Undercover Lovers
Dee Carney
Chloe Cole
Cari Quinn
Dee Tenorio
Copyrights
eBooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of these works.
This book is an original publication of the four authors who authored the stories herein contained.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
“Undercover Lovers” Published by Christine Bell at Smashwords.
“Consumed” by Dee Carney copyright © 2011 by Dee Carney.
“Conned” by Chloe Cole copyright © 2011 by Christine Bell.
“Conquered” by Cari Quinn copyright © 2011 by Carolynn Harrigan.
“Convicted” by Dee Tenorio copyright © 2011 by Darlene Tenorio.
Cover Art by Laideebug Digital
www.laideebugdigital.com
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Table of Contents
Consumed by Dee Carney
Conned by Chloe Cole
Conquered by Cari Quinn
Convicted by Dee Tenorio
Consumed
By
Dee Carney
Dedication
To Christine, Cari and Dee T. Twitter has never been livelier than during the creation of this project. You ladies are awesome.
Chapter One
For the first time in almost fourteen years as a chef, August Jaeger forgot the name of the dish he was serving. Christ, it was his design, his creation, yet the honey brown eyes staring up at him seized the words right off the tip of his tongue. “F-for your p-pleasure, Madame,” he stuttered instead.
With practiced elegance, he deposited the tray on the intimate table set for two and designed for close conversation. On any other night he despised the forced duty of making rounds among the patrons, but tonight he’d stopped next to heaven in heels.
He studied her face, amazed at his immediate reaction to her. In a crowd, she might not have stood out, especially if she’d worn a t-shirt and jeans. But tonight, she’d come attired in a black wrap dress that clung to every curve of her ample body.
August loved curves on a woman.
And he’d noticed hers.
“Oh! You’re…”
“August Jaeger at your service, Madame.” He tilted his chin toward the tray. “A complimentary amouse-bouche?”
Even in the dim candlelight, he saw the deep flush on rounded cheeks. “Thank you, Aug…mist…Chef. I would have never expected this at all. You. At my table! I mean, you’re like a rock star and really good looking and wow, I cannot believe I just said that out loud and somebody shut me up now, please.” Surprisingly slender fingers reached for nearby stemware. “I need a drink,” she mumbled.
August found himself enthralled and a rush of boldness traveled through him. Someone had removed the other place setting, so it looked like she was dining alone. “Would it be impolite to ask if I may join you?”
“Now?” she squeaked.
While biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, he raised his hand, two fingers extended, not bothering to check if anyone noticed his summons. Every server on duty and every person at the hostess station followed his movement when he came into the dining room. He wasn’t the only one who despised his presence there.
“If you wouldn’t mind the company.” She’d better not mind. He wanted to drink her in with his eyes until full. “Madame,” he added after a pause.
“Saffron.”
“Pardon?”
“My name is Saffron Burton. So, Saffron, please.”
He gave her an indulgent incline of his head. “Saffron…so unusual. So pretty.” The way the word rolled off his tongue made his mouth water. “You must call me August.”
Please. He wanted to hear her say his name. Not just as part of everyday conversation, but in a throaty, breathy, on the verge of an orgasmic scream kind of way.
Why the hell he felt like this for a woman he’d only first seen minutes ago, he couldn’t say, but he had no plans on pursuing the question.
“Chef?” Vicky, one of his best servers—and one of the more tolerable ones—sidled up to the table, pen and pad in hand. He actually liked her.
“Please bring the bottle of whatever Miss Burton is drinking to the table. Also, ask Edmond to prepare two servings of the artichoke and arugula salad. He’ll also want to prepare the zuppa di fungi selvaggia.” He did a quick assessment of Saffron’s eyes, noticing the keen interest. “Followed by the duck and fig risotto.”
“But Chef—”
He didn’t break stride in his speech, not caring in the least whether or not she took notes. She’d get it right, he had no doubts. His sous chef, second in command of the kitchen, would work as hard to make certain August’s needs were met. “Lastly, the Meyer lemon, three ways, for dessert. And make sure Allen matches each course with an appropriate vintage. Thank you, Vicky.” The sommelier hadn’t had a chance to taste most of what August had just ordered, but he’d get his job right or lose it.
“Chef.” He couldn’t mistake the warning note in her voice. “If I may have a word with you, please. Madame, if you would please excuse the chef?”
Close to grinding his teeth in frustration, August waited for Saffron’s wide-eyed nod before sliding out of the booth. He and Vicky hadn’t taken more than four steps before he directed her into a corner. “Make it fast.” His gaze remained on the seated woman. If she left for any reason, it wouldn’t happen without him interrupting her for at least a phone number.
“Do you know who that is?”
For a split second he allowed his gaze to drop to the server, but he couldn’t help looking toward the woman who waited for him. The step he took toward Vicky wasn’t meant to be threatening, but it certainly went well into invading her personal space. “The woman? No. Do you?”
Vicky folded her arms over her chest, putting a little distance between them. “Well, we’re not for sure, for sure, but a couple of the girls think she might be from Brun’s place.”
He whipped his head toward her. “Motherfucker,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.
Vicky snorted. “More like spy. Like I said, we don’t know for certain, but it kind of fits. You know he’s supposed to be sending someone over here to check out what you’re serving for Restaurant Week.”
There were a few dishes he’d created specifically for Denver’s most popular food event, happening only a few weeks away. It had become well known that his restaurant often served the dishes as a surprise one unannounced night each week leading up to the event.
Tonight happened to be one of those nights.
Just because he didn’t formally announce the news, however, didn’t mean someone from the staff might not have let it slip. There were supply orders to be placed, instructions to be given to the line staff and myriad other reasons why the news might get out. It was a recipe, not U.S. nuclear missile launch codes.
If his biggest rival, Francis Brun, wanted to know what August was serving in order to create something similar or in direct competition to the dish, it wouldn’t be beneath him to send someone to scope out the key ingredients. Everyone in this town took their food very, very seriously.
“So what do you want to do?” Vicky inquired.
He took a minute to think it over. “Place the order I requested.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wow. Really? Even as packed as we are?”
“Tell Edmond he has seven minutes for the salads to be sitting on that table.” Now that he knew who he was dealing with, this wouldn’t be difficult at all to manage. He’d bag one restaurant spy without breaking stride. “Thank you, Vicky.”
“It’s your ass,” she muttered as she walked away.
Returning to the table, he changed his mind, figuring Vicky had to be wrong. Shit. He hoped she was wrong. Look at those pretty brown eyes watching his approach. They didn’t belong to someone who’d sneak secrets back to Brun.
Saffron smiled as he sat. “I’ll admit the last thing I expected was to be dining with you.”
“It’s not an experience I provide often,” August replied. Ever was more like it. “But in this case, I felt an exception was warranted.” He pushed forward the tray, which held four Japanese spoons of delicacies. “I only ask that you indulge me a bit.”
“Indulge you?” Her gaze snapped up from the appetizer tray to meet his.
“If you would, please. Allow me the honor of feeding you.”
That blush. So damned sexy.
August leaned forward and picked up one of the spoons. The shaved slices of scallop intermingled with his own blend of roasted peppers and then topped with savory and papaya had been stacked with painstaking care. “A sip of your wine and then open.”
His mouth didn’t know how to behave. One minute it watered, but now, watching her swallow Chardonnay, it went dry. August licked his lips, trying to help it out and then offered Saffron the spoon. “Now open,” he said gently.
He couldn’t stop himself from drooling when her plump lips opened. Couldn’t shake the hardening of his cock when a pink tongue extended. Blood pounded in his ears as she closed her mouth around the ceramic. And fuck, when she made that little delightful sound in the back of her throat, he almost ground his teeth into powder.
Eyes closed, Saffron chewed slowly. Her eyebrows drew together in concentration and August found himself imagining the explosion of tastes greeting her. “Oh my, that’s good,” she said after a pause.
“Sip the wine again.” Why did he sound almost breathless?
A quick sip and she made that noise again. The one that made every muscle in his body tighten with anticipation.
“August, I’m about to embarrass myself with pleasure here. That is a true masterpiece. And it’s just the amouse-bouche? I cannot wait to see what’s next on the menu.”
“Good.” A smile curved his lips before he realized what in hell he was doing.
She was the enemy. A spy. Sent here to make his world-class cuisine as commonplace as one of the fast food places down the road. Maybe. Time would only tell. In the meanwhile, he’d remain cautious.
If he wanted to remain a few steps ahead of Francis, his biggest rival, instead of showing off with some of the dishes he’d been working on during his day off, he needed to send her packing. Oh, but damn, why did she have to pick up a second spoon and take another delicate bite?
He had to see her expression brighten with unadulterated joy again. Had to. He even found himself leaning forward just to catch even the softest purr of approval. Breath held, he waited until he heard it before exhaling again.
Occupational hazard, he reassured himself while also straightening. The need to know every diner left satisfied. Nothing else.
“Tell me, August, are the upcoming dishes also handled with such care? These scallops reflect a lot of personality.” She looked at him beneath partially hooded lids. “I really liked that.”
There was probably something very wrong with knowing he’d be in her bed before the end of the night, but damn if he was going to figure out what. Lowering his voice, he said, “This amouse-bouche is nothing but a tease to go with the wine you’ve selected. If you’ll continue to indulge me, I’m sure I could make this night an experience you’ll never forget.”
“Well, you’ve certainly amused my mouth,” she said with a smile. A coy play on the translated words.
She sat back, arms folded across her chest. A long pause passed and he hoped what happened during the break—the dilation of her pupils, the flush of her cheeks, the parting of her lips—meant what he thought it did.
Arousal.
“Alright, you’ve convinced me and I’m totally game. Show me what you’ve got, Chef. Show me something that’ll make my toes curl.”
Oh, but the things he could do with that mouth if given a chance. And the many, many ways he could make her toes curl…
Spy, August reminded himself. She was probably doing her best to weasel her way next to him, just for the purpose of pulling a few culinary secrets out of him.
Better people had tried and failed.
“Sit right there while I go check on how things are proceeding. But I will be back.” August waited for her nod before exiting the nook to head for the line. A quick double-check that the kitchen wouldn’t miss him if he left.
Brooding over whether his business mind or his cock’s eagerness ruled him, he steadied his resolve on what to do with her.
He’d show her something to take back to Francis. However, by the time Saffron left, there’d be no doubt in her mind that August was the best chef in Denver. No one—not even someone who resorted to thievery—would take that title from him.
If, along the way, he happened to prove to her he was the best lover she’d ever had, so much the better.
Chapter Two
It figured.
One of the few moments in life when Saffron wanted to cut loose and actually flirt a little, she couldn’t even enjoy it.
Four months of waiting and she’d finally made it to the top of the reservation’s list. Four months of her editor breathing down her neck about reviewing August’s restaurant and the cuisine everyone else already raved about.
Quite frankly, she didn’t see the point in reviewing a restaurant already lauded as one of the country’s best, but hey, that’s what she got paid for. Reviewing Denver food.
With all the competition from online food bloggers, it was getting harder to make her reviews stand out in the newspaper. Here was her chance to do something no one else could, namely review food pre-event, but her libido decided to take notice instead of her taste buds.
She’d done good so far, she figured. Only one or two other reviewers could claim they had met the star chef in his element. His disdain for journalists preceded him by a country mile. By some miracle, divine intervention or sheer good luck, he’d stopped to talk to her. Not just talk. Now he wanted to dine with her. Insert squee here!
Who knew August would be as good looking in person as the photos she’d seen of him in culinary magazines? She’d been sure a little Photoshop magic made his blue eyes appear like something straight from a Bahamian beach. Even the gelled blond hair, teased in sixty different directions, seemed too coifed for a temperamental chef. But how many times had he run his fingers through the strands in the few minutes they’d been together, unintentionally styling it even further?
It was kind of hot.
Correction.
August was definitely hot.
Saffron drummed her fingers against the stark white tablecloth, blowing out a sigh at the same time. Regardless of his yeah-I’d-do-him-factor, she had a journalistic obligation to remain unbiased when it came to critiquing his food.
Nothing had prepared her for the little taste of heaven he’d presented. The scallops intrigued her taste buds. They weren’t off the regular menu, so what were they? Perhaps one of the Restaurant Week choices? Her heart started doing back flips.
She lifted one of the spoons, intent on discovering what ingredients comprised the little dish. Certainly there were peppers, but she couldn’t identify the green herb.
She felt his presence without having to see him. The man wielded confidence and command like a sword.
“Chef?” she asked, still studying the spoon’s contents. “I recognize the pepper, but is there more than one kind on here? And what’s this herb?”
“Trying to figure out my secret recipe?” It was said with a light laugh, but the slight undertone of something she couldn’t name made Saffron look up.
And boy, did her heart pick up speed.
August eased into the opposite booth, seeming to draw all the light into his starched chef’s jacket. Arms folded across his chest, he watched her with a wariness she didn’t know how to process. His blue eyes somehow managed to appear smoky and the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw made him look severe. There was a man used to being obeyed when he barked an order.
“What?” she asked softly.
“I’m watching you.”
“I see that.” There was heat between them. She couldn’t be imagining it. “The question is, why?”
A pause.
“You have a way of enjoying your food that makes me want to feed you more,” he said with a shrug.
“Nah, it’s the name that’s getting to you. Face it, someone named Saffron was destined to be either a chef or a gourmand of some type.” Life had a way of throwing curve balls and the dishes she imagined in her mind never tasted quite right when cooked. So, as her exasperated cooking instructor grumbled, those who couldn’t cook, critiqued.
“It’s one of my favorite spices. Expensive as all hell, but worth every blessed cent,” August said. He nodded at the spoon in her hand. “That may or may not have saffron in it, in fact.”
Saffron frowned. Were her taste buds that muted? She should have surely tasted her namesake. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “no…there’s no saffron in here. There’s papaya and roasted peppers…”
August lifted a brow. “Go on.”
“It’s the herb I can’t name.” It bugged the snot out of her not to know. She’d had it before, but the distinct flavor escaped her recollection. “It’s not one of the common ones…something a little more exotic. Not thyme, although close, or marjoram. Damn. Give me a hint.”
“I’m impressed by your familiarity with spices. Are you in the business?”
Her heart fluttered, as if trapped, trying to escape from a cage. Did he somehow know she was a critic? She hoped not. Her review needed to be uninfluenced by a chef trying to impress her with his best dishes.
Looking into his eyes, finding only sincere curiosity, she breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know.
Saffron shook her head. Journalism was a far cry from cooking. “As much as I love to eat, I’m afraid I don’t have the talent.”
“Ah. Then you at least need to keep someone around who does.”
“Is that an offer?” Sounded like one.
He leaned forward. “Do you want it to be?”
“What would you do if I said yes?”
“Make sure it happened.”
Well damn.
“When?” Her voice quavered.
“Now.”
Saffron went bug-eyed. Surely she was reading more into this than he was implying. Her eyes narrowed into a hard squint. “You’re going to cook for me?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
His beautiful mouth curved into a mischievous grin. “Is there something else you’re expecting?”
“Well...you kind of made it seem…like maybe…”
“Maybe?” August asked.
Okay, was he teasing or was he serious?
August graced the covers of dining magazines and the few times she’d seen a more personal view of him, there had never been someone standing at his side. She thought she was cute—thank you very much—but who knew whether he found her the least bit attractive?
Then again, she was sure he’d been flirting earlier.
Sure of it.
“We are talking about your food, right?” Saffron fished. “What else could you have to offer?”
Besides the gorgeous body. The seductive voice. The amazing skill of his hands, if his food was any testament.
“Lots.” His voice dipped low, the reverb sending a ripple of awareness up her spine.
Oh yeah. He was still flirting.
Saffron feigned indifference, never mind how her pulse surged. Her fingers toyed with the tablecloth’s lace border, as if she found it more interesting than the man in front of her or their conversation. As if.
“Like what?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something first.”
Already her heart raced, her mouth parting of its own accord. Damp palms testified to nerves singing their excitement. When August slid out of the booth and crossed to her side, everything and everyone else in the restaurant faded away from her consciousness.
Dropping to a knee beside her, August slid one warm hand over hers. “Before we go any further, I should let you know that my staff tells me that you may be here under false pretenses.”
It took the power of the universe to keep from jerking free of his grip. Throat tightening, she pushed out a reply. “Really?” Smooth. The one-word response came out in an octave designed to make dogs around the country start howling.
“Really.” He extended his index finger and a slow, deliberate circling of his skin against hers brought every ounce of concentration zeroing to that spot. “Any idea why that might be?”
She swallowed. “Not a clue. Wh-what did they say?”
A riot of goose bumps traveled up her arm as his finger trailed higher. “Nothing in particular. A little speculation here and there.” Back and forth. Teasing. Lines of sensual heat etched into her skin. “You said earlier you weren’t in the business.”
“I’m n-not.” So hard to think!
“One hundred percent positive, you’re not?”
“Certain.” A whisper.
“Work for a restaurant or a chef in any capacity?”
“N—” The word died when August lifted her hand to his mouth, allowing his lips to continue the blazing trail his finger had formed. Her bare knuckles had never received so much attention before.
And she really, really liked it.
His voice rumbled against her skin. “Good.”
Clear blue eyes became too intense to stare into, so Saffron shifted her own gaze away. Nothing could stop her from enjoying the sensation of his mouth, though. “So can I take it, Chef, that you have more than food to show me?”
He pressed another kiss to her fingers. When his mouth closed over the tip of one and he applied gentle suction, Saffron whimpered. Certain she came a hairbreadth’s away from melting into a puddle, she splayed her other hand flat against the booth to keep her body from collapsing.
The world around them came back in a rush as someone cleared her throat loudly, depositing two plates at the same time. August nipped the tip of her finger, but stopped running his tongue over it. Damn it.
“Your salads, Chef,” said the waitress. Saffron glanced at her in time to catch the frowning, tightly pressed lips and hands balled on hips. “Will you be dining here or should I have a table a little more intimate prepared?”
Okay, ouch.
Saffron’s face must have lit into a dozen different shades of red. Whether August took the woman’s words for the barb they were probably meant to be, Saffron couldn’t tell. A quick look at the rest of the dining room proved they’d managed to catch the attention of a large number of people. Some looked as disgusted as the waitress sounded; others, thankfully, seemed more amused. If August noticed—or cared—she couldn’t tell.
“You know, Vicky, that’s actually a pretty good idea.”
“Excuse me?” Saffron asked, at the same time Vicky gasped.
“Ask Edmond to make everything to go. Miss Burton and I will be dining out tonight, instead. This is too public for what I have in mind.”
“Hey, wait just a—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish as August’s hand tightened around hers. “Beg pardon, Madame. I am too presumptuous.” Every once in a while she caught hint of a European accent and now proved one of those times. No, she did not want him to think she would be an easy one-night stand, but when that accent came out to play, a rigid spine went limp. “Would I able to interest you in a more intimate dining experience…in my home?”
Holy hell, breathe!
She had a story to finish. A review to write.
She also had an insanely hot man inviting her back to his place, where dinner may or may not be eaten.
If she stayed, she might get the food she’d come here specifically to taste. Four months of waiting, over; her editor, happy. Maybe there’d be a boost in subscribers to her column and renewed interest.
If she went however, the food became a maybe, but the sexual drought she’d been suffering through would come to an abrupt halt. No one had to spell it out for her. Despite the moment’s hesitation earlier, fractured self-confidence pieced itself together. If she went with August now, she’d find herself under him and in his arms, in no time. The way his mouth moved over her hand, tasting and teasing, sampling just her fingers until she felt every sensual touch through her toes suggested—no, guaranteed—August had more on his mind than food.
The restaurant buzzed with frenetic energy behind him, but when she looked at August, raw sexual need stared back at her. Walking out of his place on such a busy night couldn’t be easy for him, but he’d made the offer.
All she had to do was accept.
Which was more important right now: the review or the promise of an amazing night to come?
Chapter Three
“And you’re certain about this?” Saffron asked.
“Never more,” he replied.
She hesitated and for a split-second, the certainty she’d be turning him down bombarded him, but then she reached for her purse. “Then lead the way.”
August held out his hand and watched as she exited the booth. Her breasts swayed with the movement. It probably made him an asshole to watch them, but he didn’t bother hiding his automatic smile as he did. Nice curves, ass, legs and breasts. A playground just waiting for him.
As he stood back, allowing her to proceed first, he swallowed a lump in his throat. Saffron’s back brushed against his hand and the urge to run his fingers across her skin rode him hard. He’d bet money it would be softer than butter. Way softer. The first chance he got, he’d test that theory with not just his fingertips, but with lips and tongue too.
Almost forgetting she trailed behind them, he said to Vicky, “Please have someone deliver our meal. Edmond knows to where.”
“That’ll take longer, you know.”
“No worries,” he said almost beneath his breath. The longer the better, truthfully. Many ideas filled his mind on how to entertain Saffron in the meanwhile.
Ahead of him, Saffron moved like liquid silver, her lush hair swinging low against her back just above where his fingers itched to be. He loved that she wore it down, allowing the slight curls at the end to provide all the styling it needed. She possessed the kind of hair perfect for threading his fingers into. Maybe he’d end up wrapping those silken strands around his hand as he filled her from behind with his cock, stroking in and out of the velvet-lined walls of her pussy.
His cock thumped now. The very thought of her soft body beneath his made it difficult to leave the restaurant without attracting some unwanted attention to his enthusiastic lower anatomy.
“August?”
Saffron’s smooth voice snapped him out of his musings. With a slight grimace, August had a sinking feeling she might have somehow read his licentious thoughts. After a quick replay in his mind, he realized he’d missed something she’d said. “Sorry?”
Smiling, she slowed until they walked side-by-side. “I was saying you never did tell me the name of the herb on the scallops.”
That conversation seemed a lifetime ago. Back when he thought she worked for Brun. Then, he’d been hesitant to list ingredients, but now it seemed harmless enough. “The herb is called savory. This variety is only available in summer. I chose it because it’s sweet, yet bold. Purists insist it’s best for meats, but to me, it gives seafood a certain j’ne sais quoi. A kind of refreshing quality.”
“No wonder I didn’t recognize it. Not something you hear about every day, but it harmonizes with the rest of the ingredients as if they came out of a box that way. Not that I’d ever believe anything you made came out of a box, but you know what I mean. They’re perfect together.”
They pushed through a crowd waiting to be seated and proceeded out the restaurant’s doors. Outside, he led her down the alley toward the employee’s parking lot. A few seconds of silence passed as he marveled at his luck on meeting her tonight. At the fortune of having a kitchen staff he could leave without notice, knowing they’d continue without him, not missing a beat in providing excellent service.
Their footsteps, almost hypnotic in quality, echoed against the cool evening air. Red-bricked buildings surrounding them on both sides, forcing gusts of breeze to plow into them as they walked. August maneuvered himself closer, allowing his body to take the brunt. He held out his elbow, offering his arm. When Saffron took it, burrowing her body a little against his, he considered it a bonus.
“A lot of my cooking is about instinct. About listening to the ingredients speak to each other. Other times, it’s a tugging deep inside that compels you to do something a little different from what you’d been taught. Just trying things out to see if there’s a possibility they could work together. Like you said, harmonize.” August shrugged down at her. “Ever have something trigger an idea so strong you have to act on it right there and then?”
Her gaze flitted to his lips and back up. A quick glance, but he’d caught it. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been that impulsive.”
His chin brushed his shoulder as he spoke to her and Saffron pressed even closer to catch his words over the roaring wind. Their bodies huddled close together brought them almost within kissing distance. Close, but not nearly close enough. He said, “It’s how I operate. I see an herb, or a piece of meat, or even a vegetable and I get this idea in my head. Can’t sleep, can’t think about anything else until I give it the attention it’s crying for.”
“Must be hell on your concentration.”
“You have no idea. I can’t think of anything,”—he leaned closer—“else.”
Their steps slowed until now, they came to a stop. Saffron’s chin tilted toward him, giving August all the encouragement he needed. Throwing professionalism and caution to the wind, he decided to go for it.
His fingers threaded into her chestnut locks at the same time his mouth captured hers. A single step and he twisted, bringing their bodies together. Soft curves and ample breasts were temptations that almost lured his hands away from less prurient places, but those lips claimed his mind.
Hot damn, she tasted sweet. August swept his tongue deeper inside, hunger for this woman driving him to taste her further. She parted her lips willingly, moaning into the kiss with unabashed fervor. He leaned forward, aching to feel her breasts pressed against him, frustrated too many layers of clothing separated their bodies.
It was hell keeping his hands above her shoulders, so he twisted his fingers, letting those silken strands of hair trap him in place. If he did what his body wanted—what it commanded—she’d find herself spread before him against the wall, dress bunched around her waist, restaurant guests and other passersby be damned.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hot and heavy for a woman within minutes of meeting her, but right now he could focus on nothing else. He wanted Saffron. Wanted her bad.
“Wait, August,” she gasped. He stilled, but her lips walked over his. Brushed with the most delicate of touches. She trembled. Inhaled before exhaling a long, shuddering breath. “Oh dear, my head’s spinning.”
He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or flattered.
Pulling back, he let the curly ends of her hair unravel from his hands. August stilled, breathed hard, trying like hell not to take in the subtle scent of vanilla coming from her, but his body betrayed him. “I’m sorry. That was rather impulsive.”
“Please don’t think I didn’t enjoy it,” Saffron hastened to add. Those beautiful brown eyes were wide, her luscious lips still moist. “I did…oh God, did I.”
“But I’m moving too fast.” He should have known better. This was too wonderful and sexy and much.
“No, that’s not it.” She looked away. “Not really.”
His heart leapt.
“But?” August had to hear what got in the way of being with this woman. For some reason, she held herself back. If he had any control of removing the barrier, he’d shatter it within minutes.
Saffron gave him a shy glance. Then her gaze moved to the buildings on either side of them. “I don’t know...I think there’s something I should tell you…”
“Like what?” As much as he tried to focus on what she had to say, August kept looking at her lips. At how full they’d become after he’d tasted them. How plump and moist. “Christ above,” he muttered and dove in again.
Saffron moaned when he parted her lips with his tongue, sweeping in to find the still lingering remnants of wine. Her soft hand crept beneath the uniform jacket, finding the t-shirt he habitually wore underneath. August could have groaned with frustration. He needed her hands on his bare skin or, if she insisted on staying on the covered parts of him, at least moving lower a centimeter or so. Still, she trailed her fingers over the tightness of his abdomen, heedless to the riot of sensation brewing within.
“That’s what you are,” he murmured. Their lips brushing.
“Hmm?”
“An urge. A desire. I look at you and I know what to do. What needs to be done.”
“Oh? Are you comparing me to one of your creations?”
Those heavenly lips continued to dance over his as they talked. Her tongue teased along his mouth in between words. Despite the crowds they’d pushed through to get outside, no one walked the alley now to intrude in this private time.
“No,” August replied, “but you inspire me.”
A light laugh. “To do what?”
“This.” He claimed her lips again, need spiraling through him until he knew nothing else. It was senseless and reckless to ravage her like a drunken prom date, but he could no more help himself than he could help the urge to breathe.
He groaned when she tilted her hips forward, brushing against the erection straining to break free of his trousers. “I’d have to agree. You do seem…inspired,” Saffron teased.
“Keep that up and you’ll find out first hand just how impulsive—and creative—I can be on short notice.”
“You started this, Chef. I’m just following your lead.”
August glanced from side to side at the deserted alleyway, thankful again they were the only occupants.
He lifted his hand to the side of her face, letting his thumb stroke over the soft curve of her jaw. Saffron tilted her head, giving his hand access to smooth over the skin of her neck, before tracing the dip at the neckline of her dress. He watched her eyes smolder as he followed the stretch of the black material, which kept her breasts almost completely covered. Her breathing changed as he stroked his fingers, back and forth, clothing to skin and then to clothing again. So very close to slipping beneath the dress to play with her bare breast beneath.
“August,” she whispered so softly he leaned his ear next to her mouth to hear her. The pace of her breathing had increased, each gentle exhale kissing his face.
“Yes, Madame?”
“You’re teasing me.”
He let his finger glide down her cleavage, then lower to the soft curves of her belly. She drew in her breath sharply when he lowered his hand to the hem of her skirt, before letting that same hand slip beneath it to ride her leg. “Yes, Madame, I am.”
August leaned closer, ever mindful of their appearance and the potential approach of any pedestrians. Just because luck served them now didn’t mean it would last.
He tried to tell his feet to move, to tell his hands to take Saffron’s and lead her to his car. He lived eighteen minutes away in rush hour; at this time of night, less than ten. In less time than that, he could be balls deep inside her.
Saffron draped her arms over his shoulders, holding him in such a casually intimate pose, he could have believed they’d been doing this together for years, instead of just minutes.
“I won’t tup you here,” he murmured, more of a reassurance for himself than for her. He had to say the words aloud. Had to get his body to understand to dial it down a notch. Just a hair.
“You wouldn’t respect me in the morning if I let you,” Saffron reassured him gently.
Not exactly a no.
She tilted her mouth to his again, letting him take possession for a few minutes more. And every stroke of his tongue against hers, every time he breathed in her sweet air to delve in for another soul-clenching kiss, it was possession he took. August lifted her leg, his hand caressing over hose, rising higher, pushing the damned dress out of his way, higher still. He stood between her legs, heat from her body coaxing him closer. His hand cupping the soft curve of her ass.
Not here, he warned himself again. While his rational mind had one idea, his hands and cock were already two steps ahead.
Chapter Four
Was it possible to love the way a man kissed more than Saffron did right now?
She didn’t think so.
August consumed her voraciously, as if an appetite had been whetted and could not be satisfied no matter how passionate their kisses, how deep her moans. How wanton her whimpers.
Nothing around them mattered. She vaguely recalled there’d been some reason she’d met him in the first place.
Oh wait. Right!
“August…” His mouth continued to nip. To explore. “August, please.”
She cherished the way he held her now, fingertips digging into the flesh of her thigh, his prominent erection pushed hard against her abdomen. Instinct urged her to tilt her hips a little, aligning their bodies so the delicious contact that resulted would put his cock against the juncture leading to her sex.
He pulled back and placed his forehead against hers. She breathed him in, watching the gorgeous man struggle to regulate his own breathing. “Of course,” he said, his hand kept smoothing over her upper thigh. “Not here.”
It was more than the location, but the hard fact she needed to come clean with him that bothered Saffron. If they were going to take things further—and hell, yes, she planned on going all the way—he needed to hear the truth. The subtle way she’d avoided answering him about her exact job might have served her earlier, but to continue on, not telling him the rest of it made her stomach a little queasy.