Guilty Pleasures Page 4

  The restaurant was obviously in trouble. He could tell that from how many supplies weren’t moving. He could help her, dammit, if only she’d let him.

  And you could help yourself. A few of his dishes on the menu, and the responsibility for turning around a failing restaurant, would go a long way toward rebuilding his tarnished reputation.

  “Thanks, Tiny,” he said, when Tiny was finished with his tour.

  “Now you’ll want to meet the crew,” Tiny said. So Nick met all of them: Zooey, the dimunitive blond pastry chef; Paulo, the sauté cook; Juan, the prep cook and self-proclaimed soup guy; Miguel, the runner and garde-manger, dishing up salads and cold dishes, getting whatever the chefs needed. All of them met Nick’s greeting with a guarded sort of friendliness.

  Mari was the last. “Of course, you know me,” she said, with a wink and a smile that revealed the dimple in her right cheek.

  Not as well as I’m going to.

  “Boss,” Tiny said, “we got a lot of chicken left over. What do you want me to do with it?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could make some Molé Poblano. It could be a nice addition to the menu.”

  She looked at him…and the rest of the crew looked at her. This would be an important step. If she accepted his decisions, the crew would follow her lead.

  Without breaking eye contact with him, she said, “Juan? Think you can make some matzo and chicken soup?”

  Nick gritted his teeth as Juan cheerfully replied, “Anything you say, boss.”

  Nick didn’t glare at her, but she must have sensed his ire. She addressed the crew at large. “Still, the Molé Poblano’s not a bad idea. I’m going to be working on a new menu soon. Paulo, think you might be up for that if I added it?”

  Paulo looked at Juan, who was grinning. “I know a great place for fresh chiles, all sorts of varieties. Fresh.”

  “Fantastic.” She walked over to the window, looking out. “In the meantime, work on the soup. And Zooey, the dessert last night went over really well…why don’t you make more of those seven-layer cookies?”

  Zooey, he noticed, blushed with pride.

  “Okay. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

  With that, the crew went back to business, tossing back conversation over the burners and the bustling. Tiny went back to manning his grill and getting the fryer prepped for the lunch crowd. Unnoticed by the now-busy crew, she sidled up to Nick.

  “My kitchen,” she whispered, so only he could hear her.

  Nick nodded.

  For the rest of the day, he worked side-by-side with the crew. If he had been younger, or in another kitchen, what had just happened would have him feeling resentful…and angry. There was a shade of that, he realized. But seeing the way Mari interacted with her crew made him think twice. She bantered back and forth with them, not lording over like some head chefs he’d worked with. She helped out when somebody got “in the weeds,” on the few occasions when a flurry of orders came in and a chef got swamped. She wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty. He admired her for that.

  On the other hand, his body seemed constantly aware of her, and that took an edge off his anger, as well. It was hard to stay ticked off at a woman who seemed to unconsciously brush past, a quick smooth rub of hip against leg or chest against back as they maneuvered in the cramped quarters.

  It’s hard to stay mad when you’re ragingly turned on, his mind summed up.

  His thoughts turned back to tonight…to the challenge he’d thrown down. He was going to prove a few things to her. Namely, that he needed the authority of second-in-command. That he needed her backing him. That he had the talent to deserve her support.

  “Ready on eight. Coming through,” Mari sang out, and she moved past him, her soft backside brushing against the front of his crotch as she moved two full plates out of the way.

  He gritted his teeth against the sensation that seemed to explode through his body. When she’d put the plates out onto the pickup window, he almost thought he saw her grinning.

  He’d show her one other thing, he thought as he turned to the fridge, hoping to cool off his body’s blatant reaction. He’d show her that she wasn’t the only one who could drive somebody crazy with desire.

  He smiled. That was one challenge he was ready for.

  MARI HAD NEVER FELT this amped up when closing down the restaurant. She was showing Nick their closing routine: the cleaning of the grills, locking the pantries and freezers, making sure all the burners and lights were turned off and the dishes washed through, going over the best-selling and worst-selling items, locking the deposit in the safe. The restaurant would be closed the next day, and she’d go over the orders and invoices with Lindsay then.

  She waved to the last shift crew and left the kitchen to the able hands of Jake, her one-man night cleanup crew. Then, with her skin practically feverish, she turned to Nick.

  “All right,” she said, making her voice sound as calm, yet cocky as she possibly could. “You ready to show me something?”

  She liked the way his eyes lit at the statement. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, showing a bag of ingredients that he’d selected from her stores. “I’ve thought up a couple of things just for you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she drawled, and led the way to her apartment, amazed at the way her stomach danced nervously.

  She shouldn’t have teased him so much today, she knew that. And to her credit, she hadn’t actually meant to. She hadn’t even said half the double-entendre statements that had flown to mind as he’d gone over the ingredient list so solemnly with Tiny.

  There was just something about him, when he went into “I’m-a-top-ranked-chef” mode, that made her want to poke at him. Push him off balance. She knew that the food community was already strangely obsessive about food—hell, she was just as bad, if it came down to it. But he was so deathly serious, when it ought to at least be fun. Even knowing that the restaurant could potentially be going down the tubes didn’t stop her from being grateful every day that she got to do what she loved.

  Then there was his little power-play, she thought, frowning as she unlocked her front door. He was trying to get her tacit approval to change the menu with that whole “why don’t we try chicken with Molé Poblano” thing, after she’d told him she created all the menus. She hadn’t wanted to have that public a face-off his first day, but he’d pressed the issue. Now, she felt sure he’d try to charm her…seduce her with food, as it were.

  She grinned at that, dropping her keys in a pebble-filled bowl by the front door. She’d like to see him try. Sure, he made her senses sing and her common sense jump right out the window…but at the cost of her restaurant?

  Fat chance. He could do a strip tease wearing whipped cream, and he’d still get nowhere.

  Momentarily, the idea of him naked and wearing some artfully placed whipped cream invaded her mind. She let out a slightly hysterical giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, clenching her jaw before another laugh could escape. When she got it under control, she shrugged. “Just remembering a joke Zooey told me.”

  Okay, so it would be more of a challenge than she was used to, she admitted, watching as he spread out the ingredients on the countertop. Still, she’d be strong. She’d enjoy the spectacle of a gorgeous guy cooking for her in her kitchen. She’d praise his obvious skill.

  Then she’d tell him no, in no uncertain terms would he be working on the menu. And send him home.

  Without sleeping with him, she reminded herself as he bent down to look in her oven. No matter how nice his ass was.

  “This hopefully won’t take too long,” she said, flopping down in one of her kitchen chairs. “I’m starving.”

  He turned to treat her to a slow, thoughtful stare. “The best things are worth waiting for,” he said, his voice smug. “But don’t worry. I won’t keep you hungry long.”

  She watched as he rolled his sleeves
up, revealing well-muscled forearms as well as the bulge of his biceps. “Promise?”

  His smile was wickedly sensual. “I promise.”

  Down, girl! She forced herself to focus on what he was cooking. He had the makings of a salad, she noticed, and some gorgonzola. He had a small bag of jasmine rice. He had also grabbed some of the chicken.

  Just as well, she thought, her desire and distraction ebbing for a moment. The chicken wasn’t selling well. One more thing to worry about.

  “So. What am I in for tonight?” she said, hoping to lighten her mood.

  His expression was smug. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Hmm.” She made a show of looking skeptically at his selection. “I’m still waiting to be impressed.”

  “Give me time,” he murmured.

  She watched, and she hated to say it…she was impressed. He was deft with a knife, cutting the chicken with almost artistic motions, like it was some sort of martial art. He was showing off, she knew, but he was still damned quick about it, browning the chicken in butter, juicing Meyer lemons, adding white wine and the juice and some capers. The sauce smelled heavenly, and her stomach rumbled in response.

  “You’re killing me,” she said, walking to stand next to him and inhale deeply. “Tell me you’re going to be ready soon.”

  “You keep this up,” he said, his eyes glowing, “and I’m going to blindfold you.”

  She started to make a quick comeback, but he was quicker. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching around her to get a bag of pecans. His arm brushed gently against her breasts, and she almost moaned at the quick tightening of her nipples in response. She shot an accusing look at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, and she could have sworn he meant it. “You’ve got a small kitchen. Maybe you should sit at the table?”

  His voice was innocent. Still, his eyes smoldered—she wasn’t just imagining that.

  Considering the unexpected heat currently jetting through her system, she agreed with him. She sat down, giving herself time to cool off…and wonder if maybe this wasn’t as bright an idea as she had originally thought.

  In a surprisingly short period of time, he said “dinner’s on” and presented her with two courses…a pear-and-gorgonzola salad with pecans he’d candied on the stovetop, and lemony chicken piccata.

  “This is it?” She felt relief burst through her. Saying no to him would be easier than she’d thought. “A salad and Chicken Piccata? Third graders could make this.”

  The smug expression didn’t waver. “Just taste it first,” he said, sitting down with his own plates.

  She looked at him dubiously, then took a bite of the salad. The mix of the sharp cheese and the mild pear contrasted with the bitterness of endive, the sourness of the balsamic vinaigrette, and the surprising sweetness of the pecans. She let out a low moan as the taste processed through her mouth, closing her eyes to savor the complexity.

  When she opened them, she saw that his eyes were low-lidded and fixed on hers.

  “Still simple?” he said mildly.

  “Shut up,” she said. “I’m having a religious experience.”

  He grinned and did as told.

  They were simple foods—deceptively simple. But the chicken was tender as a dream, and the Meyer lemons made the concoction sweeter than the recipe normally called for. He’d cut the sweetness with olives, unusual for the dish but still a good choice.

  He was showing her: If I can do this with something this basic, imagine what I could do if you let me loose.

  She could just imagine, she thought, studying his smile.

  When she finished, she sighed, feeling the warm, sated feeling of someone who had eaten truly inspired good food. “What, no dessert?”

  His responding grin made him look boyish. “Are you kidding? Dessert’s the best part of the meal.”

  She batted her eyes at him. “A man after my own heart.”

  He got up, and she noticed a bag she hadn’t seen before. He pulled out a plastic container and a spoon.

  “I whipped this up this afternoon, when you were going over receipts with Lindsay. It’s a fairly simple recipe, too,” he said, “And usually I’d have some whipped cream and raspberries with it. But I think you’ll get the idea.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, teasing as she dipped the spoon in and stirred the chocolaty-looking concoction. It had swirls to it, light brown curling in dark. “You’re getting points off on presentation.”

  He sat down next to her, scooting his chair so he was closer to her. “Just try some,” he said.

  She was about to make a comment about his very preemptory tone when he closed his hand around hers, leading the spoon to her mouth.

  It was velvety smooth, a rich blend of dark chocolate and milk chocolate in a substance too light to be called pudding, too creamy to be called mousse. “Oh my,” she whispered, closing her eyes and concentrating. This was one of the best desserts she’d had in a long time—since the days of Le Pome. Hell, not even then. She’d grown too accustomed to the heavy Americana childhood desserts they made. This was urbane, she thought.

  This was sexy.

  She realized that his hand was still closed around hers…she could feel the heat of him like an electric charge. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

  “Aren’t you going to have some?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

  He nodded, but didn’t release her hand. Instead, he took her hand and the spoon it enclosed, and dipped it back into the chocolate. He raised the spoon to his lips, neatly eating some. He smiled with approval, a sensual, inviting smile.

  “Is there anything better than chocolate?” he asked.

  She could see the answer in his eyes. There was one thing that was better than chocolate.

  She had a disconcerting feeling that he would be.

  And the both of them together…

  He leaned forward, just a breath closer. It was déjà vu, just like his “interview,” when he’d kissed her.

  Her body didn’t even wait for him this time. She moved forward and connected.

  Mmmm. As she’d suspected, the combined taste of his lips and the haunting hint of chocolate made her growl low in her throat. His tongue traced the inside of her lips, and she moved hers forward, tangling with his, tasting him, taunting him. The pressure of his lips increased, and she didn’t back down.

  He reached across the table, grasping her arms in a gentle but inescapable grip. He tugged, and she found herself off her own chair, and straddling him on his chair. She looked down to find his toffee-brown eyes surveying her solemnly.

  “Would you believe me if I told you this wasn’t my intent?” he rasped, tugging her lower onto what felt like a sizeable erection.

  “Would you believe me if I told you I swore I wouldn’t do this?” she said, before moving forward, her breasts crushing against his chest. She moved her hips as she swallowed his groan, devouring his mouth with her own. Her heart rate had escalated to the point of frenzy…her hands roamed his shoulders, his chest, while she grew damp at the feeling of his hardness between her thighs. The sound of his low moans and the way he clutched at her hips only increased the fever-pitch.

  With what little sanity she had left, she tore away, breathing hard. “This is crazy,” she muttered, starting to get up, only to have him stand with her and scoop her up, carrying her over to the couch. She was laughing until he stroked the undersides of her breasts, moving to circle her now oversensitized nipples.

  “I don’t understand it either,” Nick responded, smiling in response as she arched forward so he could cup her more fully. “On the other hand, I’m not complaining.”

  Her chuckles were breathless. “This doesn’t impact what you get to put on the menu, you realize.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, just tugged him down on top of her, pressing her into the soft cushions of her couch. Her jeans-clad legs wrapped around his waist, relishing the weight that was pressing against her.

  She could feel his la
ughter, hot breath against her skin. “I’d think less of you if it could,” he answered. Then he stopped speaking. He was moving his hips against hers, mimicking sex, as he pressed suckling kisses against her neck. When he nibbled on her ear-lobe, she gasped as sensations trembled through her.

  Her leg climbed higher on his hip, desperate for contact with him where she most needed it. “Nick,” she breathed. “I want you.”

  “I’ve wanted you since I saw you,” he said in between hard kisses. “You have no idea.”

  “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.” She pushed him away for a second, to tug her shirt over her head.

  He stared at her breasts, cupped in the lacy bra that she’d pulled out this morning. She hadn’t planned this, but since she’d kissed him, she had to admit that she’d felt sexier…and the lingerie she pulled out of her drawer on a whim suddenly made sense. Still, he didn’t do anything, just looked.

  She finally started to squirm under his rapt attention. “I haven’t shocked you, have I?” she asked, embarrassment causing the heat of a blush to start from her toes and work its way up. “I don’t usually do this, I swear. I just…”

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “I…you’re sure, right?”

  She looked into his eyes, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the uncertainty in his usually confident eyes.

  Instead of answering him, she reached up, cupping his face. Then tugged him down for a slow, warm, lingering kiss.

  He must have believed her, she thought dreamily as he moved down from her mouth to the hollow of her throat, then lower. She almost cried when he sucked on her, dampening the silky cloth of her bra and teasing her breasts with feather-light strokes of his fingers. She was trembling, actually shivering. Her panties had to be soaked.

  She wanted to be naked, twined around this man, she realized. Now.