Tasting Pleasure (2 page)

“I didn’t see it that way, but you’re right,” Alicia commented. Why did this man affect her so? True, she was somewhat shy when she first met people, but Maverick Devonshire certainly disconcerted her. She smoothed her braided hair and ran a hand down her knee-length skirt, trying to hide her nervousness. Briskly, she packed up her papers and stood.

“Thank you, Mr. Devonshire, for this opportunity. If you like American-style cooking, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results,” she said as she held out her hand. She jumped slightly at the tingling sensation that coursed through her when Mr. Devonshire grasped her small hand firmly in his.

“I have every confidence I’ll be pleased,” he answered.

Later that night, Alicia fretted over the menu. Since her degenerate husband had divorced her, she had struggled to manage on her meager finances. She had tried working as a secretary, a store clerk, even a crossing guard, but had failed at each of those jobs. Having always considered herself a good cook, though, she had decided to try her hand at becoming a personal chef. Of course, she would specialize in American cooking, being American herself. She hoped that by offering a unique service, she could build up enough clients to support herself. So far, the business, Tasting Pleasure, had lagged behind her expectations, but with the addition of famed photographer Maverick Devonshire on her short list of clients, perhaps all that would change.

Mr. Devonshire had said he would only require her services for the weekends, since he ate out or with friends during the week, so she need only prepare three dinners, one to be served on Friday and two which could be refrigerated and heated whenever he wanted them. She would include an appetizer, soup, meat, vegetable, starch and dessert for each meal, although she certainly could plan for leftovers from one meal to be utilized at another. Her conservative, Middle American upbringing had taught her that to waste not was to want not. Still, Mr. Devonshire had allowed for a generous budget, so she felt confident she could please him.

The next afternoon, Alicia put the finishing touches on an apple pie. She glanced around Mr. Devonshire’s kitchen, impressed by the tidiness and organization. Rarely did a man who lived alone take the time to equip a kitchen so thoroughly. This attention to detail certainly had made her job so much easier. She hummed to herself as she sprinkled the top of the pie with sugar and placed it in the oven. The sugar would crystallize as it cooked, making the crust shiny and crisp.

The other meals were already in the refrigerator, ready to be reheated according to the typed directions placed on the counter. As she waited for the pie to finish cooking, Alicia began on the dishes. She was just finishing up when she heard the front door open. Quickly, she glanced at the clock.

“Mr. Devonshire,” she called, “I’m so sorry. I thought you would not be home until six tonight. If I had known you would be early, I would have started sooner.”

“Not to worry, Alicia. I finished earlier than expected. Take your time. I’m just going to grab a drink and relax in the den for a while,” Maverick said.

Alicia waited nervously as Maverick walked into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently massaged it. She stiffened as shock waves ran through her body.

“Good Lord! It smells heavenly in here. I certainly hope whatever is in the oven is for tonight’s dinner,” he said.

Alicia relaxed slightly. “Yes, it is. It’s an apple pie. I’ve also placed a pint of vanilla ice cream in the freezer in case you would like it
à la mode
.”

“Sounds wonderful. Why don’t you join me in the den after you’ve finished in here?” he suggested.

“Of course, Mr. Devonshire,” she answered. Now why were her palms suddenly sweaty and her heart beating faster?

What on earth could he want? She glanced around the kitchen, noting that everything was clean and neat. He had liked the smell of the pie, and she knew that his pot roast, potatoes and carrots for tonight’s dinner were cooked to perfection. Maybe the ice cream had been a bit over the top. Alicia nervously dried her hands. She removed her apron and placed it on the table, next to her purse.
Better go see what he wants.
She had been trying to overcome this terrible shyness and lack of self-confidence for years, but didn’t seem to be making much progress. Despite having just dried her hands, her palms had again become somewhat clammy.

If only he didn’t make me so nervous!
she thought.

Glancing into the den, Alicia gently rapped on the doorframe, even though the door was open.

“Come in, dear,” Maverick said. “Would you like a drink?”

“Ah, no, thank you. I…ah…I still have to drive home. I’m not really much of a drinker anyway. I mean with my limited budget—not that I’m complaining about what you pay me—but— Oh gosh. I’m babbling,” she ended in a blush.
Damn!
This man must think she was an absolute lunatic.

Maverick chuckled. “You certainly are. Try to relax a bit. You’ve done a fine job so far, and from what I can see by the budget you left on the counter, you’ve managed to purchase all your needed supplies even more economically than I allowed for. That pleases me.”

“Good—I mean—thank you,” Alicia stumbled. She shifted self-consciously as Maverick continued to stare at her. “Well, sir, if that’s all you require, I should be heading home.”

“Of course. Please, drive carefully. I’ll be e-mailing you my requirements for next weekend no later than Tuesday evening,” Maverick said as he sipped his whiskey.

“That would be fine,” she replied as she turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Maverick added.

“Yes?” she answered, facing him once more.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Involved?”

“No.”

“A lesbian?”

“No! Goodness, why on earth would any of that matter?” she asked.

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why ask?”

“To see if you would answer. That will be all.”

As Alicia drove home that first evening, she wondered about his questions. What she wondered about even more was her unhesitant answering. Why had she felt compelled to answer Mr. Devonshire? He had contracted her cooking services but he had no right to know such personal information about her. Nonetheless, when she stood before him, she had an almost uncontrollable urge to drop a curtsey. Perhaps she was just nervous about the job. Next week would be different. She’d be more confident and more refined. And, she sternly told herself, she would pointedly ignore his sapphire eyes, his soft, muscular hands, his deep voice.

Oh Lord,
she thought to herself,
what have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Two

Simple Cheesecake

1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs

1 Tablespoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

2 Tablespoons melted butter

Combine ingredients and press into the bottom of an 8-inch spring form pan.

5 eggs beaten until thick and lemon yellow colored

1 cup sugar added gradually to the eggs until thick and smooth

3/4 lb. cottage cheese (12 oz)

3/4 lb. cream cheese (12 oz)

Add both of these to the egg mixture.

Gently add grated rind and juice of 1 small orange.

Bake in a 350 degree oven for 1 hour or until set. Remove and cool completely before removing from pan. Best served chilled.

The next week came and then the next, with no change in her feelings toward Mr. Devonshire. The man was devastatingly handsome and charismatic as well. While she was certainly attracted to him, she was also a bit afraid. Today, on her third visit to Mr. Devonshire’s home, Alicia’s mind fluttered between wanting to hurry through the clean-up so she could leave before he arrived and an insane desire to stall so she could see him again.

“Get a grip, girl,” she told herself. “He’s just a client—okay, an important and sinfully attractive one, but still…”

Alicia jumped in surprise when she felt hands on her shoulders.

“Lord!” she squealed.

“No, not a lord—not yet anyway. Although there were some rumors floating around in the family that a great-great cousin had been involved with a duke.” Maverick chuckled as he massaged her shoulders. “You were so busy talking to yourself that you must not have heard me. You seem a bit behind schedule today.”

“I’m very sorry, sir. The cheesecake takes a while to set, and I wanted to be sure that it turned out okay before—”

Maverick placed a finger on her lips. “Shhh, don’t get so excited. It was just an observation. I’m not at all disappointed to see you, my dear. Tell me, do you always wear your hair in that prim style?”

“Yes, I mean, no. I mean I do when I’m working, but I usually let the braid hang down my back otherwise.” Would she never stop babbling? Alicia ran a nervous hand over her head, feeling the braided bun hiding beneath the scarf.

“I’d like to see it down,” Maverick said. “I’ll be in the den. Stop by after you’ve finished. Remove the scarf and have the braid unpinned—if you don’t mind, that is.” He flashed an absolutely sinful smile before walking away.

Alicia stared in disbelief as he left the kitchen. Why would he want to see her braid unpinned? And when did her knees suddenly become like jelly? Perhaps a better question would be why was her hand reaching up to remove the pins in her hair? Within a few moments, Alicia had finished in the kitchen and loosened her braid, the end of which brushed against her lower back. Again she rapped lightly on the den’s doorframe.

“Lovely,” Maverick said. “I’ve poured a glass of sherry for you. Drink it.”

“Thank you,” Alicia murmured as she held the glass and slowly lifted it to her lips. She rarely drank, so why did she feel compelled to do so now? The sweetness of the wine slid easily down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its place. She had to admit that after working in the kitchen all day combined with her nervousness, the sherry was most welcome. “Turn around,” Maverick said.

Alicia complied.

“Lovely,” he commented again as he grasped the length of the long, chestnut-brown braid and ran it through his hands.

Alicia closed her eyes and sighed. She’d always loved when her ex-husband had run his hands through her hair. She felt Maverick’s breath on her cheek as he leaned against her.

“You are a beautiful woman,” he said. “You should not hide your charms.” Maverick then ran a hand down her side and along her hip. “I hope you do not think me too forward.”

“Nooo, of course not,” she whispered.

She trembled slightly as Maverick’s hand crept a bit lower, grasping her skirt and slowly pulling it up past her knees. How long had it been since she had reacted so strongly to a man? Never?

“Yes, that would be a better length for you. Next week, wear a shorter skirt and when you finish in the kitchen, let your braid down,” Maverick instructed.

“Okay,” Alicia answered, amazed that her knees quivered again and butterflies gathered in her stomach.

“Good. Finish your sherry then and be on your way. I’m sure the small amount of wine will not impair you,” Maverick said as he released her.

* * * *

A shorter skirt! A month ago Alicia could not have imagined herself shopping for new clothing of any kind—let alone a short skirt. Her father would roll over in his grave if he knew what she was doing.
If you look after the pennies, the dollars will take care of themselves!
That was one of the many dictums that had led her father’s life, and one that she followed herself—especially now.

She had moved to England as a new bride, thrilled with the attention Jeffrey had lavished upon her. When Jeffrey had announced he wanted to move back to his home after their wedding, Alicia had readily agreed. After all, since her parents’ deaths in that awful car accident, she had no other close relatives, just one cousin who lived in Springfield, Illinois, and few friends to leave behind. The idea of a new husband, a new life, a new country seemed wonderful.

The wonder had lasted less than six months though. Despite Jeffrey working late almost every evening money had been tight. Alicia had offered to find work, but Jeffrey had laughed at her, asking who she thought would hire a simple American bumpkin. After that, Alicia hadn’t brought up the subject again. Instead, she concentrated on keeping a tidy home and managing their small budget. Soon enough, she and Jeffrey argued about money. It infuriated her to see Jeffrey splurge on expensive shoes and cologne for himself, when she scrimped and saved to purchase necessities for their home.

To add insult to injury, Jeffrey no longer seemed interested in her sexually. As it turned out, there was a reason for that. Apparently, she wasn’t Jeffrey’s type. Six months after saying
I do
, Jeffrey said
I don’t
. On a rainy Tuesday in February, Jeffrey calmly announced that he had never really loved Alicia and was leaving her for his lover—Hector. Never having been the jealous type, Alicia could have understood Jeffrey wanting a bit of variety. In all truth, even though she herself was heterosexual, the idea of two people of the same sex exploring and enjoying each other’s bodies held a fascination for her. But to say he didn’t love her—never had—that was completely unacceptable! He, Jeffrey, would generously allow Alicia two weeks to find a flat and clear out her things. Further, he would pay for the first two months’ rent, but after that, she was on her own. Alicia had been so humiliated she didn’t bother to resist. The sooner it was over, the better. She had considered moving back to America, but not only did she not have the resources, she had no real reason to return home.

Now, after carefully watching her money, shopping at thrift stores and end-of-season sales, she had a modest savings account and a fledgling business. Thanks to Mr. Devonshire, she also had gained two new clients this week alone. Perhaps she could afford to splurge just a bit, she decided as she sighed over a short, black, pleated skirt. Holding it up to herself, she noted that the length hit her thigh at the exact spot Mr. Devonshire had indicated. She smiled to herself, remembering the low-cut white blouse that had been part of her bridal trousseau. She had never worn the sheer top—Jeffrey hadn’t approved of such revealing clothes. Revealing apparel, however, might please the handsome Mr. Devonshire.