Cooking up a Storm (4 page)

Marissa’s disapproving stare seemed to follow her to the dining room, but she forgot it as soon as she saw him standing by the corner table, waiting for her. He’d taken off his jacket. He wore a grey silk T-shirt beneath it and snug black trousers. She could see every lean, curved muscle through his clothes. He must work out. Nobody’s genes were that good.

He reached towards her with a beautifully shaped tan hand. She put her own hand into it. A tingle shot up her arm at his firm, dry grip. A tiny muscle in her pussy quivered and, a second later, her panties were wet. Good Lord, she thought, this man was dangerous.

‘Thank you for taking time to see me,’ he said, smiling down at her, but not very far down. ‘My name is Storm Dupré.’

He had a slight, delightful accent — soft consonants, sensual ‘s’s and half-swallowed ‘r’s. French maybe, she thought, which would go with his surname. As she stared, the corners of his mouth curled upward and he lowered his silvery-blue eyes, as if his smile were a secret he couldn’t share. A fan of black lashes shadowed his sculpted cheekbones.

Abby shook herself. ‘Abigail Coates,’ she said, her voice embarrassingly breathy. Alarmed at the sound, she released his hand. Hers was damp. She dried it on her flowered skirt. ‘Marissa tells me you’re a chef.’

‘That’s right.’ He pulled out a chair and gestured her towards it. ‘Why don’t we sit and I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’

Though his tone was not overtly suggestive, Abby couldn’t suppress a blush. She cleared her throat. ‘Have in mind for what?’ she asked.

He proceeded to tell her. New menus, he said, with fewer dishes per night, but more variety from night to night. He’d go over her old receipts, keep the most popular dishes and jettison the rest. He’d want uniforms for the staff, nothing fancy — black trousers and clean white shirts would do. Advertising was advisable or, at the very least, press attention for the change in personnel. He was an award-winning Californian chef; he was certain they’d find him newsworthy. He didn’t see any reason why the Coates Inn shouldn’t be a place people ate at all year round.

‘And the portions are too large,’ he said, holding her with his soft, burning eyes. ‘I don’t propose we switch to
nouvelle cuisine
but, when it comes to eating out, a little too much is just right. People should go home feeling pampered, not pained.’

Abby nodded, just as she’d been nodding all along. The man named Storm waited.

‘Oh,’ she said, jerking out of the warm, floaty place where his voice had sent her. ‘That all sounds very interesting. I should warn you though–’ she smoothed the edge of the table cloth ‘–I’m on a limited budget. I can only afford to pay the salary I promised for six months and, if we aren’t making money by then, I’ll have to let you go. If I do all the things you suggested, we’d have to turn a profit much sooner.’

He leant back in his chair. ‘Ah,’ he said. The single syllable rang with foreign charm.

‘Where are you from?’ she asked, unable to restrain herself.

‘Montreal,’ he said, the word very Gallic on his lips. ‘But I moved to the States when I was sixteen.’

A silence fell then, a repressive silence that did not encourage further questions. Abby fidgeted. She wondered if she ought to tell him the extra operating capital existed, but her sisters — who owned the restaurant in common with her — had dithered endlessly about freeing it up. Nervous, she looked up at him. His face gave nothing away, though in repose he appeared sad. The corners of his beautiful mouth turned down, as did his lambent eyes. No, she told herself, family business was family business. It wasn’t meant to be shared with strangers, no matter how alluring and competent they seemed.

Finally, the man sat forward and rested his forearms on the table. Perhaps he’d come to a decision. Abby held her breath. She realised she wanted to hire him. Looks aside, he sounded like the sort of go-getter she needed.

‘I don’t think money will be a problem,’ he said. ‘Tourist season starts at the end of June, yes? I suspect we’ll be turning customers away before July draws to a close.’

‘You do?’ she breathed, captivated by his confidence.

He smiled the slow, close-lipped smile she already knew must be habitual. Again, he lowered his eyes. He smoothed the edge of the table just as she had, but the gesture was different when he did it — sensual, as if it weren’t a table he was touching. ‘I have a secret weapon.’

‘You do?’ she said again, then pinched her thigh for being such a ninny. She managed this place, for goodness sake. She had a business degree from a respected university. Her family counted on her to keep her head and make sensible decisions. ‘I mean, I’d need to know the secret weapon before I hired you.’

‘Have you eaten?’

She shook her head. ‘I usually grab something after I’ve finished cleaning up.’

‘Well you won’t have to grab anything tonight.’ His eyes twinkled with devilment. ‘Tonight I will lay the secret in your hands.’

*   *   *

The delectable Abby Coates led him through the dining room and past the servers’ station. She tripped twice on the wide pine floorboards and stammered when she tried to speak. Her flusterment, obviously the result of a budding attraction, turned Storm’s cock to hot, pounding stone. She was enchanting, adorable, fresh as the first spring crocus. He could hardly wait to slide between her plump pink thighs and drive them both to completion.

He would wait, though, of course. He liked to prolong the process of seduction as much as possible. No afters without starters was his motto, even if the afters were ready to leap on to your plate at the first crook of a finger.

He nodded in approval at the spotless, well-appointed kitchen. Too many owners, tired at the end of a sixteen-hour day, left the mess until morning. He was glad to see this woman shared his passion for cleanliness.

Clearly, she deserved a special reward.

Without asking permission, he walked into the unlocked storeroom; that would have to change, too, he thought, and pawed through the materials on hand. When he found a bag of pine nuts, the decision was made.

‘Angel-hair pasta with fresh fennel pesto,’ he said.

She responded with a squeak. He knew the cost of the ingredients alarmed her. He silenced her protest with a level stare, one that said: Don’t you think you deserve it? She backed down with a nervous smile.

He made quick work of the sauce, pouring boiling water over the tomatoes and throwing the fennel, garlic and basil into the food processor. He’d been cooking professionally since the age of sixteen — twelve if you counted his apprenticeship with Mrs Kozlakis, their neighbour in Montreal. At this stage of his career, preparation was more art than mechanics. He didn’t measure. He didn’t fuss. He always knew precisely what he was doing, no matter how many pots he had going.

The pasta he cooked
al dente
. He drained it with a flourishing toss better suited to a
Teppanyaki
chef. Show-off, he thought, but he couldn’t restrain himself.

Abby had long since pulled a stool over to the workstation, where she watched his every move with wide-eyed awe. Her nipples had puckered like currants beneath her pink cashmere twin set. He knew some women thought watching a man cook was sexy. He was glad she was one of them, even if his trousers had grown uncomfortably tight.

He pursed his lips in amusement as he tossed pasta and pesto together. Should he warn her precisely how many aphrodisiac ingredients this fragrant dish contained? The pine nuts, the basil and the olive oil were loaded with boron, vitamin E and zinc, libido boosters all. The fennel contained trace amounts of estragole, a mild hallucinogenic. Moreover, if Mrs Kozlakis could be trusted — and Storm thought she could — the merest whiff of raw garlic was guaranteed to get anyone’s blood pumping.

But perhaps it would be more scientific not to tell her. As he well knew, suggestion itself was a powerful aphrodisiac.

‘
Voilà
,’ he said, transferring a small, steaming mound on to a plate. With a twist of his wrist, the pasta settled into a beautiful, twining pattern. He garnished his creation with a sprig of fresh basil.

Abby applauded as he set it before her. To his amazement, he blushed.

‘Oh, my.’ She gazed at her plate. ‘It’s almost too beautiful to eat. I’m starving, though, so I will.’

She ate the way a woman should eat: slowly but with gusto, savouring each bite and occasionally moaning out her enjoyment. She’ll sound good in bed, he thought, surreptitiously tugging the cloth stretched over his crotch. His cock was straining for freedom now, head up, shaft quivering. But it would wait — and thank him for it later.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked when she’d sucked up the last strand of angel hair.

‘Wonderful.’ She wiped her chin clean on a napkin. ‘Almost glowy.’

Storm smiled at her. Her cheeks were pink, her lips red. She squirmed a little on her stool.
Bon
, he thought. Good. She’s ready.

He stepped around the work island, coming close enough to hear the tiny catch in her breath. Reaching out, he eased a strand of falling hair from her face, his touch too light to brush skin. The hair flowed like silk over his fingertips. Her lips parted. Her mouth was a perfect Cupid’s-bow, plump and soft and small. His throat tightened with a hunger to plunge his tongue inside, but he kept his voice steady. ‘Do you, perhaps, feel as you do when someone kisses you?’

The gap between her lips widened, shock and arousal causing her jaw to drop. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

‘Don’t you?’ He moved his hands, let the palms hover an inch from her breasts, just close enough to bathe her nipples in their heat. Her cheeks went as red as plum tomatoes, but she didn’t move away.

‘You can’t do this,’ she whispered.

‘But I am testing my secret weapon.’

‘You intend to treat all my customers this way?’

Laughing silently, he lowered his head until his breath stirred the fine hairs at her temple. ‘It’s an aphrodisiac.’

‘I’m sure it is.’ She fumbled for his wrists, catching them in hot damp hands and pushing. ‘But it’s not exactly professional.’

Her innocence was priceless. Heart warming with amusement, he squeezed the hands that were trying so hard to push his away. ‘The ingredients in the pasta are aphrodisiacs. I wanted to see if they really worked.’

‘Oh.’ She stumbled back off her stool and pulled her cardigan together at the neck. He saw from her face that he’d hurt her feelings, though he didn’t know how. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were making a pass at me.’

Now he understood. He was happy her hurt was so easy to soothe. He crossed the distance she’d put between them and laid one hand, very lightly, against her cheek. The feel of her skin made his eyes slide shut for a moment. Her cheek truly was as soft as a baby’s bottom. All over, he thought. She’ll feel like that all over.

‘I am attracted to you,’ he said, watching the colour come and go in her face. ‘But I would never make a pass at a woman I hope to make my employer.’

‘What do you call this?’ she squeaked. When he chuckled and dropped his hand, she looked down at her flat-soled shoes. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, mixing business and–’ she hunched her shoulders ‘–you know.’

‘No,’ he said very seriously, without actually agreeing.

‘Besides,’ she added, ‘I’m not your type.’

‘But of course you are.’ He caught her nervous hand. She gasped as he tugged it slowly, gently towards his bulging crotch. He gave her plenty of time to pull away. She didn’t. In truth, she seemed mesmerised.

‘Oh,’ she moaned as he pressed it home. He decided ‘oh’ was his very favourite portion of her vocabulary.

‘Oh,’ she said again, exploring him with a surprisingly strong hand. Her fingers wandered over his swollen balls, then up his thick, stiffened shaft. Icy-hot tingles spread out from his groin as her dainty thumb dragged up the nerve-rich under-ridge.
Mon Dieu
, her touch was incredible, far more arousing than he’d expected. When she reached his glans and pushed the cloth of his trousers into its pulsing curve, he had to gulp for breath.

‘You’re almost as big as Bill,’ she murmured.

Caught by surprise, Storm barked out a laugh.

Abby immediately released him and covered her adorable mouth. ‘I can’t believe I said that. I am so sorry.’

He wiped a tear of amusement from his eye. ‘That’s perfectly all right. Size isn’t everything.’ He grinned at her wail of mortification. ‘I take it you have a boyfriend.’

‘I used to,’ she admitted and scuffed the toe of one sensible shoe atop the other. ‘Maybe I should take you to your room now. I mean, just take you to your room, not…Oh, dear, I really shouldn’t have done that, should I?’

He took her trembling shoulders in his hands and squeezed until she met his eyes. ‘I’m glad you touched me. I enjoyed it very much and I hope you will do it again. However,’ he added, as she bit her lower lip, ‘the fact that you did commits neither you nor I to anything. As far as I’m concerned, every stage of a seduction requires permission.’

Her eyes went so wide he could see the whites all around. ‘Are you planning to seduce me?’

He swept his thumbs in a half-circle around her shoulders. ‘If you give me half a chance.’

‘I’m not sure I’m ready to be seduced.’

When he smiled, her eyes followed the curl of his lips. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘I prefer to move slowly, to anticipate each small concession: the touch of a hand today, tomorrow a kiss or a smile, the day after that a slow dance under the moon. Hunger is the best sauce, you know.’

She blinked, her thick golden lashes sweeping down and then up. ‘You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?’

The comment threw him off balance, but he was careful not to show it. ‘Once or twice,’ he admitted because lying could only cause trouble down the road.

‘Hah.’ She swept loose tendrils of hair off her forehead. ‘I doubt it’s only been once or twice.’

‘Experience can be a lovely thing,’ he said mildly.

She cast a doubtful glance from under her brows. With a pleasant skip to his heart, he realised he was going to have a bit of a chase after all. But his smile must have annoyed her. She crossed her arms and set her feet like a diminutive member of the riot police. ‘I don’t believe there was anything in that pasta but good cooking,’ she declared.