Beauty and the Feast (24 page)
“Possibly,” Gabe said. “Let me talk to Marsha and to Father Joe. I’ll see if we can get the interviews set up a little early. It would be good for
Quincy
to sit in on them anyway. He could learn from what his fellow students have to say, watch how they handle themselves. Might work out best for everyone concerned.”
“What about Eva? Can she come with you? I’d like to meet her. She must be very special to have my big brother publicly proclaiming his love for her.”
“I’ll ask, but if I know Eva, she’ll say no. It would be short notice and she takes her responsibilities very seriously. Don’t worry, Lise, you’ll meet her. I believe she has plans to fly back to
Midwest
, I can probably coax her into taking a little detour.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Gabe. I really appreciate this and I’m sure
Quincy
will too, even if he doesn’t admit it.”
“Don’t worry, sis,” Gabe reassured her, “I’ll handle everything. You rest and keep your chin up. Give David my regards and kiss the girls and mom for me.”
“I will. Love you, big brother.”
“Love you too, Lise.” Gabe clicked off.
“So we need to go to
Chicago
earlier than planned, huh?” asked Marsha from where she stood in the doorway. “Is Elise all right?”
“She’s pregnant. Four months. The doctor wants her to stay in bed. I think they’re worried she might lose the baby. My brother…the boy I told you about,
Quincy
, he was supposed to stay with Elise for a month and then come out here for the rest of the summer. He’s going to be coming here instead. I need to fly out there and pick him up, only he can’t know I’m picking him up.”
“Then I guess we’ll need to combine the trip with our interviews,” said Marsha.
“You read my mind,” Gabe replied. “Can you make the arrangements? Talk to the families? I’ll get on the phone to Father Joe’s secretary.”
“When will we be leaving, boss?”
“Friday. Early.”
“Okay, guess I better get my ass moving then. We have a busy week ahead of us.”
Gabe dialed the school in
Chicago
. He was able to reach Father Green’s secretary, but the man had already returned to teaching part time. Gabe shook his head, it figured that Father Green wouldn’t stay down for long. The secretary said she’d have Father Green call him back when he was free. Gabe doubted the priest would be able to make much time for him during the last week of school, but if
Quincy
was willing, he and Gabe could spend a little time together. Gabe could show him some of his favorite
Chicago
haunts.
He wondered if there was any chance Eva could go, but he dismissed the thought. She would never leave her bosses and her clients in the lurch like that. He called her cell anyway, but there was no answer. She had the day off today, now that the graduation party was over. Gabe had had a surprisingly good time at the party, even though the only person he knew was Eva. He’d tossed a football around with the boys, chatted with Dr. and Mrs. White. Sampled Eva’s fantastic buffet. Had a long talk with Jason about Eva.
The corner of Gabe’s mouth turned up. Despite the fact that the boy had a steady girlfriend, he obviously harbored a serious crush on Eva. He’d taken Gabe aside and warned him that if he didn’t treat Eva well, he’d have to answer to him. Trying to look equally serious, Gabe reassured the young man he’d do right by her. Gabe shook his head. Eva had that effect on men. Made them want to protect her although she was perfectly capable of standing up for herself. Perhaps it was the big brown eyes, her innocent smile and sweet voice. Eva managed to rouse those innate protective instincts in almost every male she encountered. Luis had succumbed. Adam had been immediately smitten. Jason and his friends had her back. It seemed as if her bosses watched out for her like guardian angels. Gabe doubted she had any clue as to how the male sex reacted to her. He actually couldn’t believe his luck. A woman like Eva should have been off the market a long, long time ago. Fortunately for him, she was, as she described herself, selective. Talk about boosting a guy’s ego, among other things. And man, that woman could cook.
Even Marsha had nearly swooned when she ate the piece of chocolate cake Gabe brought her. “Oh my God…marry her… I’m telling you marry Eva,” she declared after her first bite, “For this cake if for no other reason.”
When Gabe tasted the cake himself, the flavors had exploded in his mouth. The texture was like chocolate velvet poured over his tongue. Tender, moist, creamy, rich, deep and dark. No wonder Jason had requested it. The silkiness alone kicked Gabe’s imagination into overdrive and he’d stood there, barely chewing, imagining some pretty intriguing things. When he had asked Eva how she did it, she merely shrugged.
“Oh, dark cocoa powder, sour cream, hot water…a few family secrets. It’s not all that difficult. My grandma taught me how to make this cake years ago. If you like this, wait until you try my whiskey cake,” she winked at him, “Another family secret. It’s how my mom caught my dad.”
Gabe believed every single word. If her mother was half the cook Eva was…
Gabe had brought her two bottles of wine, gifts from Adam, and he’d watched some of her prep work for Jason’s party. He’d asked her how she knew what flavors went together. How much salt to use? How much pepper? How she could get away with blending two such diverse ingredients as walnuts and cream cheese in her tuna salad and manage to make the stuff so addictive? Or mixing crushed pineapple and toasted almonds into chicken salad? How she could include habanero peppers in her fresh fruit salsa yet somehow meld them with other the other ingredients so that they became background hot and not just
mouth-scalding, can’t taste anything the rest of the day
hot? How did she know when enough of any one spice was enough?
“I don’t know,” she answered, “I just do. It’s like this…and I don’t think I can explain it any better…since I was a kid, I’ve been a very oral person…” she smiled in answer to Gabe’s grin before she continued. “I can put something in my mouth and deconstruct it. It’s like working backward from the finished product to the original raw materials. You know, like time-lapse photography, only backward. I guess it’s the same way a sommelier tastes wine. Take M&M’s for example.”
“The candy?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, the candy. Each color has a unique flavor.”
“They all taste alike to me,” he said.
“Not to me,” Eva replied. “When I was a teenager, we used to do blindfold taste tests with M&M’s. Probably more than ninety-five percent of the time, I could guess which color I had in my mouth. It’s become a little harder since they added some new colors—the new ones all taste alike to me—and they got rid of my favorite, light brown. Those were the yummiest, followed by green, yellow, red, and then dark brown.
Orange
brought up the rear.”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll give you that, but how do you know what seasonings go with what? Trial and error?”
“No, not at all. First, I know what I like. Second, my goal is to bring out or enhance the underlying flavor of whatever I’m working with, not hide it. If I’m working with something I want to hide, then I shouldn’t be using it in the first place. You would be surprised at what goes together. Sometimes it’s very unexpected, like salmon and maple syrup.”
“You’re kidding?” Gabe interjected.
“No, I’m not. I love salmon, but not the way most restaurants prepare it. Salmon is a very oily fish, very rich. And if you take that oily fish and then add more fat, like, say, you cook it in butter or olive oil. For me, the fish becomes so rich that I find it inedible. I actually get sick, really sick, when I eat it. I think that the fat in the salmon alone is enough. That’s why I never add fat when I cook it, and in fact, I actually like to dry my salmon out just a little, pull some of the fat out, maybe with a sweet, spicy, smoky marinade, and then grill it or pan sear it just as it is.” She looked up from her work. “Have you ever eaten salmon candy?”
Gabe laughed. “Can’t say that the thought has ever occurred to me.”
“It’s wonderful. I can eat a whole big bag in one sitting. I’d be happy to make you some,” she offered.
“I’d like that,” answered Gabe, still smiling. “But is there anything you don’t want to work with? Any food you won’t eat?”
“You already know that I don’t eat red meat,” replied Eva, tossing a pasta salad. “I have a rule—I refuse to eat anything that plays when it’s young. Won’t do it. I eat fish. I’ll eat a little chicken or turkey, if that’s all there is, but for protein, I mostly stick to eggs and dairy products. We raised cattle and pigs, my dad still does. I loved those babies. To me, eating them was like eating the family dog. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“But you cook meat.”
“Because that’s what my clients want. I don’t cook it for myself.”
Gabe was curious. “So what else don’t you like?”
“I detest tarragon.”
“Tarragon?”
“Yeah,” Eva replied. “It’s an herb that everyone, and I mean everyone, says you should pair with fish. The stuff gags me. As far as I’m concerned, if you use tarragon with fish, all you taste is the tarragon and to me, it tastes way too sweet. I can’t stand it.” Eva thought for a moment. “Call me crazy, but I don’t like Portobello mushrooms, either. Everyone else seems to think they’re a great meat substitute so I get offered grilled Portobellos a lot. I like them fine when they’re young, you know, criminis, Italian brown mushrooms? That’s all Portobello mushrooms are, old criminis. I like intense flavors, but the flavor of a Portobello is too intense for me, especially when they’re grilled. Oh, and I’m not all that fond of lobster mushrooms, too fishy. Fishier than fish, in my opinion. A bad lobster mushroom tastes like a nasty fish that’s a week too old.”
Eva looked up from her cutting board. She grinned at Gabe. “And I hate green peppers. Red are fine, orange and yellow are fine, and just about any hot chili is better than fine, but a plain old green pepper? Sometimes I can’t even be in the same room with them…them and old-fashioned breakfast sausages. Ugh. The smell of either green peppers or breakfast sausages cooking makes my stomach turn. My mom is always careful when I go home for a visit because my dad loves breakfast sausage and one of his favorite meals is veal with green peppers and onions. She won’t make either when I’m around, poor guy.”
“I hate green peppers too,” said Gabe. “You asked me about food dislikes the first time we talked.”
“Yeah,” replied Eva, “I remember. I figure if I’m ever pissed off at you, I’ll hide green peppers in something.”
“Eva,” Gabe pitched his voice was low, “What do I taste like? If you were blindfolded, could you recognize me?”
She stopped what she was doing and walked slowly around the counter. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her chest to his. Eva laid her mouth against his ear.
“Of course,” she said softly, her breath tickling him. “You, Gabriel Abbott, are a sprinkle of
Fleur De Sel de Guerande
,” she whispered, her voice husky, and the front of his jeans grew taut. “Fresh
maitake
mushrooms sautéed in raw, unsalted butter with just a bit of marjoram.” She ran a hand along his hard length. “A slow swallow of
Nonino grappa
that I can feel all the way to my belly button.”
Eva slid down his body and dropped to her knees. She ran her fingers up the front of his jeans, drew down the zipper and freed him. Her palm stroked him, her fingers winding their way up his hard cock. She licked him, using just the tip of her tongue, savoring his taste, his feel, like he was her favorite flavor of ice cream.
God… Gabe groaned and closed his eyes, trying his best to remain upright. It took every ounce of control he had not to throw her on her back and bury himself inside her sweet heat. He wanted to let Eva take charge for a change. When he felt her lips slide around the head of his cock and her mouth close over him, he thought he might explode right then. Her hands slid around his backside. The muscles of his buttocks contracted beneath them. She pulled him closer. Eva began to suck. Gabe’s head dropped forward. He grabbed the edge of the counter and held on tight, thrusting into her mouth carefully, the movement of his hips matching her rhythm.
Moments later, Gabe pushed Eva away with a growl. He dropped to the floor with her, lay her down, quickly stripped off her shorts and her panties, spread her legs and impaled her in one motion.
“Jesus Christ…” he muttered.
“Gabe,” Eva cried out his name as she came.
Damn, she was wet and hot and tight.
Gabe pulled himself out of his daydream and he found himself staring out the window of his office, still thinking about what they’d done. He knew Eva’s taste. He’d know it if he was blind, deaf and dumb. He couldn’t describe hers with as much detail as she could his. But he knew the nuances of her taste like he knew the taste of his favorite cabernet. She tasted of musk and amber, brown sugar, a bite of black pepper, and just a hint of vanilla.
He felt, more than heard, his cell phone ring. He pulled it out of his pocket automatically.
“Gabriel Abbott.”
“Hello, Gabriel, this is Stephanie.”
