Rock Me Gently (25 page)
The woman was carefully made up. Her green eyes were dramatically shadowed with sweeping black lashes and darkly lined to give her a catlike gaze, but her lips were totally bare, devoid of any color save the richness of natural pigment. He liked that. One would expect flashy red lips to go along with the crimson French-tip fingernails and the fuck-me dress, but not her.
“And I’m not a romance novelist, just for the record, Chef
Tay-a-door
. I write erotica, pure sex, screw romance.” With that little tidbit of information she turned giving him an excellent view of her bare back. Almost wishing she’d worn the dress backwards, his gaze was drawn to the curve of her slim waist. Fisting his hand he found he wanted to run his fingers gently up her side and finger the soft flesh there. Would she shiver at his touch?
“Ahh, I see, so Syn actually stands for cynical, not sinful.”
Looking back over her fair shoulder, she barely acknowledged his comment.
Ms Fully greeted the hockey player—standing on the tips of her stilettos she placed a kiss on his cheek. Sesto wondered why she’d not given him a nice little peck.
“It’s been a long time,” the toothless athlete said, in accented English placing a kiss to each of her cheeks.
“It’s been years, Maksim.”
Sesto detected a smile in the author’s voice and perhaps even some genuine feeling for the big Russian. Not at all the cool voice she’d reserved for him.
“Yes, at least three. You were still with Dmitri then, when I was traded. I was sorry to hear it ended. But not so sorry.” He smiled at her as if he’d like to take her home.
The little gopher-boy hovered at the statuesque brunette’s elbow, like some simpering idiot. “Ms Fully, here’s the water you requested.”
Turning she smiled down at the kid. “Thank you…Chase, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Call me Syn, I only make the clientele call me Ma’am,” she said, giving the impression that she was into more than simply writing about such lifestyles.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he stuttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, in what was probably an attempt to cover up his boner.
What is it about this woman
? Sesto wondered. Yeah, she was lovely and she had a sweet voluptuous body, but he’d been with beautiful women before. Nevertheless, here were the three of them, the athlete, the kid and the chef all with a hard-on for the erotica writer. Was that it? Men thought because she wrote about it, she could dish it out?
There’s no harm in finding out
, Sesto thought.
The producer and director approached and began to explain what they wanted and what would happen. It sounded like it was going to be a long day of waiting around while the contestants cooked.
“So if you’ll take your seats, we’ll have the host introduce you on camera, we’ll present the competitors and then while they cook, you can have some down time or you’re free to watch them prepare what you’ll be sampling. There will be four rounds, an appetizer, a soup, a main and a dessert. You will eliminate a contestant after every round. When there are only two contestants left, we have a surprise for them when our own Chef Théodore will prepare a meal. Each will be given the unenviable task of duplicating his dish by taste alone, as they will be sequestered while he cooks. The one closest to Chef’s recipe will be our winner and the final decision will be his, given that the victor will also gain a position in Chef’s most recent restaurant. Any questions?”
The three judges shook their heads to the negative. The director pulled out the middle chair at the evaluation table. “Syn.”
Elegantly, she took the chair, sparing the man a thank you over her shoulder. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. Looking down at the tabletop, she smiled, giving no hint that anything untoward had just been mumbled into her ear. Most likely she was used to men talking dirty to her.
Sesto took his seat. “Have you been properly introduced to Maksim, Chef Tay-a-door?” Again the huskiness in her voice perked up his hard-on.
“No, and there is no need. The host is about to do so,” he responded snidely.
Turning to the hockey puck with legs, she whispered something in his ear. He threw his blond head back and roared at whatever she had said. Then the two of them focused on him. It was nice that they were having a laugh at his expense, no better than high school kids.
“Something you’d like to share with the class, Ms Fully?” Sesto asked, coldly.
“Mmm, I usually don’t like to share with strangers, at least not until I’ve known them more than ten minutes, but if you insist.” Sesto was mesmerized, when she slowly wet her lips, her pointy little tongue almost cupping the center of her upper lip, before retracting over straight white teeth, disappearing into her mouth. She finished answering the question that he’d almost forgotten he’d asked. “I said that you looked like you could use a good blow job. Release some of that obvious tension.”
Sesto’s cock swelled not only at her words but also that crazy thing that she’d done with her tongue.
Fuck!
How was he to maintain a cool demeanor when he felt like she’d just licked his dick?
“Save your crass vocabulary for your adoring yet easily stimulated fans, Ms Fully, it won’t work on me.”
The corner of her mouth quirked and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, really,” she breathed as if she knew of the painful boner she’d created for him. “I almost want to verify your quick denial for myself, Chef Tay-a-dor.” He watched her lips as she said his name.
Fisting his hands so that he wouldn’t be tempted to grab one of hers and prove she was absolutely correct in her assumption, he addressed the director, “Can we get on with this?”
“Places everyone,” he called.
The host came out, looking like a cheap game show knock off.
“That’s not going to work,” Sesto remarked. “Get him a decent suit and if he opens his mouth and this sounds like
The Price Is Right
, I’m walking. I don’t want to be associated with anything that this sideshow is shaping up to be.” Standing, he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Washed up athletes, half-dressed trashy novelists and a garish emcee. I was looking for some class and sophistication not a spectacle. Don‘t forget whose name is on that marquee.” Pointing to the sign above the temporary kitchen to punctuate his argument.
“Yes, sir, Chef.”
Sesto had half a mind to call his agent. This was bullshit. What the hell had he got him into? He’d be a laughingstock among the other television chefs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he remembered lambasting other top culinary experts when they’d first done shows similar to Protégés. Why was he doing this? He didn’t need the money. But his agent thought it might help the public’s perception of him. He thought his public image was just fine.
About the Author
HK lives in Canada with her hard-working hubby. She has two very handsome grown sons and a beautiful teenage daughter.
She has been an avid reader all her life. Her first love is historical romance so it would come as no surprise that her favorite book of all time is Jane Eyre. But she’ll read almost anything that captures her attention and imagination. She loves nothing more than to find a good book that she can’t put down. She is a hopeless romantic and prefers happy endings.
Email:
[email protected]
HK Carlton
loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
.
Also by HK Carlton
Totally Bound Publishing
