I was never going to be a part of his world and vice versa. World famous authors don’t fall in love with ordinary girls from Goleta, regardless of how much this ordinary girl secretly longed for his affection.

I printed out my final shopping list and promised myself a big glass of Riesling when I returned from the grocery store.

His sleek black Lexus RX sat in the driveway when I came back. I had been so impatient to see him this morning, but now I could only feel an aching tightness in my chest. While I was hell-bent on throwing myself at him like a desperate spinster, he was probably laughing at my pathetic antics with that snotty bitch. Besides my lack of cooking skills, what the hell else had they been discussing behind my back? I swallowed a painful lump in my throat as I pictured them laughing themselves silly over how my old-fashioned food matched my nonexistent sex life.

Why wouldn’t he feel sorry for me? After all my whining about my freakishly prudish upbringing; he probably thought a pity fuck would be enough to shut up my complaints. What a silly little diversion I must have been for him to pass the time while his golden goddess finished her filming for yet another box office hit. Jake Cochran and Helena Stewart belonged on the red carpet, while I was more accustomed to scrolling through their paparazzi photos on a gossip blog. Gripping the steering wheel, I wanted so desperately to turn the car back on, and just drive home to sob into my pillow.

The longer I wallowed in my humiliation, the harder it was to dismiss the vision of Grandma knowingly shaking her head at me, mouthing the dreaded, “I told you so, you little harlot!” Okay, I knew I was being totally melodramatic with the harlot part, but it was still completely applicable. After all this time of trying to convince myself that I was a mature, sexually confident woman, I knew I was a long way from that while sniveling in my car. I didn’t regret giving him my virginity; I was grateful that he gave me such an explosive first time.

If I was being honest with myself, I seriously underestimated how attached I was becoming and I was terrified of leaving with a devastated heart. As nasty as Helena Stewart was, I had to appreciate her for preparing me for the inevitable. For self-preservation, I would have to resign from my position after the dinner party. The faster I came to terms with a life without Jake Cochran, the easier it would be for me to move on and forget that I was naive enough to think that I could have had any claim on his heart.

Taking a few deep, cleansing breaths, I forced myself to relax my tight grip. I just needed some perspective. Everyone has had their heart broken at some point. Everyone. All you can do is dust yourself off and continue on with the rest of your damn life. No more, no less.

I felt like I was just reciting Hallmark cards in my brain, but I did feel a little more grounded with every pithy thought. If my girlfriends could cope with the pain, then so could I. Julia always told me that the first rule of heartbreak recovery was to throw yourself into any and all distractions. In that moment, I was grateful for the impending dinner party. Jake sure as hell wasn’t paying me to mope in my car, mooning over him.