BornontheBayou (9 page)

Tearing her mouth away, she gasped up at him. “Camera!”

He glanced up to where the security camera peered out at the
room and smiled straight into it. “I’m an expert at coping with cameras. This
one has no sound? It doesn’t move?”

“No. It’s aimed at the safe.”

His hand remained between her legs, his thumb on her clit.
“Ready for adventure? Trust me?”

“I-I—” Oh, what the fuck, she hadn’t gotten very far by
obeying the rules. Recklessness infused her. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to share you, but we can play.”

He moved her an inch or two so her computer screen obscured
any view of her lower body. The purr of a zipper told her he’d undone his fly.
He reached into his pocket and drew something out before easing his erect cock
out to lay it against her inner thigh. It burned, wet and hot. They faced each
other, only the screen concealing them.

He’d taken out a condom. He held it on the side the camera
couldn’t see, ripped open the packet and got out the protection. Then he
sheathed himself, all without exposing anything to the camera. She had to
admire his skill but her heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe.

He leaned forward and took another kiss. “Just let me pull
you a little bit forward—” He did so, exerting hardly any pressure so her
bottom slid across the shiny surface of the desk. He held her skirt, stopped it
riding up and revealing everything, his hand hot and possessive on her thigh.
They were close, so close, her pussy wet and ready for him. He eased forward,
moving between her legs, his cock getting closer to her pussy with such
excruciating slowness that she could hardly bear it.

Then he drew her that last half inch, edged closer, and they
met, joined and he thrust deep inside in one smooth movement. His mouth came
down on hers with a gentle insistence that she was helpless to deny. She
responded, opening her mouth, tasting him eagerly, but when she tried to make
it deeper, harder, he drew back.

“No, sweetheart. Slow and sure is best now. We don’t want
anyone coming, do we? Not yet.” He pushed in again and she gave a moan. “That’s
it, just sink into it. Let it take you. I’m an expert at security cameras. When
I see one, it’s a challenge. And the door’s open, isn’t it? What if somebody
comes in? What if Jaime comes in with some papers for one of us to sign, or a
protest about her firing? What would she think?”

Right now Beverley didn’t give a shit if the Dagenham Girl
Pipers paraded around the room playing
Liberty Bell
. If he stopped,
she’d go crazy. A touch of fear gripped her. “What are you doing to me?”

“Taking you for a little walk on the wild side. Or maybe a
ride, huh?” He elongated the word “ride” until it became a caress.

Sliding slowly, probing inside her with a thoroughness she
could hardly bear, he talked to her, worked her as hard as any fierce, fast
fuck. “Do you think the guard watching the screens has noticed?” His mouth was
close to hers, so close she could feel his breath on her lips. “Do you think
he’ll watch us, wishing he was me? Or do you think he’ll take his dick in his
hand and work himself while he’s watching us? And that window behind me? Can
anybody see?”

She moaned and he gave a devilish smile before kissing her
again. She returned the kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with a
fierceness that she wanted, desperately, for him to fuck her hard. She didn’t
care who was watching.

He cupped the back of her head and kissed her deeply,
caressed her, threading his fingers through the strands of her hair. Then he
finished the kiss and spoke again. “You are so hot, I can’t keep away. I want
you all the time. Come, Beverley. Come hard and fast and make me come too. Can
you do that?” Her pussy rippled around him, she felt the contractions, long and
sweet. “Oh yes, I do believe you can.”

And this time, when he kissed her, she screamed into his
mouth.

Chapter Seven

He hadn’t lied to her. She drove him crazy. Jace could never
remember wanting a woman this bad. When he was inside her, he wanted more, and
when he wasn’t inside her, he was thinking about it. Fucking her in her own
office was crazy, but she made him that way.

After making sure the security recording from her office
wasn’t going anywhere, he spent some time on his own, leaving her to work,
wondering what exactly he was getting into here. One part of him, the reckless
part, not caring.

By now he knew she wasn’t too experienced sexually. He
imagined she’d concentrated on her career, grabbing what she could outside the
long working hours demanded of chefs. But she was still an enigma to him.
Something eluded him, something important, but he didn’t know what it was.

He understood that she might want to get away from the
kitchens she loved, but her parents owned restaurants. Surely cooking wasn’t
the only thing she could do? How about maître d’ or sommelier? Why did she have
to go halfway across the world to find what she wanted?

On the third day after they’d returned to Great Oaks, Jace
decided to tour the grounds, or the parts of it that meant most to him. His
grandparents had laid out the formal gardens in a lush Victorian style, flower
beds that he’d watched decay and grow over, which, by some miracle, specialist
gardeners were rediscovering and putting back in place.

He’d had time to look over the house and the Plantation
Experience more thoroughly, although the historians weren’t currently onsite.
They were planning to arrive tomorrow, to ask him some questions before he had
to leave for Atlanta. If he had his way, he wouldn’t leave alone.

The air grew warmer every day, bringing the promise of the
sultry heat that was a combination of a damp atmosphere and fierce sunshine. He
was used to it, but it still felt like being in the center of a wet furnace every
year. But he’d be long gone by then, on the world tour he’d signed up for. For
the first time, he wished he hadn’t.

His cell rang and when he pulled it out of his pocket, he
didn’t recognize the number. Although he usually ignored those calls, he decided
to take a chance on it not being a rabid fan or stalker. Rock music tended to
attract the crazies. “Hello?”

“Who is this? Why do you have Beverley’s phone?”

The woman’s voice sounded puzzled, not crazy. And she had an
English accent.

Oh shit. He took the phone away from his ear and looked at
it. He and Beverley had the same model phone, but that wasn’t surprising, since
it was the most popular phone on the market right now. So how to explain this
one without admitting that their phones had lain together on the bedside table
last night? “I’m Jace Beauchene.”

“Ah. The owner of Great Oaks?”

Not the way people usually referred to him these days, but
he was game. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Beverley’s boss?”

“Not exactly. James Bell is her boss.”

The voice softened an infinitesimal amount. “And you have
her phone?”

He thought rapidly. “I was in her office this morning and I
have the same model. I’m not in the house right now, but I’ll return it to her
as soon as I get in. Nice speaking to you.” He was about to thumb the off
button when she spoke again.

“No, wait. I want to speak to you. Those pictures are all
over the papers. You know the ones, I’m sure.”

He sighed. The Baton Rouge photos had been syndicated. “I
know. Why? What is it to you?”

“I’m her mother.”

He rolled his eyes. It had been years since he’d had to face
an irate mother. The experience took him back to an unfortunate incident in
high school, when he’d taken a girl home later than he should. They’d made him
pay for that one, but as he recalled it, she’d led him on. Not that he hadn’t
been willing for her to do the leading.

But this time he was older, nearly thirty, and he’d never
met this woman. He was just fucking her daughter, that was all. But from what
he knew of her, she wouldn’t care that much.

Now at least he could discover some of the things bothering
him. While a guilty pang assaulted him, he ignored it for now. He’d stop her if
she told him too much. “What can I do for you, Ms. Christmas?”

“Are the photos true?”

When so many pictures were manipulated electronically, that
was a savvy question. He gave her a straight answer. “Yes, they are.”

“My daughter isn’t used to the kind of press attention being
with someone like you will bring her.”

Concern for Beverley? Or keen for publicity? “I know. I won’t
let her suffer for it.”

“She already has, or so I understand. James Bell has
contacted me. He doesn’t want her staying at Great Oaks.”

He gave a tight grin. “I know.”

“He says you want her to stay on.”

“And he told
you
?” So much for company confidentiality.

“We go back a long way.” Interesting. If she asked any
personal questions, he’d ask her a few in return. She sounded crisp, efficient,
not a loving mother but that could be deceptive. He wished he could see her
face. So much easier to assess her true meaning.

“She got the job here because of you?” He recalled Beverley
telling him something to that effect.

“Partly.” A pause, as if she were thinking of what to say.
After all, she’d be feeling her way with him too. Presumably she’d investigated
him on the internet, so she knew some of the stories about him, even though not
all of them were true. “But she’s good at it. When she was cooking,
organization was always her strong point. She could arrange a kitchen and a
table like an expert, right from childhood. When you’re creating complex
dishes, organization is vital. So I thought she’d appreciate something that
demanded that side of her.”

Interesting. “You make it sound as if she was better at
organization than cooking.” For someone who loved it as much as Beverley seemed
to, it would be strange if she didn’t have any skill.

Another pause, then she spoke with considered precision. “My
husband has three Michelin stars. That’s the best of the best, you understand?
Beverley loved spending time with him in the kitchen, which is a good thing,
otherwise she wouldn’t have seen much of him at all while she was growing up.
He’s a genius, and they tend to be selfish about their talent. You asked about
Beverley’s prowess as a cook? She was good, and she loved it. You know why she
doesn’t do it anymore?”

“Yes. She told me she’s developed an allergy.”

“That’s right. It’s best she doesn’t set foot in a
professional kitchen while it’s being used. She has an Epi pen, which she has
to carry at all times. As long as she stays away from raw flour, she’ll be
fine. It happens to some chefs. She’s not the first one I’ve known it to happen
to. Beverley had a promising career ahead of her.”

He sensed something unsaid. She seemed hesitant. “With three
precious stars?”

The pause was longer this time. He was about to prompt her
when she said, “Probably not. One, I’d imagine. A chef is most valued when he
or she has created a kitchen and earned the stars, rather than moving into a
kitchen that already has the honor. The most innovative chefs create something
nobody has imagined before. They are rare.”

So no. Beverley would have made herself a great career. One
star wasn’t paltry, after all. But not hit the heights, been the best. She had
the potential to be the best at something, he knew it. She had the drive, the
passion and the single-mindedness.

“Was Chaballet one of those rare geniuses?”

“Yes. He was more temperamental than usual because he’s had
a hard time recently. A bad divorce, pressures of work, and he wanted to
experience something new. The move would have been good for him. A shame he
didn’t take the opportunity but he won’t come back.”

“I guessed. I don’t care. I don’t think Great Oaks needs
that kind of chef. I want somebody who is expert at local cookery and good at
international cuisine.”

I wanted to tell you something else. My husband is taking a
few TV spots, so he’s likely to become more high profile. Beverley will come
under pressure of her own soon.”

“Have you told her?”

“She knows her father was considering it. If the series is a
success, it’ll be syndicated to the USA, and that will bring even more
attention. I want this series to work.” That was more like it. She sounded more
concerned for her husband and his success than her daughter. But her next words
dispelled that thought. “If this causes my daughter any distress, I will pull
her back. We have the resources to protect her. So the first thing I want from
you is an assurance that Beverley will be protected from unwanted attention, if
you continue to—date her.”

“You didn’t need to ask.”

“I didn’t know that, did I?”

After that, he let her chat and learned a few more
interesting things. Like Beverley’s mother did care, but seemed
undemonstrative. She didn’t ask once after Beverley’s welfare, but she could
ask her that herself. Except that Jace had her phone. And the information about
Beverley’s potential was interesting too. He doubted Beverley had realized that
and he could think of no reason to tell her now. Her mother had the experience,
so he had to trust her. For now.

Until she brought him right back with a casual statement.
“We wanted her to get some experience of management outside the business, but
we always intended to bring her back in. Either as a maître d’ or a manager of
the restaurants. That’s what she’s best at, but we needed her to see how it was
done in other setups.”

“She doesn’t know that, does she?” He knew how bad she felt,
how much a failure. “If you tell her, she’ll feel better.”

“It’s a hard business. She’s got to learn to be tough.” Her
mother didn’t sound like a mother now. No loving tones, no care, but a tough
outer shell. While he’d thought he’d detected traces of parental pride or
caring, he wasn’t sure now. This woman was driven. Had she always been this way
or had she once been like her daughter—loving, caring, but still efficient?

He would hate to see Beverley going that way, and now he’d
talked with her mother, he had doubts she should ever go home. But he had no
right to order her. Nobody did.

That was one reason why he disliked the conversation he’d
just had so much. Her mother took it for granted that Beverley would do as she
was told. Ms. Christmas had laid her daughter’s future out for her, planned it
in detail and hadn’t even bothered to share her plans.

Jace stopped abruptly when he’d realized where his feet had
led him.

Beverley glanced at the clock at the bottom of her screen.
As usual, she’d lost track of time, although not of anything else. And nobody
had rung her while she’d been busy? Usually she had several calls a day, but
this afternoon, not a one. She picked up her phone and realized why. It wasn’t
her phone. It looked like her phone, but once she’d got past the opening
screen, the contacts made it clear she didn’t know anybody there. People called
Zazz and Spiv didn’t feature in her address book. But they did in Jace’s.

She glanced out the window. Another hot day, but today she
wore something more appropriate than she had the day he’d arrived. Giving up
the suits, she’d settled on a black-and-white skirt that flared out to the knee
and a white short-sleeved shirt in a fabric she’d viewed in several lights and
under blinding sunlight, just to make sure of its opacity. Comfortable, and the
flared skirt gave her some welcome air, instead of the tight pencil skirts.

She’d gone through her luggage and packed away the stuff she
wouldn’t wear again. She should give it away, but not yet. She hated waste. The
clothes Jace had bought her more than made up for it. She’d told him to give
her the bill, but she doubted he ever would.

She got to her feet and grabbed the phone before heading for
reception. “Have you seen Jace?”

The girl brightened. She was lucky to keep her job, but with
Jaime gone, Beverley had decided to see how she behaved. She’d colluded with
Jaime the day the chef had arrived, Beverley was sure, but she had no concrete
proof. “He went out. Headed south, past the oaks.”

Great Oaks had more than one oak, and the grove at the front
of the building gave the house its name. Now beautifully matured, but not as
big as some of the examples she’d seen back home, they must have provided
welcome shelter in the days of crinolines and bustles. Come to that, they gave
welcome shelter now.

She couldn’t see him, and since he’d come this way, she
didn’t know where to go once she got to the other side of the oaks. But she did
see a gardener, who directed her toward the old graveyard.

She hesitated. It was his ancestral place not hers, and he
might want some solitude. She’d just look, just see. Once she’d emerged from
the backlog of work that had absorbed her for most of the afternoon, she
realized she missed him. It felt as though something was missing, but maybe she
was just tired. Right now, curling up in bed next to a strong body sounded good
to her. The trouble was, she doubted she could do much. The events of the last
few days were catching up with her and she felt dog-tired.

The graveyard lay on the edge of the property, out of the
way of the planned visitor trails. In the contract he made with Bell’s, Jace
insisted on basic maintenance only, so this was the only place in the whole
property that nobody had altered in any significant way. Even the grass grew
longer here, reaching for the rusted railings, now treated and painted black
but still rusted, some of the spokes still loose.

The gate was padlocked, but that hardly seemed to matter,
since several spokes had leaned sideways, so she could slip through without
much effort. She couldn’t see Jace until she moved along the railings a little,
because he was kneeling. Not in obvious prayer, but he knelt before one of the
newer graves, gleaming white marble with gold and black lettering. His mother’s
grave. This was a private graveyard, and the vast majority of gravestones here
bore the name Austin.