Too Darn Hot (16 page)

She swallowed hard. “I meant if we were to continue seeing each other.”

Slowly he released her hand.

An anvil sat on her chest. “Eric. Please try to understand.”

“I understand that you’re willing to throw away this incredible thing that’s happening between us on the off chance someone might start spreading tales—some petty, small-minded person whose allegations would never stand up to scrutiny.”

“Careers have been destroyed for less.”

“So that’s it, then. You want to end it now.”

“No!” Lina sprang off the barstool and wrapped her arms around Eric. “I don’t want that. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find you. I couldn’t bear to lose you now.”

His arms encircled her, crushed her to him. He nuzzled her hair and placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “There’s no chance of that, honey. You’re stuck with me. And to hell with what people think. We’ll brazen it out together.”

“It’s not that simple.” She leaned back to look him in the eye. “We’ll have to be discreet.”

He scowled. “How discreet?”

“We mustn’t be seen together in public. We have to keep our relationship private. Secret. There’s no other way.”

He sighed heavily. For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

He backed away from her. “We’re supposed to sneak around. You want to keep me hidden like some kind of shameful—”

“I don’t want that, I have no choice.”

He turned from her and was silent for long, tense moments. The coffeemaker spat and sizzled, the brewing finished, the aroma of fresh coffee filling the kitchen.

He said, “Milk and sugar?”

“What? Oh. Just milk.”

As he poured her coffee and located the milk, he said, “In time you’ll see you’re overreacting, Lina. The public has a short memory, and Etsuko will come around. That business with Mercy warped your perspective. You’re beyond cautious, you’re downright paranoid.”

“Is it paranoid to want to protect my professional reputation?”

“Any rumor that flares up will die a quiet death once people see that you’ve done nothing to compromise your professional ethics.”

She accepted the cup. His fingers lingered on hers, and she looked up into his troubled eyes. He said, “The fact is, I couldn’t bear to lose you either. So I’ll go along with this nonsense. I’ll humor you. For now.”

Her relief was tempered by his tone of voice, which told her he had no intention of tolerating this “nonsense” forever. She wondered how long they’d have together before his patience ran out.

Chapter Fourteen

“I don’t buy it for a minute. You’re telling me you weren’t the least little bit nervous?” Lina leaned against a steel refrigerator, trying to keep out of the way of Eric and his young assistants, Deirdre and Tommy. The chef was slicing a length of filet mignon while his helpers finished shaping tiny round loaves of caraway-studded rye bread.

She’d stopped by The Cookhouse to say hi on her way out to Southampton to review a restaurant. It was late afternoon, and Eric was preparing for the first seating of the evening—a Thursday evening in mid-October.

Since publication of her article a month earlier, The Cookhouse had expanded dinner service to three nights a week to accommodate the swarm of new customers. Even so, Cookie now had to turn down more reservations than she accepted.

Eric had hired a pastry chef, another waitress, and more kitchen help. The demand for private catering and cooking classes had skyrocketed. At long last, not only was his business in the black, it was flourishing.

Eric’s success was his own doing, Lina knew, the result of the sweat and faith he’d invested in his dream. All she’d done was bring a unique culinary gem to the public’s attention.

“I wasn’t nervous.” He kept his eyes on the slab of beef on his cutting board and the razor-sharp knife he wielded. “A healthy shot of adrenaline to keep me pumped, maybe. Tell you the truth, I kind of got off on the pressure.”

Eric had appeared on “The Today Show” that morning, demonstrating how to make blackened mahimahi while engaging in witty repartee with the show’s hosts.

“Wish you could teach me how to do that,” Lina said. “Get off on the pressure, I mean, not cut steak. I appeared on ‘Good Morning America’ last year, and I was so nervous beforehand, I lost my breakfast.”

“And you didn’t even have a bluefish eating your clothes at the time.” Finished with the steak, he wrapped it and placed it in a refrigerator.

“You were so calm and in control.”

He shrugged. “I just relaxed and did what I do best.”

“Right.” If Eric had done what he did best, the show wouldn’t have made it past the network censors.

“You were so cool, Eric,” Deirdre gushed as her nimble fingers shaped the last loaf and placed it on a cornmeal-dusted cooking sheet. “All my girlfriends are in lust with you. My mom recorded the show and we all watched it after school. They kept making me rewind it.”

Tommy had already tidied up and was now sliding the loaves into the hot oven. “I knew there was a reason I wanted to be a chef. Nothing like the sight of a man in an apron to drive the girls wild.”

“Mmm, jailbait.” Eric wagged his eyebrows obscenely as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Tell the little darlings to line up in the parking lot.”

Deirdre giggled, “No kidding, they’d do it.”

Drying his hands, Eric said, “Listen, I need you guys to run out and get me two bunches of cilantro and a half pound of habanero peppers.”

After Deirdre and Tommy left, Lina asked, “What do you need cilantro and habaneros for?”

“For this.” He took her into his arms and kissed her until her knees melted and her toes turned numb. When he finally relinquished her mouth, he had to steady her so she wouldn’t topple.

She touched her tongue to her tingling lips. “Mmm. Hot and spicy. I see what you mean.”

His hands stroked down her back and over her bottom. “I had to get those kids out of here on some pretext. Now I’ll have to add a Tex-Mex dish to tonight’s menu.”

She aimed for her most woebegone sigh. “All of Deirdre’s friends are in lust with you. How can a dried-up old hag like me possibly complete with a gaggle of hormonally crazed sixteen-year-olds?”

“Is this where I’m supposed to assure you that you have more sex appeal than a truckload of perky adolescents?”

She raised one eyebrow. “Only if you value your habaneros.”

“I wouldn’t trade you for two truckloads of perky adolescents. How’s that?”

“Well...”

“Two truckloads of perky adolescents and a harem of sex-starved, kohl-eyed odalisques trained in the sensual arts.”

“Hey, I’ve got a few sensual arts up my sleeve.”

“So I’ve noticed. But they’re nowhere near your sleeve.”

He tipped her chin up for another slow, deep kiss that had the top of her head splintering and rearranging itself. Eagerly she abandoned herself to Chef Reid’s own proficiency in the sensual arts, grateful for the loving bond they shared. And more than grateful for these few stolen moments together.

The last four months had been a time of wonder and discovery. Every day she learned something new about the remarkable man she’d fallen in love with. She’d also become close to Eric’s sons. She’d taken Daniel to two Star Trek exhibits in Manhattan, at the Museum of Natural History’s Hayden Planetarium and at the Museum of Television and Radio. And she spent just as much time with his brother, who was patiently teaching her to make everything from homemade pasta to Key lime pie. The four of them had spent more than one evening in couch-potato mode, simply relaxing with a video and a bowl of popcorn.

The boys might have been born with identical genes, but they had distinct personalities, and Lina loved them both. When she was with them, she experienced an unaccustomed sense of completion. If she ever had to say good-bye to Daniel and Adam for good, there’d be an empty place in her soul that could never be filled.

She knew Eric was becoming impatient with the need to keep their relationship under wraps. He’d tried on several occasions to arrange some sort of outing, and she’d shot down each attempt. Even something as seemingly innocuous as a trip to the beach or a sporting event was out of the question. He’d expressed frustration that his sons had been on more dates with her than he had.

Lina broke the kiss to smile up into his warm brown eyes. Their lips touched once more, a light, tantalizing caress. She groaned.

“I know,” he murmured, reading her mind. “Me, too.”

She chuckled. “Think you can hold out till Sunday?” An entire night together. A rare and wonderful treat. The boys would be staying overnight with cousins.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, there are all those sixteen-year-olds leaving drool marks on Deirdre’s TV screen.”

“Still fishing for shameless flattery?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” He treated her to another thorough, shamelessly flattering kiss while his hands roved like bloodhounds on the scent, tenaciously seeking buttons, zippers, and gaps in her claret-colored suit—a short skirt and snug, short jacket.

She tore her mouth from his. “This is—oh!” She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand from under her skirt.

“You don’t like that?” His other hand took up the cause, raising the skirt to her waist.

“I—you know I do, but—Eric!” She wriggled, trying to dislodge the hand that had slid inside the back of her bikini panties. He pressed closer and his erection thumped against her belly.

“But what?” he mumbled into her ear as he caressed her bottom. She whimpered at the pang of raw desire that shot through her.

She managed, “We—we shouldn’t.”

“Sure we should. Haven’t you ever made love somewhere different, somewhere downright wacky?”

“With Steve, wacky meant switching sides in bed.” She glanced at the open doorway. “Deirdre and Tommy will be back soon.”

“Relax.” He pushed the lavender lace panties down her hips. “They’ll be gone another eight minutes at least.”

She clutched at her undies. “Eight minutes!”

He checked his watch. “Maybe six.”

“Anyone can just walk right in.”

“I’m not expecting anyone.” He pried her white-knuckled fingers off the lace and pulled the panties down. “And anyway, I can always claim this is a new cooking class—Lust Versus Gluttony, the Sinner’s Dilemma. Excellent toe cleavage,” he pronounced, removing her strappy high-heeled sling-backs and tossing the scrap of lace aside, leaving her naked from the waist down.

“Six minutes?” she fretted.

“Maybe four.” He backed her up against a steel barstool and lifted her onto it, kneeing her legs apart. The shock of the cold metal on her bare bottom made her yelp. Swiftly he unbuttoned her jacket, appearing pleased to find nothing but her lavender lace bra underneath. He released the front clasp and spread open the bra to look at her.

She’d never felt more exposed, sitting there before him under the bright fluorescent lights with her clothing in disarray. Along with the feeling of vulnerability came a primitive hunger that had her squirming in silent invitation.

He cupped her breast in his callused fingers and lowered his mouth to her stiff nipple. The brush of his lips was as soft as a butterfly’s wing. She sighed and arched into him as he dropped gentle kisses on the burning tip. The first delicate flick of his tongue made her jump, and she pulled him closer. “Eric, please...!”

He surprised her by keeping his pants zipped, instead reaching behind her to the butcher block, where bottles of flavored syrups were lined up. He uncapped one and held it under her nose. Vanilla.

Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Vanilla’s a highly underrated flavor, don’t you think?” He tipped a drop onto his finger and smoothed it on her moist nipple. “Makes sweet things taste even better.” He licked the syrup off her with long, voluptuous strokes as if she were an ice cream cone in August. Breathless, she curled her fingers into his hair and clung to him. He repeated the treatment on her other nipple until she gasped, “Eric, I can’t stand it. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

In response he knelt in front of her, tossed her knees over his shoulders, and drizzled the vanilla syrup between her legs. She gasped at the astonishing sensation, lost her balance on the barstool, and fell backward with a shriek. Flailing with her arms, she managed to grab the butcher block behind her.

Seemingly oblivious, Eric leaned forward and began to satisfy his sweet tooth. She could only hold on to the butcher block for dear life while his strong, lithe tongue searched out every drop of syrup. She groaned as her body soared toward climax, her eyes fixed on the open doorway.

“How long—till they—get back?” she panted, the muscles in her outflung arms quivering with strain.

She felt more than saw him turn his wrist to look at his watch. Silence.

“Eric?”

His voice was a hot buzz against her drenched flesh. “We’ll hear them enter the building.”

At that moment her body detonated and the Vienna Boys’ Choir could have tramped through the kitchen for all she cared. Before her orgasm had subsided, he stood and drove into her, pulling her back up to a sitting position. She wound her arms and legs around him.

He grinned. “You don’t mind a quickie, do you? Under the circumstances?” He rammed into her hard and fast, and immediately she started to come again. With an exultant shout, he joined her, spilling himself in waves of heat she felt deep within.

Her hammering pulses nearly drowned out the sound of the outer door opening. Eric stifled her sharp gasp with his palm even as he withdrew from her and zipped up.

Shaking violently, she slid off the barstool, yanking at her skirt. Eric swiftly buttoned her jacket, leaving the bra unfastened.

“They only had one bunch of cilantro left,” Deirdre called on her way through the gallery.

Eric shoved Lina’s panties in the freezer and struck a nonchalant pose.

“My shoes!” she hissed.

He jumped to attention and located them just as Deirdre and Tommy sailed through the door.

Eric gestured triumphantly with the shoes. “Didn’t I tell you that super glue works fast?” He tried to jiggle a spiked heel. “Good as new!”