Scrumptious (11 page)

Marlene downed her entire glass of wine. Her lips were numb. Her legs were jelly. She had never come that hard in her life and that wasn’t even the disturbing part.

What was really killing her was the way her heart pounded every time she looked at Joe. The way his arms made her feel warm and protected. The way she couldn’t be near him without wanting to touch him, rest against him, let him hold her and make her feel safe. There it was again. Safe. The word she hadn’t thought about before Joseph Rafferty.

Safe was not something she wanted from a guy.

Other women, women like her mother, used men for security. The only thing she wanted from a man was pleasure. Simple pleasure and a rocking good time. Keep it sexy. Keep it simple. What was her other choice? She washed her hands and poured herself another glass of wine. By the time he got back to the kitchen, her high-proof pep talk had done its work. She tossed him his jeans with a teasing grin.

“Get to work, chef. I’m starving.” She admired the lean muscles in his back as he stepped into his pants. Her eyes slid over the taut muscles of his stomach as he fastened them.

“If you want me to cook, you better stop looking at me like that, sugar.”

“Are you telling me you can’t cook with a hard-on, cheffie boy?” She caressed the hard ridge pressing against the front of Joe’s jeans.

“Nope, I’m telling you that if you can’t behave, I’ll have to make you behave. At least until I get some food into us. After that, all bets are off. You can do whatever you want.”

“Promise?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Promise.” Joe spun her away from him toward the island. “You want to stuff dumplings or chop vegetables?”

“Stuff, I think.” Marlene wasn’t sure she could keep her hand steady on a knife at this exact moment. She noticed with irritation that Joe’s hands seemed rock steady.

“Got a bowl?” he asked.

Joe chopped garlic and fresh ginger and threw it into the bowl she handed him. He rummaged through her cupboards, adding salt, sesame oil, cabbage, soy sauce, and finally, the ground pork. He worked the ingredients together with one hand. When he was done, she took the bowl of filling from him.

“Hang on.” He reached into the bowl and snagged a small piece of raw meat and put it on his tongue.

“Yuck!” she recoiled.

“Trichinosis has mostly died out in the hog population. They keep them clean these days.” He took the bowl from her and added a few more glugs of soy sauce. He mixed everything one more time and tasted it again.

Satisfied now, he washed his hands and began rooting through the grocery bags. He tossed her a plastic package of dumpling wrappers.

“What’s Olivia doing?” Marlene asked.

“Waiting for her lawyer. With a bottle of wine.”

“Oh, that’s good.” She laughed. “Actually, that could be very good.”

“Yeah?” Joe asked.

“Sean’s had a thing for her forever.”

“Is the lawyer a good guy?”

“Yeah, I think he is. Sean is the complete opposite of Keith, that’s for sure. I bet he logs even more hours than Olivia.”

She had seen Sean around town a few times since high school. He was still blond and helpful-looking, the sort of guy to whom you told all your boyfriend troubles and then ended up kissing because you were just so grateful someone would really listen. Not that he was slick or sneaky. He was straight, almost to the point of being stiff, but like any good ex-football player, he knew when to press an advantage. That was a good thing in the business of law.

“Speaking of Keith, what do you think he’ll do next?” Joe asked.

“Take Olivia to the cleaners. New York is a no fault state, so he’ll get half the total assets, half the house, the bank account, savings, stocks, you get the picture,” she said.

“What about the restaurant?” Joe asked.

“Olivia’s parents gave her the restaurant as a graduation present before she married Keith. Who knows?” Marlene shook her head. “That’s why she needs a good lawyer. Sean will take care of her.”

She glanced at Joe’s hands as he began to dice onions, red peppers, and carrots, working the knife in even, controlled strokes. He was so good with his hands. She could picture them, sliding over her body, stroking it, bringing it to life. The rhythm of the knife on the cutting board echoed another rhythm in her head. She blazed through the package of wrappers, filling each dumpling with total concentration, enjoying the heat dancing along her skin. She jumped when Joe spoke.

“My mom loved dumplings.”

“Past tense?” She spooned in a teaspoon of pork filling and crimped the dumpling without looking at it. Her eyes were trained on Joe’s face as stormy shadows sailed across his sky blue eyes.

“Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry.” She gently placed the last dumpling in his hand. He nodded, only partly in approval of her stuffing speed.

“My parents didn’t get along,” he said. “I thought my dad would be relieved when she died.”

“He wasn’t?” Marlene asked.

“Nope. Devastated. He’s been drunk ever since.”

“Aren’t you going to see him soon?” she asked.

“Yup. Gotta pull the old man out of his nose dive. He’s had enough time to wallow in his misery.”

“What about you?” Marlene pressed
—
accurately, she thought, from the way Joe twitched. “Have you had enough time to wallow in yours?”

“I don’t think there is enough time for me, sugar.” His small smile squeezed her heart.

He pulled two large sauté pans down from the rack and fired up the stove. “Make some rice, will you?”

She opened a cabinet, realizing she loved cooking with him, here and at the restaurant. In just a few days, Joe had made his mark. Things ran cleaner, tighter, smoother. He really knew what he was doing. She still wanted her old job back after he was gone, but she was glad she’d had the chance to work with him. As she put the rice on to steam she realized they didn’t have much more time together. Joe was leaving to spend the Fourth of July with his dad. After that, he’d be back for a week, and then gone for good.

“Hey, you never told me last night why you stick around Chameleon,” he said suddenly.

“Olivia’s is my best friend.”

“Yeah? And? You know you could run any kitchen in Western New York, right? Why stay at Chameleon cooking beans and baking cakes?”

“I like baking cakes.”

“You are wasted in that bakeshop, and you know it.”

Pleasure soared through her. “It’s fine, Joe. Nobody else can do what I do at Chameleon. I don’t need to be the chef to run the kitchen. Olivia is my best friend. She brought me home to her family when mine fell apart. That’s a debt I can never repay.” It felt like a lie when she said it out loud.

“It’s not fair.” He crossed his arms.

“It’s fine.” She glared a warning at him. “Are you going to feed me?”

For a minute she thought Joe wasn’t going to drop it. Then he said, “I’ll fry, you make the sauce?”

She nodded, relieved.

They ate the pot stickers while the rice was cooking. The pan-fried wonton skins were perfect with the salty ginger soy sauce. She couldn’t get enough of them.

Joe began the stir-fry. When the rice was done, he tasted the sauce and added a final squirt of lime and a handful of brown sugar. The sweet scent of coconut milk balanced with acid lime and chili heat floated across the kitchen. He placed a heap of sticky rice in the middle of two shallow bowls and ladled the curry and vegetables over the top. Colorful red peppers, green basil and scallions, and orange carrots swam in the fragrant sauce.

She took a bite of the steaming dish. Exotic flavors exploded across her tongue. Sweet, then hot, garlic, a note of licorice from the basil, and then more spice, a light, addictive heat that made her want to take another bite. And another.

“Will you come with me to see my father? I could use a wing man,” Joe said suddenly.

His unexpected question caused a burst of excitement to charge through her. A road trip? Hell yes. She’d like to get out of town for a while. Especially with Joe.

She could imagine what it would be like to spend hours in the car with him, the heat building between them, flaring, raging. They’d probably have to pull over a few times, but that would help burn out the attraction that made Marlene want to spend every waking minute by his side. The more time she spent with Joe, the better. That would help her get over him that much quicker when he left.

“Maybe,” she said. “We’re only open for dinner on the Fourth, and I don’t think we have any reservations. Everybody barbecues.”

“I should probably warn you about the pig.”

“Pig?”

“It’s a pig roast. We’re cooking.”

“How on earth did you get talked into that?” she asked.

“Dad throws this party every year. He invites every person he knows and most of them show up with children and hard liquor. My mother used to cook up a big pot of chili or a shrimp gumbo while the men in the family had a big old time getting drunk and playing poker.”

“What about the women?”

“Barefoot and pregnant, of course,” he quipped.

“You realize you’re slipping into good ole boy dialect, right?”

“Can’t help it. I’m a born and bred Kentucky redneck. Anyway, it occurred to dear old Dad last week that it might be fun to have his son, the chef, cook for the party this year. Something easy. Like a pig.” His voice was not filled with affection or respect. Marlene couldn’t quite put a finger on the emotion. It was something close to scorn. Fathers and scorn she could understand.

“And you said yes? On a week’s notice?” Her mind spun ahead to the practical aspects of such a feat. “Where are you going to get a roaster? And a pig?”

“Not important because I told Dad it would take some planning, and we should cook burgers and dogs this year and do the pig next year.”

“That sounds like a better idea. Very reasonable. Not at all what I would expect from you,” Marlene said.

“Dad said not to worry about it. He didn’t think I’d be able to do it, but he wanted to give me a chance. He said he’d call one of his buddies in the morning to see what they could come up with. He said he had an empty oil drum in the barn, and he remembered reading something about pig roasting, oil drums, and electric garage door openers a while back.”

“And then what happened?” she asked.

“I said Wilbur and I would arrive Tuesday morning ready to roll.”

Marlene laughed. “Where’s your backbone, Rafferty? He was probably bluffing.”

“No chance. Once he gets an idea, my father makes it happen, one way or another.”

“I’m not touching the pig, Joe. I mean it. No pig.” She wasn’t normally squeamish, but ugh, a whole dead pig?

“Deal. I’ll handle the pig. You handle my father.”

“Wait a minute! That doesn’t sound like a fair trade!”

“You’ll see. My father’s going to love you. You are exactly his kind of woman.”

That didn’t sound like a compliment, but she let it go. “Why couldn’t you just tell him no pig?”

“You can’t tell him no. No one tells him no. I can’t screw it up either. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.”

“Of what?”

“Watching me fail. He thinks cooking is a sissy job.”

Her jaw dropped. Professional cooking was hard labor. It required quick thinking, the ability to multi-task, stamina, and skill. Joe’s father must be an idiot. “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “Why do you care what he thinks, anyway?”

“He’s my father.” Joe shrugged. “Dad went ballistic when he found out I wanted to go to culinary school. He thought I should study something useful, like law or medicine. Like you said, cooking isn’t exactly rocket science, but I’m good at it.”

The shutters snapped down over his eyes. If Marlene hadn’t already decided to go with him, she’d go now just to meet the man who could put that bleak look on Joe’s face. And make him pay.

“You see the irony, right?” she asked. “You’re going to cook a pig for him. That sounds pretty useful to me.”

Joe shrugged again. The shutters turned into armor.

“Wow, I’m really looking forward to the trip now. I get to run interference with an opinionated jerk and cook for a huge, drunk crowd of hillbillies. Now that is my idea of a good time. You did mention there would be booze, right?”

“How do you feel about small batch Kentucky bourbon, sugar?” Joe asked.

“Pretty good, considering.”

“I don’t suppose you can play poker?” he asked.

“Not as well as I can drink bourbon,” Marlene lied. She decided to keep a few cards close to her chest. She might need an ace in the hole. Or four. Perhaps a royal straight flush would help too.

“Then you’re up for it? Wingwoman?” His eyes were clear now, laughing.

“When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow night. Pack your bag in the morning, sugar. We’ll take off right after service.”

“We’ve got a wedding at Chameleon this weekend, you know,” she reminded him.

“We’ll be back by Wednesday afternoon. Piece of cake.”

“Easy for you to say. I have to make the cake.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Joe was asking as the chef, not the man. There was no way she would admit it even if it was going to be a problem, so she just shook her head.

“No problem, chef. I’ve got it covered.”

Joe gave her his wicked grin. As usual, she began to heat up under the light of his eyes. “I want you working nights as much as possible when we get back. Just in case I need anything. I seem to need things when you’re around. Lots of things. Do you need to clear that with Olivia?”

Marlene shook her head. “Not as long as I get my job done. Olivia’s good that way. Is there anything you need now, chef?”

“The nightly news?” he suggested.

Marlene groaned.

“Okay. Not the news then. Just fire up that big television, so I can see what it looks like.”

Joe immediately commandeered the remote, and they did end up watching the damn news. His warm body, the food in her belly, and the excellent sex sapped Marlene’s will to move, to think, to choose. She was living in the moment, but she had to admit, this moment was pretty darn good. She nestled into Joe’s warmth and fell asleep.