Inferno Anthology (7 page)

Her lips parted.

Yes, he thought as he watched her with growing interest. Tonight. The cat and mouse game had gone on long enough. He’d played the part of the caring mentor, the dictating chef and the pleasant host.

Now it was time to see what she really had hidden beneath that prim exterior.

He pried apart the black glistening shell of a mussel, exposing the dark meat; the perfect replica of a woman’s hidden lips. “Many men like to view this as the taste of a woman. See the resemblance.” He slipped his tongue along the tempting folds of flesh.

“So, by your estimation, it’s not just oysters, it’s all shellfish.”

“I guess it’s all in the way you look at it.” He pried the meat off the shell with a small fork and popped it into his mouth. “I mean, if you really want to examine the issue, let’s talk about bananas. Or, let’s have a look at that piece of asparagus on your plate.”

She poked her fork into the asparagus and brought it to her parted lips.

“Are you inspired?”

Her features crinkled up into a funny grimace. “I get the banana, but this?”

“Try it,” he urged, curious to see the workings of her mouth.

She brought the tip of the asparagus into her mouth, closed her lips around it and gently pulled it back out, letting her lips gently stroke it.

It was his turn to stare with hooded eyes. He shifted as his swiftly growing hard-on made him suddenly uncomfortable in his chair. Deeper, he wanted to say, but he let her find her own pace.

Her tongue snaked out to lick dripping butter off the length of the spear then she slowly pushed the vegetable between her pouted lips. It all but disappeared in her mouth before she pulled it out, keeping an enticing amount of pressure of the lucky spear.

“How’s that?” she asked with cool innocence.

“Seems you’ve caught on pretty fast.”

She bit the tip of the asparagus off and pointed the remainder at Errol. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just wanted to lick the delicious butter off before eating it.”

He grinned. The blend of naiveté and sensuality she displayed was precisely what he’d been looking for. The women who threw themselves on him were always too easy, too giving, too brash and too obvious. They had no notion of subtlety, no notion of how to play the game. It all made for a boring and predictable chase.

As the dinner progressed, his desire to have her became excruciating. The heat of the evening had brought beads of perspiration to her neck and they now trickled down between her breasts, which he wanted to run his tongue over.

Her face flushed with desire and interest in her plate waned. Her loss of appetite was a clear indicator; something else was on her mind… him.

“A little more wine,” he offered as he reached for the bottle.

“I don’t think so.”

The four little words instantly threw a wrench in his plans. It wasn’t the polite refusal of someone who’d already had enough to drink. Her words were heavy and leaden… the begrudged refusal of someone who didn’t feel too well.

“You okay?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Do you want to lie down?”

She passed her hand through the increasingly damp strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “That might be a good idea. I’m sorry, Errol,” she said as she rose. “I think I might have taken too much wine.”

He knew that was impossible. She’d barely touched the second glass he’d poured.

Standing on shaky legs, she kept one hand on the edge of the table and the other over her disturbed belly.

He placed his hand over her forehead. “I think we should get you to the hospital.” He stood and took a hold of her arm to steady her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m…” Her words faded to nothing just as the blood drained from her face.

“Taryn!”

“I don’t feel so good.”

He swept her into his arms, grabbed his car keys and hurried out.

*****

“Shellfish can be tricky sometimes,” the doctor said as he signed the release form. “Many people fail to prepare them properly and this is the result.”

For a second, Errol fumed at the allegations. He was a chef, a world renowned chef. For Pete’s sake, he knew how to prepare shellfish. He knew how to prepare virtually anything.

“She’s lucky you brought her here so quickly. Had you allowed her to go lie down and try to sleep it off… well, I’ve seen people get really sick; a lot worse than this.”

“I can take her home now?” Errol said as the doctor finished.

“You sure can, but keep her away from anything that could upset her stomach. Nothing too rich, nothing too spicy, nothing too greasy.”

Greasy? Didn’t this man know who he was? Errol King never served anything greasy.

“Keep her diet simple and bland for a few days. She’ll appreciate it.”

“I will…” Errol said, never ever having gone without adding any seasoning to his meals. He sighed. Taryn Cummings was pushing him in ways he’d never been pushed before. First the waiting for her, and now the change to his way of preparing a meal. He had never been more frustrated, but turned on by a woman.

“What’d I miss?” Taryn asked the moment Errol walked through the door. She’d been absent from class for two days and couldn’t wait to get back. Lying in her bed watching television was something she loathed to do and the thought of missing out on so many classes exacerbated the issue. Though she still felt sluggish and queasy, she hoped to be back on her feet the next day.

“Hygiene,” he said with a wry smirk.

“Stop kicking yourself, Errol. These things happen.”

“Not to me, they don’t.” He sat on the edge of her bed and gently put the back of his hand to her forehead.

“I take part of the blame. I kept talking to you, asking a bunch of silly questions. You were distracted.”

“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.

Though 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.