His to Taste (9 page)

“I’m afraid that I don’t know enough about this character, Mr. Cochran,” I said. “And I would assume that the hero doesn’t either. Instead of making assumptions about her motivations, he ought to be patient with her and give her some time to feel comfortable enough to reveal herself to him on her own terms. In fact, she might not think that he’s the appropriate partner to initiate her sexually.” With every word, I was reminded of the gulf between us, and reprimanded myself for getting swept up by his masculine allure.

I managed to pull away completely from him and jumped up to clear the table. “If you’re finished with your meal, sir, there’s fresh watermelon for dessert if you wish,” I said, desperate to sound brisk and professional. It felt safer to retreat back to our normal roles, but my body felt so bereft without his warm touch. I avoided his gaze, busying myself with pulling out forks and small ceramic bowls.

“Ah,” he said, with a wry smile. “I’ll take your feedback about the characters into consideration. If you would please dish up some of that watermelon for me, I’ll just take it into my office. You ought to go back to bed. I’ve kept you up long enough as it is.”

Grateful that he let the subject drop, I nodded and silently handed him his bowl.

With a murmured “Good night” over his shoulder, he made his way back to his office.

I finally let out the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding, and braced myself against the sink. I tentatively touched myself where he had touched me and marveled at how unbearably good such a basic caress could feel. Shaking my head slightly to clear the sensual haze, I focused on cleaning up the kitchen.

What was his game? Was it just harmless flirtation? Did he do this with his other cooks? I’m sure the other women would have pounced as soon as he barely crooked a finger towards them, but they probably had more freedom with finding employment after their affairs.

Even if I was just a casual dalliance for him, it was so tempting to throw caution to the wind and just fuck him, but it was just too risky to start anything complicated with him. Given all of the gorgeous starlets vying for his attention, it was probably amusing for him to get his dorky little cook all flustered and hot and bothered for him. The idea of someone like me driving him wild with passion was laughable.

With a final wipe down of the counters, I finished up and retreated to my bedroom. I prepared for bed, but my thoughts were completely occupied by Mr. Cochran. Was it possible that he was actually basing a character on me, or was he just alluding to his book as an excuse to flirt with me?

Regardless, I would have to reinforce our professional boundaries without offending him. The man was too damn tempting for his own good, and I already knew it was going to take every last bit of my strength to refrain from melting in a puddle if he looked at me with anything beyond a casual glance. I tossed and turned in my blankets until the exhaustion took over and I finally drifted off to sleep, hoping that he wouldn’t be hungry for breakfast for at least another several hours or so.

The next morning, I woke up relatively late, but I didn’t see any texts from him yet. He must have stayed up well into the night tapping away at his keyboard. I lounged a little longer in bed until the call of a warm hot shower was too enticing to resist. I took my time getting ready for the day, and strolled down to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Armed with a large mug of steaming hot coffee, I tiptoed by his office door, and leaned my ear into the dark wood paneling to see if I could detect any signs of him. Sure enough, I could make out snippets of a phone conversation muffled by the door.

“Which charity gala...oh, come on, George, you know I hate...you know I’ll just send them a check...I refuse to be paraded around like a damned monkey in a tuxedo...she’ll get over it...”

I gasped when I heard him throw out a number for his donation. My salary was basically pocket change for him! I jerked back guiltily when the door was yanked open and I quickly shoved the coffee mug in front of me as an offering.

“I thought you might need some coffee, sir,” I mouthed, gesturing to the cup.
God, please don’t let him realize that I’d been eavesdropping like a weirdo.

He shot me a distracted smile, and grabbed the mug. He nodded his thanks, and I darted out of his office.

Once I retreated back to the safety of the kitchen, I sank onto a chair and slumped over the dining table. I rested my chin wearily in my hands and felt like kicking myself. This was exactly what I needed to solidify the boundaries between us. As far as I was concerned, he might as well be an alien from another planet...specifically, a really rich, gorgeous, talented, and unbearably sexy alien.

How easy would it have been last night for me to just have inched a little closer and initiated a kiss? There was no such thing as harmless flirtation for me; I knew deep down that I wouldn’t be able to resist him if he decided to seduce me. Everyone remembers their first time, but how mind-blowing would it be to have your first time be with Jake fucking Cochran? My traitorous brain decided to torture me with a sudden vision of him shirtless in nothing but tight riding breeches and I groaned. This was going to be a long trial month.

CHAPTER FOUR

Over the next couple weeks, we fell into an easy rhythm. I kept myself occupied with menu planning, preparing our meals, grocery shopping, and running his errands. I used the time away from the house to check in on Grandma and run errands for her as well, like borrowing audiobooks from the library so that she and Mrs. Rowland could listen while gardening. During my downtime, I spent plenty of sunny afternoons in the library curled up with a novel and a cup of tea.

I also started venturing into Mr. Cochran’s gym regularly to use his rowing machine and weights for a bit of cardio and toning. It was always so easy to justify my lack of exercise on my supposedly busy schedule before, but I think I was just feeling body-conscious and didn’t feel comfortable working out in a regular gym. Having access to a private gym for solo sessions was doing me a world of good. It was too soon for me to see any significant results, but the endorphins made me feel so energized and confident. For once, I focused more on what my body was capable of, rather than what it looked like. Every time I was exhausted and glistening with sweat, I could feel my confidence growing with every extra push on my rowing session or with each increased number of reps with heavier weights. I ignored the bathroom scale and zeroed in on the satisfying ache in my tired muscles.

Mr. Cochran and I crossed paths in the gym every so often, but I always deferred to him. He always invited me to stay and continue my workout, but I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous at the thought of being in such close proximity under those circumstances. It was one thing to sit across from him at the dining table, but it was a whole other deal to watch him jogging shirtless on the treadmill with his sweatpants riding low on his lean hips, and his broad muscular back glistening with sweat. The most interaction I dared in that room was to periodically bring him tall glasses of ice water. The freezing condensation in my hands was an effective cold shower substitute to remind myself to get in and get the hell out before I lingered over watching him bench pressing on his back, his strong thighs straddling the bench.

Once, I overstayed my self-imposed welcome, and noticed the outline of his large cock underneath his loose running shorts. Quickly spinning on my heel, I slapped my cold wet hands on my burning cheeks and fled, grateful that he was too busy lifting his heavy weights to notice my inelegant departure.

After our last disastrous conversation about the female love interest in his story, Mr. Cochran seemed to recognize my discomfort, and refrained from pushing me with any semblance of flirtation. He was friendly and casual, but he was respectful of the unspoken walls I had built between us. I missed his previous banter, but appreciated his courtesy.

We had a truce of sorts and our mealtime discussions revolved around my meal plans and the daily news. Eventually, he started asking me for my feedback about story, and we had wonderfully lengthy conversations into the night about his plot points and characterizations. Initially, I was so flattered that a famous author wanted my feedback that I was hesitant to discuss my thoughts, but he was so engaging and witty that I finally lost my reservations. Our mealtime discussions quickly became my favorite part of the day, especially when we role-played to work out his dialogue, and I eagerly awaited each time we bounced ideas off of each other.

Near the end of my third week, he casually mentioned over lunch that he was planning on throwing a dinner party at the end of the month. My eyes widened slightly and I awkwardly swallowed a large chunk of lasagna.

Me, responsible for a fancy dinner party? Oh, god.

“It’ll be a small affair,” he said, after a sip of red wine. “My publisher has been nagging at me for months to host something casual for a film producer looking to buy the rights to my novel. Besides George and his wife, you’ll probably be cooking for six people, tops.”

He paused when he noticed that I was nervously twisting at my napkin. “Are you alright?”

I gave him a tentative smile and said, “Yes, Mr. Cochran. I just...it’s just that I’ve never cooked for that type of clientele before. I’m afraid that my food wouldn’t be up to their standards.” I stared down at my plate and fought the urge to shred at my napkin. I was startled when he gently took my hand into his warm comforting grip.

“Your cooking is excellent,” he said. “The only standards that matter are mine, and I say that your skills are up to par. Just make whatever meal you would usually make for us, and multiply the portions accordingly. What do you say?” He grinned at me encouragingly and I could feel myself relax a little.

“I really appreciate your kind words, sir,” I said. “I think I’ll feel more accustomed to the idea once I start brainstorming some potential menus for the party. Of course, I’ll submit them for your approval, and I’ll be happy to accommodate your guests’ dietary preferences.”

He rolled his eyes and drawled, “In that case, you know these flashy Hollywood people love their annoyingly restrictive non-fat non-dairy gluten-free whatever diets. Just make sure there’s plenty of salad and vegetables, and I’ll double-check to make sure that there aren’t any legitimate severe food allergies among the attendees. I don’t need the tabloids accusing me of murdering my publisher with a handful of walnuts.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to hold back my laughter. He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically at me, and I dissolved in a fit of giggles.

When I finally composed myself, his expression grew serious, and he murmured, “You have a beautiful laugh. It’s throaty and rich and genuine. Some women are so artificial that even their laughter sounds meticulously crafted. You’re sweetly authentic.”

Holding my breath, I prayed silently that he would inch a little closer to me.

Just one kiss
, I promised myself.
Let yourself have this one tiny first kiss to remember this experience by, and you can satisfy your curiosity with this single illicit taste.

My heart hammered wildly as he leaned over the table, his brilliant blue eyes searching my face. I gave a tiny nod of assent and felt my body unconsciously drawing nearer to his.

“Come here,” he murmured, pushing his chair away from the dining table. The heavy scrape barely registered in my mind as I slowly stood and walked hesitantly towards him. My limbs felt heavy yet tingled with nervous anticipation. He quickly grabbed my hands and pulled me onto his lap.

Gasping at the sudden feel of his warm solid body, I threw my palms against his broad chest to steady myself. He was so tall that we sat face to face and I couldn’t get over the shock of the intimacy of our position.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, gently brushing my hair out of my face.

I could feel my cheeks getting hot from embarrassment, but I was able to squeak out a tiny, “Um...yes.” I shyly averted my gaze and tried not to think about my total lack of experience.

“Look at me,” he said, his deep voice soft yet firm. Once I complied, he said, “I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. I’ve wanted to kiss you since you tripped over your apron strings and fell into my arms, but I need to know that you’re not feeling coerced. Your job is safe, regardless of whatever we decide to do right now. Do you understand?”

Flashing him a grateful smile, I said, “Yes, Mr. Cochran, I understand. Thank you for that. I..I’ve been wondering what your lips would taste like ever since you first opened your front door. I only hesitate because I...I’ve never actually been kissed before and I’m afraid that I won’t do it very well.”

My confession spilled out of my lips before I could even process what I had just divulged to this man. Mortified, I ducked my head and cursed myself silently for ruining the moment before it even happened. I had noticed that his hands had tightened around my waist when I mentioned wanting to taste his lips, but he remained silent.

Taking his lack of response as a rejection, I steeled myself against the embarrassment, and pushed against his chest to stand. He startled me by cradling my blushing face with his large warm hands and gently drew my face up to his.

“You’re my lovely little enigma, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Every so often, I’ll catch you looking at me as if I’m a tall glass of ice water and you’ve been running a marathon, but once you notice that I’m watching you, you immediately put up a wall and I feel as if I had imagined the hunger I saw in your beautiful face.” He paused, waiting until I met his intense gaze.