Devour Me (Master Chefs Series #1) (7 page)

“I
was,” he admitted, “but not by your silly questions.”  His gaze fell into the
top of her thin cami as a wicked smile came to his lips.

His
smile as well as the smoldering gleam in his eye brought her back to the bath
she’d shared with him the day before.  Twice she’d drenched the bed sheets with
sweat and was in dire need of a good shower, but since standing for any period
of time was a risky endeavor, Errol had suggested she take a bath instead.

“Do
I have any bedsores yet?” she’d asked as he’d tenderly sponged her back.

He’d
laughed and dropped the sponge in the water to then run his bare hand along her
skin.

Through
the haze of nausea, she’d still felt the stirrings of arousal deep inside. 
Why
don’t you come join me?
The invitation had been a part of her imaginings…
or so she thought.

With
hooded eyes, she watched him disrobe, fascinated by the lines of his biceps,
his chest and the strong muscles of his abs that guided her eyes downward
until...

“What
are you doing?” she muttered as he stepped into the water.  Her eyes remained
fixed on the growing hard-on. He was large, larger than she expected, and
exquisitely male. What would it feel like to have him in her? What it feel like
to wrap her mouth around him? Despite her nervousness and inexperience, she was
fascinated.

“I
want to make sure you don’t drown.  Besides, I could use a good bath myself,”
Errol said sensuously.

“Yeah,
I kind of noticed that funk when you helped me out of bed.”  She offered him a
teasing grin.

He
chuckled softly, though his eyes seemed more intent on her leg than her
comment. His fingers roamed up and down the length of her leg, never straying
to her inner thigh.  Relieved to see he had a degree of decorum, her body
didn’t quite agree.  It longed to have him touch her where no man had ever been
allowed to.

“Do
you know how badly I want to make love to you?” He said, his voice deep and
hoarse.

A
short gasp of shock jammed its way into her throat.  She didn’t know what to
say.  He’d been so friendly lately, keeping his distance from her, nothing like
the sensuous passion they shared the first day of their arrangement. Aside from
a few flirtatious moments, their interactions were innocent, and often
businesslike. She was certain he had no interest in her at all. It was as
though he had turned off any emotions toward her, and she reacted by focusing
harder on her studies. She couldn’t fall for him, as big as a crush she had on
him from afar, but now with him so close…it was personal.

“I’m
sure you say that to all the girls you meet,” she finally managed to squeak
out.  Her breasts tingled with excitement as his roaming fingers continued to
work their way up and down her leg, sending jolts of excitement through her.

“I
do,” he said.  His hand dipped down a little further, reaching under her to
gently pass his fingers along her buttocks. “But I rarely mean it.” His voice
was velvety soft, like a gentle caress against her skin.

She
let out an involuntary gasp. Despite the subtle waves of nausea that still
plagued her, she wanted him. She wanted him to touch her… there, anywhere,
softer, harder, more, longer. Anything, so long as his hands never left her.

Like
a baker lovingly kneading his dough, Errol reached under her with both hands
and caressed her buttocks. Occasionally a stray finger or two would run along
the crevice, coming just short of touching the lips that now throbbed with
hunger and longing.

Taryn
sunk deeper into the tub, offering him easier access to the places she’d always
kept to herself.  She leaned her head against the back of the bath and closed
her eyes, giving her body full reign on the sensations that assaulted it.  Had
she ever felt anything as blissful?  Had her body ever tingled with such life?

No.
The joys and thrills she’d experienced so far had been chaste and pure; the joy
of a beautiful spring day; the thrill of a spectacular roller coaster ride. Of
course there was her first kiss from Jason Campton in fourth grade and the full
on make out session with Patrick Stein, but they were innocent adolescent
trials. Nothing could compare with the intense thrill of anticipating the next
run of Errol’s fingers further into un-chartered territory. 

But
it didn’t come.  He brought his hands back to her thighs, her knees and her
calves, ignoring the fire he’d ignited in her.

“Do
you think you’ll be strong enough to come back to class tomorrow?” he said.

His
tone was annoyingly professional and calm.  There was no trace of passion or
arousal. To hear him, he’d just finished with the most mundane task.

Frustrated
by his lack of true interest, she sat up abruptly. With her eyes on his she let
out a bored yawn.  “I think I’ve soaked long enough.  I’m starting to pucker.”

She
reached out to grab her robe.  With an air of puritan piety, she looked at him.

Not
making any effort to afford her a little privacy, he just sat back to watch
her.

“Are
you really going to watch?”

“Why
not?”

“Decency.”

“I
think we’re past that.”

“You
might think we are, but I don’t.”

“Really? 
And where do you think we are?”

“You're
my professor.  I’m your student and assistant.”

“Hmmm.
Funny, I don’t remember the last time I shared a bath with a student. However,
I do remember one very strange and steamy shower with an assistant some years
ago.”

She
tried to hide her shock, but gaped all the same. In the very next instant, she
pressed her lips tightly together and narrowed her eyes in disgust.

“Don’t
worry.  He wasn’t my type.  Nothing happened.”

Shock
got the best of her again as she stared wide-eyed at him.”

He
laughed, loud and hearty.  “Oh, for crying out loud, Taryn.  I’m kidding.”

She
stood and, mindless of the puddles of water she left on his clean ceramic
floor, got out of the tub, threw the robe over her shoulders and left the
bathroom in a huff. God, she had to get out of there or risk throwing herself
on him…risk begging him to take her, to plunge himself deep into her so she can
satisfy this ache she felt for him.

She
wanted him so much…but would she dare admit it to him. She knew once she did,
he would consume her, body, mind, and heart.

Chapter 7

T
hough going to school was still a little too
taxing for her, Taryn did manage to catch up on some homework. After a light
lunch she pulled out her books and lay them across the dining table.  While she
was eager to get back to regular classes, there was something cozy about
cuddling up in her pajamas in the middle of the day to do her work.

She
opened her book to read about the origins of certain recipes and methods of
cooking.  She’d always presumed there was a certain degree of hit and miss when
it came to creating new recipes, but she was surprised to learn of the many
lucky accidents that had become French favorites.

Among
them was the amusing
Pets de Nonne
.  Though the name sounded adorable
and elegant in French, the English translation left much to be desired: Nun’s
Fart.  The tasty little ball of dough that was deep fried apparently came about
when a nun, shocked and embarrassed by her own bodily gases, dropped the ball
of dough in hot oil.

While
many contested certain details of the story, Taryn was amused by the notion all
the same.

“Busy,
busy, busy.”

Startled,
Taryn threw her pen in the air and almost jumped off her chair. “What are you
doing here?” With her hand firmly pressed to her chest to keep her heart from
beating its way out, she turned to Errol. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“So
I see.” He looked down at the page she’d been reading.  ‘I never knew a ball of
dough could be so interesting.”

“It’s
fascinating to see where so many of the recipes we take for granted today came
from.”

“I’m
happy to see you’re strong enough to study.”

“And
I’m surprised to see you home so early.”

He
shrugged.  “It’s a nice day out.  I have a few papers to correct, but I can do
that later tonight. I thought I’d take you out for some fresh air.”

Taryn
sat back and looked at him.  She’d been cooped up in his apartment for a number
of days, and while the view was breathtaking, going out into the world would do
her some good.  “I can’t promise you I’ll be able to go far, but I’d love to
get out.”

“Come
on, then. I have the perfect place to take you.”

Trusting
him implicitly, she hurried to change into the pretty yellow summer dress she’d
not yet had a chance to wear and grabbed her thick green cardigan to fend off
the coming chill as the day wore on.

“I
must say, it’s good to see you out of those pajamas,” Errol said as he eyed her
with approval.

He
guided her down to the streets and turned East on Emeriau then meandered up one
street and down another.

“It’s
such a beautiful city,” Taryn mused as she looked all around her. Every street
was an endless source of inspiration and awe. She was charmed by the
architecture of the homes and awed by the heavenly scents that assailed her
nostrils from every bistro.  “You must really miss it when you go back to the
States.”

He
nodded as they arrived at the base of the Eiffel Tower. “Few cities can boast
of something as spectacular.”

Hundreds
of people milled around the tower, mostly tourists eager to get a snapshot or
take a tour up, but also a lot of locals, stopping for a bite to eat or a
relaxed moment in the late afternoon sun.

“How
‘bout a ride up?”

“Really?” 
She looked straight up at the tower.  “It’s so high.  I don’t know if I’ll be
able to stomach the ride.”

“I’ll
be there to catch you if you fall.”

“Falling
isn’t really what I’m concerned about.”

“Okay,”
he said with a wry grin.  “I’ll be there to pick up after you if you get sick.”

As
they approached to get a ticket, Taryn sighed with disappointment.  “Look,
Errol. The sign says they’ve already sold out for today.”

“Stay
right here,” he ordered.

Before
she could protest, he walked away and headed straight to the ticket booth. 
Moment’s later he returned.  “Two tickets to the top.”

“But…
How’d you…?”

“Being
a world famous top chef sometimes has its privileges.”

They
boarded the next elevator with several other tourists.

Feeling
a little green, Taryn leaned into Errol as the elevator took off.

“You
okay?”

“Yeah.” 
She straightened up and dared a view of the ever shrinking buildings as the
elevator rose higher and higher.  The horizon was constantly pushed back
further offering a view of the
l’Arc de Triomphe
then the parks and
homes beyond it until finally all of Paris and beyond came into view.

The
ride itself was easy and smooth, but the shaky stop once again had Taryn
leaning into Errol.  The moment the doors opened, she jumped out, eager to get
away from the crowd and breathe an abundance of fresh air.  A group of
tourists, waiting to return back down, parted like the Red Sea as she plowed
through them and rushed to the banister that surrounded the viewing area.

“
Pardonnez-moi
,”
she said over and over again as she turned to apologize to the crowd.

Most
smiled sympathetically, while others openly glared at her.  One older woman
dared a ‘
maudite Americaine
.’

 “Don’t
worry about her,” Errol said as he came to Taryn’s side and put his arm around
her.

“Sorry. 
That last little jump of the elevator nearly did me in.”

“I
have to admit, I’m happy you were able to contain yourself.”

She
smiled at him.  “Well put.”

“Now,”
he said with mock exasperation.  “Enough talk of your tumultuous belly and
let’s take in this view.”

Taryn
looked out as far as she could see and let out a dreamy sigh.

“Bet
a view from the Empire State Building never looked this good.”

“Don’t
knock the Empire.  It’s pretty iconic in its own right.”

“I’m
just saying…”

“It
is beautiful,” she admitted as she turned to face the cool breeze.

“Come
on.  Let’s see what the other side has to offer.”

A
young amorous couple leaned against the banister, their eyes melting over one
another.  Standing almost nose to nose, it was clear no one around them
existed.  They were alone in their own romantic little world.

“Let’s
leave them alone,” Taryn suggested as she turned to go the other way.

“Newlyweds,”
Errol said with an indignant huff.  “The place is full of them.  Or maybe they
just got engaged.  If the sucker only knew what he was getting himself into.”

Taryn
shot him a nasty glare. “How romantic of you,” she spat.

They
came upon a view of Pont Alexandre III and Montmartre in the distance, and Taryn
was swept away by the romanticism of it all.  How perfectly spectacular, she
thought.

“I’m
a pragmatic realist,” he argued as he gazed at the famed Chateau.

“You
don’t believe in marriage?”  She’d heard he was an elusive bachelor but had
never really thought he was so dead set against marriage.

“Believe? 
What’s to believe?  You get hitched because some woman wants a damned ring on
her finger and all the fluff that goes with a wedding.”  He looked pointedly at
her.  “You wannabe princesses all want that damned wedding.  What’s the deal? 
If half the women out there put as much effort into actually pleasing the guy
they claim to love enough to put through this farce as they do into the farce
of the wedding itself, maybe the divorce rate wouldn’t be what it is.”