Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  ‘Non. Don’t be worried about your smell.’

  ‘Me?’ She shoved him on the bicep and his skin fizzled lightly. ‘Why do you always? No, never mind. Why was your face all screwed up as if you’d smelled something terrible?’

  ‘I was just puzzling about the sambo. They have a reputation for being mushy, and I want to spend more time finessing the tartare before I serve it.’

  Bianca dropped her hands, tucking them into her back pockets. ‘On the plus side, if it all turns out to taste like shit, fish makes wonderful organic fertiliser. I’ll feed it to my lemons.’

  ‘The cycle of life continues. Even failed experiments are useful.’

  She grinned. ‘Even them. Come on, let’s check out these tomatoes. Do you want the big meaty beefsteak ones, or something small and decorative?’

  ‘Definitely looking for a full, rich taste for the soup. It needs to add volume to the broth.’

  ‘Over here.’ She marched off down the laneway between garden beds. The camera crew had cycled around and now she walked towards them with him following. He trailed his fingers through the clumps of basil lining the edge of the garden, plucking up a leaf and holding it to his nose. He pulled the smell deep into his lungs—ahh, fresh herbs truly were comfort food. Bianca glanced over her shoulder at him, then leaned forward to riffle through the tangled, tall tomato plants. She’d tied them up to tall bamboo poles, all tied together at the top into triangles. Her jeans stretched over her ass, and her loose shirt slipped up to expose a tiny sliver of skin on her lower back. If she bent any further, he might get a glimpse of her panties. What he wouldn’t give to trace her round ass and bury his face between her legs. Dear God in heaven, he’d really lost the plot. He licked his dry lips and held the basket loosely in front of his groin.

  ‘Are you certain there are tomatoes hidden in there?’ He covered his doubt by doubting her, proving he truly was the type of asshole who deserved a kick in the pants.

  ‘No. I’m just checking my snail collection.’ She straightened and turned towards him with three humongous, lumpy, deep red tomatoes in her palms.

  ‘Those are incredible.’ He picked one up from her palm, lifted it to his nose and inhaled. The meaty round flavour with not a hint of acid was perfect for his bouillabaisse. ‘You have a gift.’

  ‘You should bless the dirt, not me. I only encourage them to grow, the sunshine, water, and dirt do the real work.’

  ‘Don’t undersell yourself.’

  She sent him a wary glance as if she were waiting for an insult to follow. ‘No, you are right. These are the greatest tomatoes anyone has ever grown. It would be a shame to waste them on a simple stew. Put them centre stage.’

  ‘Now you are overstating things. These form the base of the broth, then we will add layers and layers until the perfect blend has been created. And all to uplift the sambo.’

  ‘Right? So how many do you need?’

  ‘How many do you have?’

  ‘There are four others in there, but they have blemishes.’ She placed the ones she held into his basket, then burrowed back into the forest of tomato branches. The pungent scent of the leaves as she brushed past them added a peppery note to the air.

  ‘Let me deal with the blemishes—I’ll cut them off and you can feed them to your pigs.’ He held out the basket and she placed a few of the large bright red tomatoes into it. ‘Now, some fennel and I’ll grab a bay leaf on my way back to the kitchen from the hedge.’

  5

  Chapter 5

  ‘Before you go and cook, one final touch.’ Bianca tortured herself with one word. Please don’t touch me. No, please do. Touch me everywhere. Shit. Why did he have to be so tempting?

  ‘Oui?’

  ‘I have the perfect edible flower to use as a flourish on your fish stew.’

  He leaned forward with an interested expression, as if he were interested in her. Prickles exploded over the back of her neck and she couldn’t look away from his lips.

  ‘Is it Mertensia maritima?’

  He knew Latin? If he hadn’t sounded so hopeful, she would have been irritated by his superiority, but the air crackled and changed. Working with the camera crew was the longest amount of time she’d spent with Etienne since she’d started working here. Usually they traded quick insults, then kept out of each other’s way. They were each the experts in their own sector of the business, happy to focus on their own skillset. And she certainly preferred to be left alone, or so she’d assumed until now.

  ‘Yes. The borage, also known as oyster leaf.’

  Etienne’s face lit up with one of his rare smiles and heat pooled between her legs. ‘Perfect. Beautiful and the matching flavour for my bouillabaisse. Although I’m surprised you recognise it from the Latin,’ he said.

  Why shouldn’t she know the Latin names for all her plants? She sighed. All the heat sapped by his dismissal. ‘And he ruins the moment with an insult.’ No way was she changing his name in her phone. The Prize Dickhead suited him.

  ‘What? Why is that an insult? You are a farmer, not an academic.’

  ‘And you are only a chef. If we are going to compare our academic credentials…’ Why did she bother? ‘Unless you have a Master’s degree in assholery, I am more qualified than you. You should have read my CV when I applied for this job.’

  ‘I read the front page, saw your experience, talked to your last two bosses. Watched you on the farm. That is enough.’

  And naturally, he ignored her dig about the degree. Damn, she’d thought that one was quite good, but he stole her smugness and replaced it with that usual bitterness at the back of her throat. This time she did roll her eyes.

  ‘How arrogant of you. If you’d bothered to read more than the first page, you’d know I have a degree in botany. I don’t need you to explain the Latin terms for anything to me.’

  ‘You do?’ He almost sounded impressed. ‘And you spend it on being a vegetable gardener?’ She should have expected that another insult wouldn’t be far away.

  ‘It’s a permaculture farm. Don’t dismiss it. My knowledge benefits you.’ She sneered at him, irritation bubbling up from deep in her gut.

  ‘Yes. My apologies for the assumption. You are brilliant at your job, I should’ve realised you had a strong background on this topic.’ His open expression and thoughtful nod of agreement dragged her in, and she couldn’t help giving him the truth.

  ‘If you must know, I tried to be a scientist, but I couldn’t cope with the lab work. I needed to be outside, doing something practical. Farming gives me the space and fresh air that I need. Go on, take the produce and cook your stew.’

  He hesitated, then nodded. ‘Bring the borage flowers.’ He marched off and she tried her best not to collapse and sit on the edge of the raised garden bed. Not while the cameras were watching. No one needed to know how much effort it took her to interact with all these people, and combat Etienne’s little digs at her. Was it her, or maybe just the added pressure of being on the show? Etienne’s comments had an added weight to them, slightly more cutting than usual. The camera crew walked past, following Etienne into the kitchen. Anvita patted her on the shoulder.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s just that I’m an introvert, so this takes a lot of energy.’ It was weird admitting that to someone, as if she were admitting to a disease or something, not just needing alone time to recharge.

  ‘My sister is exactly the same. Take all the time to yourself that you need. We probably don’t need you for the rest of the filming,’ Anvita said.

  Bianca smiled, she hadn’t expected her to be so understanding. ‘Thank you. I’ll drop in with the flowers in a while.’

  ‘No rush. Go and pat those gorgeous pigs of yours.’ Anvita waved out at the orchard where seven yearling pigs were happily eating fallen longans off the ground. Beautiful, understanding, and liked pigs. Bianca knew in her gut that her snippets of lust for Anvita would never go anywhere—Anvita was engaged. Besides, she showed no reciproc
al interest in her, nothing beyond a fascination with the way Bianca teased Etienne. Damned Etienne for introducing her to a beautiful woman. Damn him for many things—not least of which the way he gave her space when she needed it. If he was truly a prize dickhead, he’d have taken advantage of her in the office, or out on the tractor when no one was around, but he didn’t. His tongue might be sharp but he wasn’t cruel. Just cocky as all hell. And she couldn’t hate him for that—confidence was her personal catnip, more attractive than anything else. Quiet descended over her garden as the camera crew disappeared back inside the house. Bianca imagined Etienne’s growl as they tramped dirt onto his clean floor and chuckled low under her breath.

  ***

  Bianca waited until the final camera crew vehicle had left the property with dust swirling in the air behind them. She leaned against the wall of the shed and let all the tense air out of her lungs. The little bit of shooting she’d been involved with this morning had been fun, and then one of the camera guys had followed her around as she had prepared beds for planting, digging over the dirt and adding chicken shit as natural fertiliser. At least she didn’t have to talk to him, although he occasionally talked to her about shifting so he could get different angles. In the end it hadn’t been as intrusive as she’d worried about. The physical process of turning dirt, smelling the rich earth blend with the acidic harsh notes of the chicken fertiliser, had left a good ache in her shoulders and lower back. A bath tonight would be fab.

  ‘Bianca.’ Etienne called out softly. ‘Want a beer?’

  ‘Sure. Any of that stew left over?’ Her tummy rumbled.

  ‘Oui. Come and eat with me.’ Etienne shifted his hand as if he almost reached out to hold hers, then tucked it away and walked off. She let out a soft giggle. Always with the commands. With easy strides, she walked across her garden as the first streaks of tonight’s sunset began in the sky until she found her special stash of chilli plants. Which variety would suit today’s stew? Hmmm. Red jalapenos had a sweet earthiness, while heavenly facing chilli might better suit the meaty beefsteak tomatoes. The Mexican poblano might be good if she burnt the outer skin to get rid of the bitterness and bring out the smoky flavour. She picked a nicely red heavenly facing chilli and tucked it into the breast pocket of her shirt.

  ‘That smells stunning.’ She washed her hands and wandered into the kitchen. Etienne stood over a pot, stirring with a long wooden spoon.

  ‘Almost.’

  She enjoyed the peace—no radio, no talking, just watching his shoulders shifting slightly, muscles rippling under his shirt as he stirred the stew. A few minutes later, he grabbed a ladle and dished up a red broth into two bowls. They had lovely handmade pottery bowls at Homage, created by a local artist, and the red broth was set off by the grey and blue pottery. Etienne carefully added different elements from his pot, layering them so they looked amazing.

  ‘You don’t have to plate it perfectly. It’s just for me.’

  ‘I do. You deserve beautiful food.’

  Her chest expanded, until he had to go and ruin it by adding, ‘Everybody does.’ Those last two words sucked all the joy out. She wasn’t special. He only cared about the food, and probably his reputation for superior presentation.

  ‘Sure.’ She grabbed a couple of spoons and sat down on a stool at the end of his testing bench. The kitchen wrapped around, away from her position, with the stoves in the middle and work benches on both sides. Etienne tended to use this one for his experiments, and now for the TV show cooking. There was a long table on the other side of his bench for staff to eat at. The service window was at the far end of the room. Etienne’s office was tucked behind a door next to the back entrance from the garden, very close to where she was sitting. A tingle on her shoulders reminded her of Etienne’s hands there the other day.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry if I was harsh earlier today. Anvita wanted me to push you so you’d react, and I’m afraid I was a little nervous and may have gone overboard.’

  She half-shrugged. ‘You. Nervous?’ Relief hit her like a tree branch falling. His harshness today wasn’t about her.

  ‘I know. It seems impossible to imagine.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘Now try some bouillabaisse.’

  She leaned forward and breathed in the soup—the rich tomato broth, hints of garlic, and of course, the fresh seafood topped with her borage flowers. Her mouth watered.

  ‘It smells…’

  ‘Yes?’ Was he nervous about what she thought? She ate his cooking all the time. It was one of the perks of working here, that she could eat the same lunches as the staff, and try the results of different testing recipes.

  ‘It only needs one little thing to improve it.’ She jumped up and grabbed a small parring knife from the magnetic knife holder. With a flourish, she pulled the fresh heavenly facing chilli from her pocket, biting back a grin as Etienne huffed out a loud breath of annoyance. She cut the end off the chilli and touched the exposed flesh of the piece she would throw in the compost to the tip of her tongue. Spicy heat drew moisture forward on her tongue and she bent her head to continue slicing up the chilli.

  ‘Why do you do that?’ Etienne’s voice sounded strangled. She laid down the knife and glanced over her shoulder at him. His cheeks were blotchy with a blush that made his brown eyes even darker than usual.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Touch it to your…’ His gaze focused on her mouth, sucking the oxygen out of the air with his intensity. She tried not to lick her lips as her mind went blank. Was this the chemistry between them that Anvita could see?

  ‘To check the heat level. Every individual chilli has different heat depending on a bunch of factors, like how much sun they get and whatever.’

  He frowned. ‘And if it’s too hot?’

  ‘Nothing is too hot for me.’ Except maybe the way his gaze smouldered on her skin. Her lips tingled and she knew it had nothing to do with licking the end of the chilli. They lingered for a long moment, his gaze pinning her to the spot, until she wrenched away. She slid the knife across the cutting board, balancing the five slices of chilli on the blade, then carefully carried them to her bowl of soup.

  ‘All of those?’

  ‘Yes. Is that a problem for you?’ She scattered them across the bowl of soup and placed the knife on the kitchen bench next to her bowl. A muscle at the edge of his mouth twitched.‘Just say whatever you are thinking,’ she said.

  ‘A lot of work went into ensuring the right balance of flavours for this meal, and you’ve ruined it with your addition.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Ruined. Hell, Etienne, do you have to be so melodramatic? All I’ve done is add more dimension to your beautiful creation. Chilli adds heat, and I picked the heavenly facing chilli purposely because it has lemony notes and only a moderate heat that will complement the meaty richness of the beefsteak tomatoes.’

  ‘Let me try.’ He leaned towards her bowl with his spoon outstretched. She gently pushed his spoon aside, used her own to scoop up a prawn, some of the broth, and a slice of chilli. It took concentration to make sure her hand didn’t tremble as she held the spoon out as an offering. He opened his mouth, and she slid the spoon onto his tongue. His lips closed around the spoon. Her knees weakened and she reached out to hold the kitchen bench with her other hand. He closed his eyes as he chewed the prawn. When he swallowed, her mouth dried and her pulse sped up uncontrollably fast.

  ‘That is excellent. I expected the heat to be a punch in the face, but it was expertly judged.’

  ‘Why thank you.’ She grinned and licked her bottom lip.

  He shook his head once. ‘Tell me this is a bad idea.’ He leaned in closely, so close she could smell the heavenly facing chilli on his breath.

  ‘It’s a fantastic idea. Kiss me, Etienne.’ She barely got his name out when he captured her lips with his. He stepped closer, and wrapped his arm around her waist, searing her whole body with his. Was it the chilli, or just him that created all this heat between them? Her mouth burned, her lungs g
rasping for air, but she needed more. She let the spoon go with a distant clatter on the floor and rose up on tiptoes to get closer to him. Her nipples dragged against his chest as she stretched upwards. He groaned into her mouth, and held her tighter, spreading his big hand over her back. The kiss was heady, heated by the soup, the chilli, each other. All the flavours mingled together in a spicy blend. His tongue stroked over hers and she was glad for his strong hold as her legs lost the ability to stay upright. Heat and passion galloped up and down her spine, matching her racing pulse, and she reached over his shoulders for his scalp.

  6

  Chapter 6

  Etienne had never tasted anything so incredible. For too long, he’d tormented himself, wondering how Bianca might taste, and now he knew. Ambrosia. Better than saffron or the creamy elegance of escargot and parsley. Better than his favourite meals because the chilli on his tongue added a burst of heat that deepened all the flavours. This was why she added them to her food—for this overwhelming overload of sensation. He wanted to bury himself in her until he couldn’t breathe from the pleasure of her. She nipped at the corner of his mouth, a sharp playful little tug on his bottom lip. His already hard cock twitched. It took an incredible effort but he tore himself away from the kiss.

  ‘We shouldn’t.’

  ‘Because?’ Her voice dropped several tones and rasped over his senses.

  He shook his head. ‘You know. I can’t think of any reason.’ The reasons were there, the same as they’d always been, but they felt distant, out of reach, as she pressed her body against his. An insistent chant filled his mind, pushing away all his old reasons for keeping his distance, reducing him to a state of need where he’d beg her to strip off her jeans so he could taste her. He wanted to suck on her clit and hear her cry out in that raspy lust-filled voice.