Guilty Pleasures (7 page)

He didn't open his eyes, and he was breathing in slow, sharp panting breaths. “I think you can tell that I'm up to it.”

She knelt down in between his legs, her lips brushing against his hardness. “Well then. I think I'll start with a taste test.” With that, she took him into her mouth as he gasped and then let out a low moan.

He tasted tangy, she noted as she brushed against his erection with her tongue, teasing the smooth skin of his head and lightly, very lightly, dragging her teeth down the delicate skin of his shaft. She relished the sound of him, the feel of his thigh muscles bunching as she dragged her nails down the denim of his jeans. He lifted his hips slightly off the chair as she increased suction, treating him like some new delicacy that she devoured with loving licks.

Finally, he tugged her up. “I need to be inside
you,” he said. His eyes were an inferno of desire.
“Now.”

She stood up, almost laughing at the way he looked with his cock standing stiffly from his unzipped jeans and opened boxers. “Well, we've had the big meat,” she said, tongue firmly in cheek even as she felt a rush of wetness between her legs. She wasn't tired any more. She was just
hot.
“Think you can get me to Spicy or Exotic?”

He smiled with sensual promise. “I think I can come up with something.”

He swung her up in his arms, causing her to laugh. Then he took her to his bedroom. It was neat, and utterly masculine…much different from the gauzy femininity of her own bed. He placed her on the comforter of his bed…it might be plain, but it was soft, and luxuriously comfortable. She watched as he shucked his shirt, pants and boxers off, sucking in her breath as she finally saw him in all his naked glory. He wasn't the slightest bit self-conscious.

“Let's start with exotic, shall we?”

She felt heat pierce her from between her legs to the pit of her stomach, and her breasts tingled. “Why don't we?”

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

She raised an eyebrow, but he turned to one of his drawers. “What are
you
going to be doing?” she asked, peeling off her shirt and pants.

He removed a small box. “Getting to the exotic, as Mademoiselle requested.”

She smiled, but she could feel her pulse pounding
in her chest. She took off her bra and panties, and felt the smooth weave of the comforter beneath her back and against her bottom. She leaned on one side, smiling seductively.

“So. What do you have for me?”

He took out a small pot of what looked like powder. She frowned at it. “What's that?”

“Try it,” he said, putting his finger in and licking it. She followed suit, then smiled.

“What
is
that?”

“Honey dust,” he said, his eyes like a sorcerer's. “Now just lie still.”

She did as requested, intrigued. He produced what looked like a tiny bundle of feathers, dusting her body with soft, ticklish, torturing strokes. It was as if he were waking up every nerve ending she had with a tiny brush of the feathers. By the time he was done, she was throbbing with need.

“Now, you'll see why it's honey dust,” he said with a grin. And he proceeded to lick the dust from her body.

She groaned and writhed beneath his searching lips, the heat and warmth of his mouth and tongue massaging her arms, her shoulders, her neck. He pressed heated kisses against her thighs and the backs of her knees. She almost cried with the unknown pleasure of it. She'd enjoyed sex before, but this…it was as if all the others had been bungling amateurs, as if she herself hadn't really realized what sex could be. She felt awed by it.

When he was finished, she was damp with her own
desire and trembling against the comforter, shivering with sexual heat. “Come inside me,” she said, spreading her legs slightly. “Please.”

He grinned, and she noticed a fine trembling in his skin, as well. “We haven't even gotten to spicy yet,” he said, “But I don't think I can wait.”

He went back to the drawer, and got out a bunch of condoms. “Don't suppose you have a flavor preference,” he said, with a low, rasping laugh.

She sat up at that one, glancing at the selection. Wild cherry, strawberry, mango. She laughed. “We'll have to add these to the menu,” she said, plucking the wild cherry package out of his hand. Then she tugged him down to the bed. His skin felt like hot satin. “Allow me.”

She put the condom over the tip of him, then rolled it the rest of the way with her mouth. True to the company's word, the condom
did
taste like cherry. She giggled.

Then he rolled on top of her, and all laughter stopped. The shock of his skin on top of hers made her moan as the sensitive flesh of her skin clenched in anticipation. “Nick,” she whispered.

He reached down, stroking her breasts, nuzzling her neck…then positioned himself between her legs, stroking his cock against the soft skin of her thighs. She spread herself invitingly.

He pressed in by inches, brushing against her clitoris as he made his entry. She closed her eyes against the sensation as her back arched to accept him. When
he'd pressed himself fully into her, she felt stretched. The sensation was fantastic.

“Mari,” he breathed, and began to move, his hips slowly withdrawing and then pressing against her, causing a slow cascade of sensation to wash over her. When she raised her legs to take even more of him in, he clutched one of her legs high over his hip, causing him to position his cock directly onto her G-spot.

She moaned, and bucked against him. He increased his speed, still smooth but firm as he pressed against her relentlessly. She pushed up to meet him, the joining of the base of his shaft against her clitoris enough to make her cry out. “Oh…oh, yes…” She dragged her nails against his back, and he moaned low, now moving against her faster.

She felt the first tremors of orgasm start with a clutching of her muscles, and suddenly it was like an explosion of warmth, circulating from her sex to the rest of her body in a tidal wave. She let out a loud cry, clenching against him.

His body responded with one last strong drive, and he groaned in response as his orgasm hit, pulsing against her as he pressed into her a few more gentle times, as if he couldn't get deep enough into her.

She felt deliciously limp and boneless as he collapsed against her. Their sweat-slick bodies slid against each other, and she smiled.

“I think that's the best idea we've had all night,” she said, the satisfaction of her body coming through in her words.

He rolled off of her, taking care of the condom
before moving back to her side, brushing the hair out of her face and smiling. She thought that the sex had surprised her, but now she was even more shocked to find the tenderness of his gaze and of the gentle caressing strokes of his fingertips.

“Downright brilliant,” he said, and she knew he felt the same way.

Without really thinking about it, she leaned up and kissed him…a gentle, non-seductive kiss. Of gratitude, maybe. Or just because he was looking at her as if he cared.

When she leaned back down, she felt embarrassed. The bizarre attraction between them was powerful, but it was lust. What she was feeling now—this tenderness—really didn't have a place in it. She bit her lip, waiting for his reaction, if there was one.

He didn't seem to notice, but instead kissed her back, causing her chest to tighten with unwise happiness. “You know, I really do think you're onto something.”

She laughed. “Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow,” she said, stroking his naked body and trying to keep her heart out of it. “After we work on the menu some more.”

“No,” he said, stroking her back. “I meant, you might be on to something with the menu.”

She laughed until she realized—he was serious. “Nick, I don't know if you realize this, but I was trying to jump you.” She shook her head. “You can't put this stuff on a menu!”

“Well, not as is, but think about it. You've got a
restaurant called Guilty Pleasures. It's got a sexual connotation already, sort of.”

She laughed, this time more nervously. “I can't believe I'm hearing this.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice coaxing. “Foreplay for appetizers, Main Intercourses, Afterglow for dessert. You've got the submenus.”

“I was kidding around,” she interrupted.

“But it
works.
And we could come up with some killer ideas. It'd be a shoo-in for publicity. People would love it. It would be original.”

She rolled onto her back. It could work…but did she want it to? “I don't know, Nick. It's awfully weird. I don't want to become the Porn Queen of the restaurant world.”

He laughed. “The dishes would make the difference. It wouldn't be obscene. We could make it beautiful.”

She looked at him. He was serious…and the look in his eyes was determined. He had latched onto something.

And the thing was, he
had
taken a blazing sexual experience and turned it into something artistic—and beautiful.

“Let's give it a try,” she said, softly.

He smiled. “Believe me,” he said, kissing her again with more intent. “We will.”

O
NE MONTH LATER
, Nick stood in the kitchen of Guilty Pleasures. Tonight, they were rolling out the new menu…the new
sexy
menu. And he knew deep in his heart that, unconventional as it was, it was going to
work.

Now if he could just convince Mari of that fact.

He and Mari had worked very closely on the menu together—closer than the crew or Lindsay had suspected. They'd personally tried out a lot of variations on the menu, and on each other. He remembered the previous night with particular fondness, standing in his shower, letting the warm water wash over both of their bodies as he entered her and brought her to climax.

He closed his eyes. He seemed to be at a state of semi-erection whenever he thought about Mari—and it seemed like he'd thought about Mari every moment of every day for the past month.

It made the menu very authentic, he thought with a rueful grin. If the crew suspected just how intimately he worked with Mari, they kept it to themselves. As for Mari, she never made any overt actions toward Nick while they were in the kitchen. Their relationship
there was strictly professional. Still, if the two of them happened to be alone for a moment in the walk-in or the back office, he couldn't resist pressing a kiss at the nape of her neck, or half-closing his eyes as she brushed against his body with a smile of promise and disappeared.

No wonder I'm in a perpetual state of semi-hard.
He imagined his body would get used to it—especially if he stayed at Guilty Pleasures for any length of time.

That produced a frown. He was still intent on getting his reputation back, and being a chef at a four-star restaurant… Hell, preferably his
own
four-star restaurant. But for the meantime, there was nowhere else he'd rather be while trying to rebuild his reputation. And this sexual extravaganza would probably at least get him some attention. It was a risk he was willing to take.

He looked over to where Mari was supervising the line cooks as they made the new dishes: b'ystella, coq au vin, the oysters and the “eight-inch bangers.” Tiny was letting out his booming laugh.

“Well, it may be a damned foolish thing,” Tiny said as he grilled up the Spicy Hot Beefcakes, “but it's a hell of a lot of fun.”

Mari smiled nervously.

It was a risk, Nick realized…and not just to his reputation. Mari needed a financial windfall. She was the one with the most to lose.

He walked up to her. “You okay?” he whispered.

She nudged him away. “I'll be fine,” she said, wearing what he had come to call her “seasoned pro”
face. With all their gibes and their comments, he was surprised none of the crew, who had known Mari so much longer than he himself had, could tell just how wound up she was. She might be wearing a bright smile, but he could sense it coming off her in waves—could see it in the tensing of her shoulders, in the short, sharp movements that replaced her usual fluid grace.

She wouldn't be all right, he realized, until this night was over. Then, he'd make sure that she felt all right…when he had her safely tucked into his bed, and he could work on relaxing her properly.

He realized he wanted very badly to help her feel better.

“All right. Customers are here. Let's see what their reaction to the new menu is,” Mari said, and Nick saw her tense up, like a mouse sensing a cat. The rest of the crew peered out the window with her, looking at the few stragglers of customers that had made their way in, drawn by the “New Menu!” banner they'd hung out front.

The people sat down, getting their menus, and Nick could barely make out the flurry of their conversation. They were obviously surprised. Then one of the men of the group burst out into laughter, which his companions joined in with.

“I guess that means they like it?” Zooey, the youngster of the group, said nervously.

Mari shrugged. “Well, they're not leaving.”

The waitress took the table's order, and brought the ticket back with a broad smile. “They're ordering the
whole shebang…several appetizers—I'm sorry,
Foreplays
—two beefcakes, one coq au vin, one Holy Molé. And they've already said they're going to order dessert. They've even ordered drinks!”

The crew let out a cheer before going back to their respective stations. Nick watched as Mari let out a slow breath, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. “All right, now it's up to us,” she said, in her commander's voice. “Let's make sure they come back.”

The waitress pulled Nick and Mari aside. “They were getting on their cell phones and calling some friends,” she confided, with a grin. “I think we're going to do well!”

Mari smiled at this one. “Let's hope so. Make sure they get their drinks,” Mari said, then turned to Nick. “This looks promising.”

Nick noticed that none of the crew was paying attention, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “If this takes off, I'm going to want to celebrate with you properly…and maybe work on some specials.”

He watched as her eyes darted nervously to the other people in the kitchen, but no one else noticed their conversation. “Not here, Nick,” she said, her voice faintly chiding…and still, he could hear the tone of arousal in her voice.

He grinned and got to work.

The restaurant
was
busier. Apparently there was a party going on in a loft down the street—a sort of rave—and the word of mouth of the patrons was spreading to all the friends who'd planned to attend. The kitchen crew was jumping all evening. They must
have plated up over a hundred meals. By the end of the evening, the crew was dead on its feet, and several of them had to insist that several patrons leave so they could close.

Nick leaned next to Mari, watching as the crew dragged their way through the cleaning and closing checklist. “I think we did it,” he said, rubbing at his sore neck.

She smiled. “Guess we ought to work on those specials, then,” she whispered back.

He turned to her, but before he could respond, Lindsay came in. Mari's eyes widened as she looked at her watch. “Hi, there. What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting to see you till tomorrow…”

“This? This was your new menu?” Lindsay said, without preamble.

Mari blinked. “I know you've been out of town,” she said slowly, “but I told you about the concept….”

“I thought you said that the dishes were
sensual,
” Lindsay said, all but ignoring Nick. “Not…not
porn!
”

Mari flinched, and Nick stepped in. “They're not porn,” he said sharply. “Risqué, maybe…”

“‘Foreplays'? ‘Intercourses'? ‘Afterglow'?” Lindsay's voice was incredulous. “And
‘cock au vin,'
for pity's sake? What are you trying to do?”

“What's the problem, Lindsay?” Mari finally said, crossing her arms. The crew had stopped in their cleanup efforts, and were listening to the confrontation intently. “It's not that big a deal.”

“Starting a new menu is a big deal from a publicity
standpoint,” Lindsay said. “God, Mari, I invited critics tonight.”

Nick saw Mari's shoulders draw together, as if the bands of muscles tightened to the point of snapping. “Well, so what? Even if the publicity's bad, I could use some local press coverage. And the people who read between the lines…”

“I invited the
San Francisco Food & Wine
editor here tonight,”
Lindsay said in a sharp tone of voice. “I invited the food critics from the
Chronicle,
yes, as well as the
Guardian
and the
Weekly.
I even invited the Galloping Gourmet from channel four news! That's why I'm upset. Don't you see? They could bury us!”

Whenever he'd seen Mari's friend, she had always seemed to be the opposite of Mari…cool where Mari was hot, buttoned up where Mari was flagrant. Now, he saw that calm exterior crack.

“Mari, I think I've made a terrible mistake.” Lindsay said, her voice trembling. “I think
we've
made a terrible mistake.”

He watched as Mari tugged Lindsay over to the back room, and he followed, sensing the eyes of the crew on his back. “Lindsay, it's not that bad,” Mari said, her voice like steel. “We'll make it through. It can't be worse, right?”

Lindsay's eyes were sorrowful. “But…I remember last time…” Lindsay said, her voice apologetic. “I know you didn't want this to happen again.”

Nick frowned.
Again?
What was she talking about?
As far as he knew, Guilty Pleasures had gotten
no
previous coverage from the food press.

Still, the tension coming from Mari was palpable. “You were doing what you felt was best for the restaurant. And so was I, Lindsay,” she said, in a low voice. Mari hugged Lindsay, and to his surprise, Lindsay hugged back. “We'll do fine.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to fly off the handle like that,” Lindsay responded, her voice uneven. “I'm sure we'll be fine.”

“Go on home. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

Lindsay nodded, and walked out the door, barely giving Nick a glance. Nick stayed focused on Mari. “It will be all right,” he said, although from the picture Lindsay painted, there was good potential that it was going to sting like hell. He would have wanted to get the kinks worked out of the new menu before getting press…right now it was a crap-shoot, and things could go either way.

Mari shrugged, but her eyes were dark, looking like deep violet storm clouds.

He sighed, and reached for her, then frowned when she pulled away, looking at the door. “What did she mean, by the way?” Nick asked, trying not to be disturbed by the fact that she didn't want him touching her with her crew nearby.

“Hmm?” Mari's voice was listless.

“By what happened before. What was she talking about?”

That woke Mari out of her lethargy. Her eyes snapped to his.

“It doesn't matter,” she said firmly, leading him to believe that it mattered, a lot. “You can go home, if you want. I'll lock up.”

He looked at her, and heard what she wasn't saying.

Go home. I'm not coming with you.

“Mari,” he protested, and she held up her hands.

“Nick, I need to process this,” she said. “It might be nothing. On the other hand, it might be a disaster. We won't know till the articles start coming out.” She laughed, but it was a flat laugh. “I am not going to be good company, if you get my point.”

He sighed roughly. “I don't need you to be good company,” he said in a low voice. “I want to help you feel better.”

“That's nice,” she said, and she was placating him. He knew that. “But this is my problem.”

That pricked at his anger. “You're not the only one with something at stake here,” he reminded her.

She looked at him, and he saw a responding anger alight in her eyes. “Really? What are
you
risking, Nick? The chance to become a four-star chef and get your fame and your rep back?” Her voice was brimming with disdain. “Sooner or later, it'll get through that thick skull of yours that you can get a job in another city. Or in another country.
You're that good, Nick.
”

He stared at her, his mouth agape. She spoke with fury, it was cold and controlled.

“But this
is
my second chance. I don't know if I'll get another one.” She shrugged. “When this place goes under, you'll still be climbing the ladder and
looking for glory while I'm line cooking in somebody else's kitchen.”

He watched as the pain of her words etched itself into her face. “Mari,” he breathed.

She waved a hand. “Just go home, Nick.” She turned away from him. “I think I'm done letting you play with me for awhile.”

He waited for her to turn back.

She didn't. And after long moments, he realized she wouldn't.

 

“R
EADY ON SEVEN
!” Mari called. “Order up!”

Mari slid the plate of hot and spicy Honey Curry chicken onto the service window ledge. Kate, one of her waitresses, picked up the plates that were lined up there with deft skill. They were busier, that was definite, especially for lunch on a Wednesday. They weren't at a comfortable financial level yet, but soon, she hoped.

If the damned reviews don't sink us first.

She turned back to the next order ticket, fluttering on the board, and focused with Zenlike concentration. She made up three more orders and helped Paulo, who was getting overrun with orders from the sauté station. It wasn't until the next time she had a lull that she allowed herself to think about what was happening.

There hadn't been any bad reviews…yet. There hadn't been any reviews at
all.

But the
Weekly
came out today, and the
Guardian
tomorrow…and the magazines probably a few months down the line. The newspapers would be the start.

She peered out to where the customers were laughing and eating in the front of the restaurant. It looked heartening. She wasn't going to stress about what the critics might write yet.

Yet.

She reached for another order at the same time Nick did. Their hands touched, his covering hers. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, then moved away.

Sorry.
Yeah, so was she. On several levels.

She didn't regret starting the new menu, and she wasn't sorry for sleeping with him. But sleeping with him was one thing—trusting him, now that was something else.

He's a good guy, at heart,
she thought to herself.
But I shouldn't have listened to him.

The bottom line was, he was looking to make his name. He came from another world—one where
avant garde
recipes were the norm, where he had a Union Square location and a high priced menu, lots of good buzz. He could have served pickled octopus with rocks or something similar, and still have gotten away with it.