BURN (The HEAT Series Book 1) (9 page)

"Your day off is on Tuesday. I thought we could go up to the experimental garden together."

I tilt my head back so I can look up at his face. It's flushed. The sheen of perspiration that covers his forehead and cheeks extends to his chest. His bottom lip is plumped and swollen from the pressure of my teeth as I bit it. He looks well fucked, which makes perfect sense since that's what he is.

He came over to my place after Nova closed. He wanted to see me, he said on the phone. His voice was insistent and impatient. The need in it, reflected what I'd felt inside.

We hadn't been intimate since Brendon made his unexpected appearance at Nova last week. I thought it would end there, but persistence drove him to show up again, two days later with a handful of poppies and a bottle of my favorite Cabernet.

I turned him away at the kitchen door with Tyler looking on. He talked about seeing me on television and it igniting something within him. I told him, literally, to get lost, and he did, with his gifts in hand and his anger barely controlled.

"I have to work Tuesday." I correct him with a tap of my fingers on his chest. We're both still nude, our bodies tangled together as we work to catch our breath. "Thursday is my next day off."

"I changed the schedule. I want you to go to the garden with me."

I rest my chin on my hand as I study his face. "Why are we going to the garden? Is there a new harvest of Marglobes you need me to sample?"

He runs the pad of his thumb over my brow. "I want your input on a few things."

I eye him, trying to decipher what the words mean. After Brendon left Axel with his tail between his legs, for the second time, I thought we'd talk about it. I tried, but Tyler changed the subject to the raspberry coulis that one of the sous chefs had prepared the night before during service.

He was unhappy with it, his nostrils flaring with controlled anger when he told me that the pastry chef in charge of that station had failed when they approved the coulis and it made its way onto several dessert plates. When the complaints inevitably started inundating the kitchen, Tyler had slammed his fist against the counter.

It was a powerful, intense sound meant to jar everyone in the kitchen to attention. It worked. We all stood in silence as he tasted the foul mixture before he asked the sous chef at fault whether she thought it was acceptable.

She visibly shook as she confessed she hadn't sampled it. When the pastry chef admitted that he hadn't either, Tyler took them both to his office. I expected neither to come back to the kitchen but they had. They reworked the coulis and when Chef sampled it, he complimented them both on a job well done.

"You've been improving, Cadence." He rubs his fingers over my bare shoulder. "Not in bed. I don't think there's any room for improvement there. Fucking you is incredible."

My face warms with his words. He hadn't complained when I took his cock between my lips when he first got here. Between clenched teeth he told me to stop as he neared his release. I sheathed him myself this time, taking care with his cock, stroking it hard before I rubbed the tip against my clit.

He took over then, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips as he fucked me relentlessly.

I nuzzle my face against his chest. "Fucking you is just as incredible."

He kisses my forehead, the touch light and tender. It's the stark opposite of his kisses earlier when they were needy and intense, his teeth as aggressive as mine. The bite mark on my shoulder is lingering proof of the strength of his desire.

"I want to show you something." He arches his back off my bed. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I ask past the sudden knot in my stomach. "Are you leaving?"

"I'm putting my pants on." He steps into one leg of his jeans. "I don't want to step out of your bedroom in the nude and scare your roommate."

Sophia wouldn’t be scared. She'd thank me if she caught a glimpse of Tyler naked. I can attest to that as I stare up at his body. His back is turned to me. The man's ass is solid, his back evidence of time in a gym.

"Don't move, Cadence. I'll be back in a flash." He leans both hands on my bed as his lips sweep over mine. I taste myself on his lips before he pulls away.

***

"How long have you had this?" I stare down at his tablet.

"This particular one?" he asks as he tugs my back into his chest. "I've had it for six months, but I've been jotting down recipes for more than ten years."

I'm stunned, not by the fact that he has such an extensive collection of recipes, but that each has notes, and pointed details about the preparation of the dish.

I'm essentially looking inside his brilliant mind. There are recipes on this tablet that I know would blow the culinary world away, yet not one of them is on the menu at Nova.

"Why aren't we serving this?" I look into his face. "This sounds incredible, Chef."

He glances at the tablet's screen and the recipe for seared duck breast. "I'm not completely happy with that. It needs some tweaking."

I scan the list of ingredients. It's extensive, yet it's obvious that each adds a complementary element to the dish. "I'd love to taste this."

"We can cook it together." His hand glides up my bare thigh. "You'd be the first person, besides me, to taste it."

He can't know how much that would mean to me. I know he views me as a junior chef who works for him, but I want more. I want him to see my talent for what it is. I want him to value my opinion as much as I value his.

"Keep this for a day or two, Cadence." He taps his finger on the edge of the tablet's screen. "Choose a few recipes you want to cook with me and then we'll do that, together, just promise me that you won't share it with anyone."

I smile as the room is engulfed in a comfortable silence. This is it. This is the moment when I know he trusts me as much as I trust him.

I'd woken in a state of bliss. I'd fallen fast asleep after we'd made love again. It had been intense and slow. Tyler had tugged the tablet from my hands after I pointed out three recipes I wanted to cook on the spot.

He kissed me as his fingers ran over my cleft. I'd fallen into his touch, and under his spell, as he brought me to orgasm before we fucked slow and easy. Our lips touched, our breath mingled. It was beautiful, softer than the other times and when I was drifting off to sleep he told me we make a good team.

"I'm proud of you, Chef," he said as sleep pulled my eyes closed, tugging me deeper.

I'm awake now. I stare at the wall under heavy lids. It's not dawn yet. My bedroom is still engulfed in darkness. I pull the curtains that cover the window into place when I want to block out the light and the world. I hadn't done that last night. I can see the city beyond the glass. It's still lit, but dimmed.  The sky behind it is a dark blanket.

I drop my gaze to the floor in search of Tyler's clothes. There's nothing. He left without a word, or a kiss.

The ache between my legs as I move to stand is a reminder of last night. His eager hands, the scruff of his beard on my thighs and the stretch deep inside me as my body accommodated his.

I walk into the bathroom that is adjacent to my bedroom. I don't turn on the light. I know the harshness will only wake me fully and I'm tempted to fall back into bed and into another round of dreams.

I brush my teeth, trying to chase away the dryness that settles there when I sleep. I lean my hand against the counter as I rinse my mouth, closing my eyes.

Once I'm done in the bathroom, I turn toward my bedroom and spot a patch of light in the darkness. It's my phone, the screen lit as a new message comes in.

I pick it up when I reach it.

"Hello," I answer quietly.

"You're awake?" It's Sophia's voice, soft and gentle. "I was going to leave you a message."

"Where are you?"

She giggles. "I'm in the kitchen. I have to go in early today. My boss is leaving for Europe. He's briefing me before his flight."

"Did you make coffee?" I ask as I reach for a robe.

"There's enough for you."

I don't reply. I tie the sash of the robe around my waist, run my hands through my hair and tuck my phone in my pocket.

***

"I was going to leave you a message asking if you wanted to meet me for lunch." She sips the last of the coffee in her mug. "I thought you turn your ringer off at night. I'm sorry if I woke you up."

I nod as my eyes race over the screen of my phone. I feel panic wash over me.

"Brendon texted me," I say aloud. "He says he loves me. He wants me back."

"You're not considering going back to him, are you?" She can't hide the disdain in her voice. "Don't do that, Den. He wasn't right for you."

I hear the words but they don't register. I'm too busy reading the dozens of text messages Brendon send me in rapid succession just after two this morning. It's barely past five now. 

It's obvious from the tone of the texts that his anger escalated quickly when I didn't respond. He warns me to stay away from Tyler. He tells me I'll never amount to anything without him.

The text messages are punctuated with two voicemails. I ignore those in favor of the texts. I read them all, anger edging against my better judgment. It's telling me to delete them. I don't. Instead, I read them all again and then hand my phone to Sophia.

"I need to tell him to fuck right off, "I say under my breath."

"I think you need to go to Nova, Den." She slides the phone back across the table to me. "There's a message from Tyler there. Did you not see that?"

I didn't. I'd opened the thread of messages from Brendon and hadn't bothered to check on anything else.

"Why?" I ask as I tug the phone away from her.

"Tyler went there to meet Brendon." She leans forward on her chair, her elbows resting on the table. "Tyler's text says that Brendon called him and demanded a face-to-face."

I pull up Tyler's number and call it while I run to my bedroom to dress. His voicemail kicks in immediately. I call Brendon's number with the same result.

I try Tyler again with no better luck.

As I tug on a pair of jeans I call my voicemail and listen to Brendon's messages. The first is vile. The words filled with hate and anger. He rants about me leaving him and how I don't realize how much I'll need him.

The second is brief. His words are softened by the noise around him. There's the sound of a bus passing as he tells me that he's going to Nova and then a horn honks when he hisses the words he promised me he'd never say.

"I'm done keeping your secret, Den. Tyler deserves to know the truth about the woman working for him."

Early morning in Manhattan is unlike any other time of the day. Most of the city is still asleep. The traffic is moving, although less snarled than it will be an hour from now.

Street merchants are readying their wares by placing them on tables or setting up booths. One yells to me from behind a display of used books. He wants me to invest in something I can read on the subway. He calls at me still, even when I'm rounding the corner toward the subway.

I fish in my purse for my wallet. My goal is my MetroCard. I stop, next to a closed barber shop, as I shuffle through the receipts I've tucked between the folds of my worn leather billfold, looking for the card. I curse when I remember I left it in the pocket of my dress pants. I'd taken the subway home from work two nights ago and then I'd tossed those pants into my laundry hamper.

"Can you spare some change?"

A man appears next to me, a small white dog clutched tightly to his chest. I stare at the dog. At the collar around its neck, that is studded with rhinestones and the red bow that is nestled in the shaggy fur on its head. It matches the polish that has been applied to the tiny nails on its paws.

My gaze drops to the man's shoes. They're designer, expensive. They give him, and his rouse, away.

"Not today," I say as I begin to push past him.

"You look like you had breakfast," he spits back at me. "I haven't eaten in days."

I turn around. He chose the wrong day. This isn't the day to goad me. It's definitely the wrong day to confront me about the fact that I have money.

"You ate a sugar donut." I twirl my index finger in the air near his face. "There's powdered sugar all over your lips and you smell like a rich roast blend that's been harvested from somewhere in South America."

"I found a pastry and coffee in the garbage," he begins to explain. "That only took the edge off. I'm starving."

"Sell your shoes." I glance down. "Those are worth at least four hundred dollars new and from the looks of the ones on your feet, they're less than a month old."

He parts his lips as if he's going to say something but he doesn't. He turns on his designer heel and sulks off down the street.

I curse under my breath. Snapping at a stranger on the street isn't who I am. I give freely. I help as much as I can but only those who actually need it. That man is taking from people who may not have as much to spare as he does. It rubs me wrong. It pisses me off.

I draw a deep breath as I walk toward the subway. I rush down the stairs while I dig for change at the bottom of my purse.

***

I feel the heat the moment I ascend the stairs of the subway. I'd rushed off the train, and ran across the platform before I bolted up the concrete steps two at a time. I'd tried calling both Tyler and Brendon while I waited for the train at the station by my apartment. There was no answer from either. None of the text messages I'd sent had been read.

Nova is a half-block from the subway station. I'd timed the trip twice before I started there, wanting to make certain that I gave myself enough time to get to work before my shift began.

I try to push through the gathered crowds to get to the restaurant, to get to Tyler. I think about his beautiful brown eyes as I brush past a woman pushing a stroller with a crying toddler inside. I imagine his lips as I step off the curb and onto the street in an effort to sidetrack the wall of people standing in place.

I hold my purse close to me, guarding the tablet he trusted me with last night before he made love to me, before he called me Chef.

I finally look up at the building even though I know what I'll see. I heard a woman talking about it when I exited the train. Other people's tragedy so easily becomes small talk between strangers.

A hand stops me as I try and cross the street. "You can't go there, Ma'am. You need to stay on this side."

I turn to look at the man touching me. He's dressed in a NYPD uniform, his expression stoic even though hell feels like it's broken loose on this street in the middle of Manhattan.

"I work there." I point at the restaurant. "I'm looking for someone."

"I'm sorry," he says with no compassion at all. "Stand here and wait."

I search for Tyler, scanning the faces of the people who are standing against the wooden barriers that are in place. Their eyes are locked on the restaurant as if it's the next blockbuster movie complete with stunning special effects.

There are no special effects. You can't turn this off with the flick of a switch.

"There's someone trapped inside." A deep voice bellows.

The words roar above the noise of the sirens, and the sounds of the people around me.

I look toward the voice. I see three men, each wearing heavy gear. Their names are spelled out in bold black letters on the back of their navy blue jackets.

TRUMAN. JOHNSON. BECKETT.

They rush toward the restaurant, toward Tyler's dream.

I watch as they tug masks over their faces before they run in the direction of Nova's entrance.

They don't make it.

The three fireman fall to the ground, their arms bolt up to shield their helmet-covered heads, when the windows of the restaurant shatter as a wall of fire blasts out.

I look up, tears clouding my eyes, as the building, engulfed in flames, collapses.