Irresistible You

Chef Remy Girard shouldn’t be having a hot and spicy affair with irresistible restaurant critic Elise Mason, but he can’t help himself. She titillates all his senses, including the one he’d never believed in until now; love. However, when Elise writes a bad review of his food, he can’t believe her lies. He does something that could wreck any chance he has at happiness with the woman he loves.

Elise is heartbroken, but she has to tell the truth. The food was terrible. Then firebrand Remy behaves like an ass, and she has to stand by her principles however much she loves him. Any chance at reconciliation and happiness seems hopeless, unless Remy can swallow his pride and Elise can find it in her to forgive him.

Irresistible You

Lynne Connolly

Copyright Lynne Connolly 2013

First Electronic Edition: February 2013

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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Irresistible You Copyright © 2013 Lynne Connolly

Chapter One

Elise looked up from her nearly untouched plate to meet her friend’s disappointed gaze. “That was the worst gourmet meal I’ve ever had.”

“Girard’s’’ owned by the new, hot chef on the scene, specialised in fresh produce cooked well, but this being a two Michelin star establishment, the presentation was akin to a work of art. At least they didn’t write the menu in French.
So
old school.

Maybe this dish was just not to her personal taste. Rich flavours, foie gras with duck. She took a sip of the water, which was all she drank during a meal. Maybe she hadn’t cleared her mouth properly after the first course and some of the bay flavouring had lingered.

She tried again. Mashed potato and carrot. Beautifully cooked, vilely flavoured. Could she detect cinnamon in the potato? Awful. The balance was all wrong. She put her fork down with a clatter that turned heads. People sitting at nearby tables stared, then returned to their own meals.

Was the chef playing with them, or was this really the new, exciting face of haut cuisine? It seemed odd, because she’d been here before in what was best described as a non-official capacity, she’d eaten really well. And that had been leftovers.

Oh God, what could she say in her review?

She didn’t have to ask Maya what she thought of her salmon, because Maya did the same thing—pushed the plate aside virtually untouched.

The waiter arrived to collect the plates, and while she definitely noticed, she didn’t say anything, but asked if they wanted dessert. Elise knew she should, but rattled, ordered the safest thing on the menu, a chocolate concoction.

It didn’t help. “Life of Bliss’ wasn’t as blissful as she remembered. Perhaps, in the circumstances when she’d first had it, that had coloured her opinion. Yes, probably. But at least it was edible. What was the chef thinking?

“The amuse-bouches were good,” Maya pointed out. She was right. The tiny morsels of tasters and mouth-cleansers served between the courses had been delectable.

The maître d’ swanned over to their table.

Elise met the woman’s black, unemotional gaze. “M’sieu wonders if you’d like to inspect the kitchens.”

“He asks every guest if they want to see the kitchens?”

The maître’s lips quirked in what threatened to become a smile. “If they wish it. It was our pleasure to serve you. Would you like coffee here, or in the kitchen?”

What Elise wanted was to get this over with. “The kitchen, please.”

They followed the woman’s elegant black-clad back through the big double doors into the hive of activity. The evening was winding down and what must have been pandemonium earlier was merely frenetic activity now.

Her gaze inevitably went to the large, imposing figure of Remy Girard, chef extraordinaire, standing in the middle of the kitchen at his station, watching everyone with eyes of hard, grey steel. His dark hair was swept back from his face, the ends curling in the kitchen’s heat.

He looked around as if she’d called to him, and their gazes clashed. A lazy smile curled his full lips and he moved, strolling over to where they stood, as if he’d just spent an evening at leisure, instead of presiding over one of the most fastidious teams in all haut cuisine. Fastidious, because he had made it so.

Beside her, Maya gave an almost soundless groan. “I never realised he was so gorgeous.”

“I did,” Elise said.

“He looks great on TV, but hot damn…! You’ve met him before?”

She suppressed her smile at the memory. “At an art gallery. One of those champagne-and-buy-my-daub things.”

Maya didn’t appear interested in the art, any more than Elise had been. When Remy reached them, she held out her hand first. “I’m Maya Hancock and this is Elise Davis.”

He shook Maya’s hand and smiled. When Remy smiled, he changed his expression completely, from stern taskmaster to cheeky boy, a transformation that startled and fascinated most people who saw it. Elise had seen it happen and felt it, too. Especially when he turned that devastating grin on to her. His big hand enclosed hers in warmth. “Pleased to meet you Elise.”

“Again.”

He raised a brow. “Again? I feel sure I’d have remembered your devastating eyes, the colour of the sky at midnight.”

Cheesy. Did he turn that on for all the customers? Not judging by that teasing expression quirking the corners of his mouth. He was taunting her to say something back. “Clearly our meeting was more memorable for me. At Durbin’s art gallery at the beginning of the year.”

“Ah yes. Pleased to meet you again, Ms—’

“Elise.”

“Elise. And I am Remy.”

She refrained from telling him that she knew. He turned so he faced the same way they did, and put his hand at the small of her back. Perfectly acceptable thing to do, except that he knew the way her senses rioted every time he touched her. “Let me show you my—kitchen.” The small pause came as a tantalizing break, almost a flirtation.

Almost nothing. It
was
flirtation, pure and simple. And that touch seared through her, into her guilty flesh. She forced herself not to squirm.

He guided them around the stations in the kitchens, introducing the main members of his staff. “This is Jacques—he’s key in helping create the entrees. She schooled her face not to grimace at the memory of that awful food. He kept his hand at her back, but lowered it, just a fraction, to graze the top of her buttocks, then slid it back up again. Elise swallowed.

“You enjoyed your meal?” When Remy said it like that, she didn’t think of food.

“It was very nice.”

“Nice?” That grin ought to be outlawed. A spark of anger ignited deep inside her. Was he trying to manipulate her into doing a good review? She’d never do it, and he should know that by now. But she wouldn’t let anyone manipulate to her. Apart from anything else, her pride was at stake.

If she hadn’t been so aware of him, she’d have missed the small nod he gave to his dessert chef, who proceeded to smile at Maya with an ease worthy of her boss and draw her in with promises of chocolate and lemon sorbet.

The way to Maya’s heart. Remy was already drawing Elise on, towards a rank of doors. “I’d like to show you how our preserves are stored.”

Good, because she needed a private word with him. He opened the door and ushered her in, perfectly politely, then flicked on the light and closed the door gently behind them.

Rows of jewel-coloured preserves greeted her, their clear glass jars glinting. “Do you make these yourself?”

“Some.” His voice sounded deeper, harsher. “Most.”

Catching her shoulders, he swung her around so their chests collided in a maelstrom of heat and need, then brought his mouth down to meet hers in a far from gentle kiss.

She opened her mouth to meet his onslaught, brought one hand up to slide through his silky hair, ruffling it into its natural curls. Dear God, she shouldn’t do this, but how could she not? He drew her close with one arm around her waist, the other higher, his hand splayed over her back in the possessive gesture she loved.

He explored her mouth in a savage, rampant act of taking but she gave as good as she got, returning hot and strong. Wanting more, always wanting more. Where Remy was concerned, she’d never get enough. She hungered for him when he wasn’t with her, and in the time they could spare from their busy lives, took him with a voracity only matched by his.

He finished the kiss only to frame her face with one hand, his fingers catching in her dark curls, before he came back for more.

So strong, so hot and so everything she wanted.

“I need you,” he muttered. “What you do to me, Elise.”

How could she resist him? ‘Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Girard?”

His answer was simple, but devastating. “Yes.”

“Now?”

“Your place or mine?” He glanced around, a wicked grin on his face. “Here?”

“It’s the only way.”

With hands that shook, she pushed, just a little, but he got the message and drew away. No way would he overwhelm her, as he always did, with hot, sweet passion. He didn’t release her, but gazed at her, his eyes softly glowing.

“Remy, we can’t. You know I can’t.” She clasped her hands together, trying to keep them steady.

He caught them, gripped her small hands in his much larger ones, brought one to his lips. His tenderness nearly undid her. “Don’t talk. Don’t say anything about the review we both know you’re doing, then we’re breaking nothing.” He kissed the knuckles of her other hand, drew her closer but gently, giving her the chance to move away.

She swallowed, but didn’t leave. “So this is our last time.” He lifted his chin, smiled wickedly. “For now. How long do I have to exist without you,
ma petite
?”