His to Taste (17 page)

Loading up my arms with groceries, I pasted on a bright smile and headed up the driveway. As I reached for the doorknob, I heard his angry muffled voice through the wood.

“…no right to drop in unannounced like that, Helena…no idea how you finagled an invitation with Panelli…for the last time, give me back the goddamn key…never mind…I’m changing the fucking locks!”

The front door suddenly jerked open and I jumped back with a squeak. His dark scowl gave way to surprise and he grabbed me with his free hand before I lost my balance into the bushes.

“Lynn!” he said. “Are you alright?”

I bobbed my head for a quick nod and pulled myself away from him, desperate to keep some space between us.

With his cell phone still attached to his ear, his eyebrows furrowed again as he growled, “That’s none of your goddamn business…I’m done…you’re not my problem anymore, remember?”

He shoved his phone into his back pocket and reached for the groceries. Flinching, I clutched them tighter against my chest and pushed past him towards the kitchen. “It’s…it’s fine,” I said, over my shoulder. “I’ve got it, sir.”

“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry if Helena said anything to upset you. Panelli wants to buy the rights for this novel and she probably convinced him that she still has some sway over me. I didn’t know that she was his guest for tomorrow night. Now I understand why she kept hounding me about booking her personal chef.” He started to help me put away some of the groceries, but I gently pulled them out of his hands.

“Mr. Cochran,” I said, avoiding his gaze. “You don’t owe me an explanation and you certainly don’t owe me an apology.” I busied myself with shoving the vegetables into the crisper and dared to sneak a quick peek at him.

His puzzled frown only made him look more gorgeous, and I groaned inwardly at my weakness. He surrounded me with both arms as he slowly, but resolutely, shut the fridge. My heart hammered wildly as his deliciously close proximity forced me to turn back to face him.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “What did she say to you?”

His term of endearment made me stiffen. Is that what he used to call her, too? I wanted to throw in his face every nasty accusation she had sneered, but I refused to give that obnoxious bitch the satisfaction of knowing that I had tattled to him. Regardless of her cattiness, I didn’t want our personal relationship to interfere with his professional life. I didn’t know the specifics, but I would never want to jeopardize his career or his relationship with his colleagues.

“There’s nothing wrong. We just talked about the menu.” I made myself stare back up at him, keeping a level gaze.

“Baby—”

“No,” I interjected, ducking out from beneath his arms. He tried to grab my hands, but stopped when I stiffened.

“Sweetheart, what the hell is going on?”

“Look,” I said, crossing my arms, as if that would help me contain myself the fragments of my crumbling heart. “You don’t have to spell out your personal life to me. I might be new at this, but I understand the rules. We’re both adults, and this was just a physical thing. Let’s not turn this into something more involved than it is.” I was so relieved that my voice didn’t waver, but I let my gaze fall to the floor so that he wouldn’t see the strain in my eyes.

“You have to let me explain—”

“Please, Mr. Cochran,” I said, stiffly. “Technically, I’m on the clock right now. I need to prep for tomorrow.” I turned back to the grocery bags on the counter and fiddled with the produce, willing him to give me space to lick my indignant wounds and bruised heart.

“Fine.” With that brusque concession, I heard him stalk out the kitchen. I flinched at the slam of his office door. Sagging heavily against the pantry, I buried my face into my hands and groaned. I still had my pride, but then why did I feel so shitty?

I rolled up my sleeves, pulled out the cutting boards and began prepping. There was nothing left to do but fulfill my contract. I could do it—and then I’d walk away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I woke up extra early the next morning. Exhausted, I slathered on concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Visions of Jake and Helena taunting me kept me awake all night. Reading one of my erotica stories didn’t help; I had hoped to lull myself to sleep with an orgasm, but all it did was give me nightmares of them screwing on a yacht, their perfect bodies intertwined and glistening under the French Riviera sun.

With my hair pulled back into a tight bun, I threw on my most serviceable black slacks and crisp white button-down shirt, I figured that I could change into something less severe before serving dinner.

I tiptoed down the stairs to avoid disturbing him. I both dreaded and yearned to see his gorgeous face, but found that my worries were unnecessary when I found his empty cereal bowl in the sink. He must have left early to go on a run. Feeling like a coward, I was relieved that I didn’t have to face him just yet.

Feeling too anxious to eat breakfast, I sipped on some coffee and nibbled on a bowl of strawberries. The house felt too quiet without his presence. I was grateful that we wouldn’t be alone when I left tonight for the final time. He could focus on his guests and I could just slip away, my resignation letter tucked his laptop in his office.

After clearing away my pitiful breakfast, I pulled up my favorite playlist on my laptop, turned up the volume, and focused on singing along as I pulled out my ingredients. The menu I selected tonight could be thrown together quickly as long as I had everything ready. He had insisted on something basic, which I was happy to oblige, but I also wanted to serve a light, summery menu.

For a starter, there would be a caprese salad with thick slices of juicy heirloom tomatoes, creamy mozzarella, and vibrant ribbons of fresh basil, all drizzled with fruity olive oil, a tart balsamic vinegar reduction, and plenty of salt and pepper. It was simple, but refreshing. I could plate this as the guests chatted over drinks.

The main dish would be lemon pepper shrimp served over creamy avocado pasta. For a decadent, but not too heavy sauce, I only had to toss chunks of perfectly ripe avocado into the food processor, blending it with garlic, fresh basil, lemon juice, salt and pepper. I usually like to add pistachios or almonds for texture, but nixed them for the sake of Jake’s publisher. By cooking the thin spaghetti a smidge past al dente and shocking the slippery noodles in cold water, I could toss it with the freshly made sauce right before serving. The lemon pepper shrimp only needed a quick saute with butter, garlic, and fresh lemon juice. The contrast between the hot shrimp and cool, creamy pasta was going to be delicious.

Instead of Jake’s favorite strawberry shortcake, I went for a tropical twist. I marinated chunks of fresh pineapple, mango, kiwi, and raspberries in brown sugar, fresh lime juice, and rum. While everyone finished their entree, I could pop back into the kitchen, and assemble the shortcakes with cream biscuits, fresh whipped cream, and sweet, boozy fruit. I eyeballed the dark rum bottle, making sure that there would be enough for me to take a healthy swig (or three) at the end of the night if necessary. Judging from the knots twisting through my belly at the thought of facing Jake and that blonde harpy, those swigs were definitely going to come in handy.

After everything was all prepped for a streamlined dinner, I cleaned up the kitchen and set the dining table. It looked so strange with six place settings. My breath hitched at the realization that I was never going to sit at this table again after tonight. I was never going to share my life with Jake, much less share another intimate meal with him.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was already showered and curling my freshly dried hair. As I headed back to my bedroom, I heard the front door slam, making me jump and reflexively clutch at my bathrobe. Chiding myself for acting like such a ninny, I tapped the door shut with my bare foot and headed for the vanity, but something shiny caught my eye.

A sleek black box from Bloomingdales sat at the foot of my bed. I opened the small envelope tucked under the crimson ribbon.

Sweetheart, I know you’re still upset with me, but I bought this awhile ago, in the hopes that this will help you see how beautiful you are. I’ll respect your wishes to stay out of your hair until dinner tonight, but I hope you’ll indulge your tyrant boss yet again.

Oh, Jake.
How the hell was I supposed to move forward at this rate? With slightly trembling fingers, I tugged the delicate ribbon free and took off the lid. Brushing aside the layers of tissue, I gasped when I saw the contents. I pulled out a deep purple jersey wrap dress.

It was
gorgeous
. I nearly dropped it when I saw its tag emblazoned with Armani. My bathrobe sailed across the room in my haste to try on the dress. The cool fabric whispered against my skin as it slid over my head. The deep v-neck gave me tasteful cleavage and the knee-length a-line skirt skimmed my hips. The tiny cap sleeves showed off my toned arms, while the wrap waist emphasized my hourglass silhouette.

Grinning like a nutjob, I turned this way and that, admiring my curves in the mirror. Jake had found the perfect dress for me; it showed off my shapely figure to the best advantage. Was this how he always saw me—beautiful and lush? Once I slipped on some strappy black sandals and finished applying my makeup, I was floored. I felt radiant and confident. This purple dress was like a glamorous suit of armor and I was ready for battle.

By six o’clock, I had already filled the water glasses and set out small platters of briny olives and little peppers stuffed with softened goat cheese. Humming along to Pink Martini as it pumped through the speakers, I gave the placemats a final reassuring pat. There was literally nothing left to do, but to sit and wait to begin my last meal with Jake.

Pushing my chair back away from the dining table, I bent to adjust the too-tight strap on my right ankle, and froze when I felt a familiar warm hand on my shoulder. For a second, every atom in my body yearned to melt into his touch.

“You wore the dress.”

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re exquisite, love.”

His hand trailed down my bare arm, making me shiver. I shut my eyes to concentrate on his electrifying touch, desperate to lock away this memory for the rest of my life.

I couldn’t suppress a throaty moan when his hands found their way to my delicate foot. He slipped off my sandal, his strong fingers gently massaging my reddened flesh. My heart seemed to skip a beat when I opened my eyes and saw him gracefully crouching at my feet. He was so tall that we were still nearly eye to eye. It was almost painful to look at him; he was so goddamn gorgeous. He was wearing his usual dark wash jeans, and his thin cashmere sweater was the exact shade of his brilliant blue eyes.

The intensity of his heated gaze mesmerized me; my nerve endings felt hypersensitive as his hand roamed further up my calf, grazing the silky curve of the back of my knee, and stroked softly at my trembling inner thigh. Cursing myself for my weakness, I parted my knees ever so slightly, hoping that he’d understand my silent request for something that I couldn’t trust myself to voice.

His dark head dipped under my fluttering hem. I let out a strangled cry when he roughly yanked my tiny white thong aside to bare my hot pussy to his lashing tongue.

“Oh, god!” He sucked hungrily at my swollen lips, as if he was determined to taste every last drop of my sweet nectar. Arching my back, my hips worked feverishly against his searching mouth, desperate for more contact.

Despite the riotous pleasure, a tiny part of my brain nagged at me.

“Your guests,” I protested weakly. “Jake, they’ll be here any second!” Even as I managed to mutter coherently, my thighs tightened harder around his head, desperate to lock him there forever.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice rough with lust. He plunged two thick fingers inside me as he swirled his tongue around my sensitive clit. Sobbing in ecstasy, I clung to his broad shoulders as he fingerfucked me harder and deeper.

“So good…its’s so good,” I whimpered. “Please, Jake, please!”

“That’s right, little,” he murmured, his thrusting fingers matching each syllable. “You’re my naughty girl, aren’t you? You like me playing with your pretty little pussy—you’re so fucking wet for me.”

His dirty talk and the increasingly urgent threat of getting caught combined for a perfect storm of hedonistic bliss. My thighs trembled violently as an overwhelming orgasm erupted through me, my ragged breaths mingling with the soft jazzy strains. His tongue swept up and down my dripping pussy, the long, luxurious strokes soothing my overheated flesh.

I felt him slip off my thong, but I was too replete with pleasure to care. With a wolfish grin, he stuffed them into his back pocket. Setting my skirts back to rights, he leaned down and possessed my parted lips with a rough, hungry kiss. I could taste myself as our kiss deepened and I moaned into his ravenous mouth.

When he finally pulled away, we were both panting.

“Now that I have your attention,” he said. “We have a conversation that’s been long overdue.”

He straightened to his full height, his demeanor abruptly devoid of his earlier playfulness. Rubbing the back of his neck, he swallowed hard, as if he was searching for the write words.