by Caro LaFever
“Were you going to use butter or oil with those, Chef?” Lali’s wry question cut through the usual chaos of the second seating. “Or is this a new way to cook fish?”
“Dammit.” With a jerk, he pulled the pan off the heat and reached for the butter.
“You know,” his sous-chef continued. “It might be best—”
“Leave it.” Focusing on the food, he managed to grill the tilapia to perfection. Then, the veal chops with Creole sauce. Then, Shrimp Clemenceau. Then, Filet Mignon with a Marchand de Vin dressing. He kept his head down, his gaze on the food. Shutting his brain off when he cooked was something he’d become very good at during the last few years. Sometimes, he thought his cooking was the reason he still walked the earth. Now, with that woman floating around in his head, he was sure of it.
The second seating slid into the slow linger of the third, and Luc finally raised his head to take a look at his staff.
They all stared back at him.
“What?” he barked. “Is there an issue?”
“Several.” Carmelita simpered from behind her cold station, her black eyes sparkling. “Not even my nerdy son has such a hard time.”
His pastry chef, Vinny, chuckled. “He doesn’t have a clue. But, of course, it’s been a few years.”
Juan poked his bald head out from around the bend leading to the prep room with a toothy grin on his face. “Amigo, do you need my help? I have a reputation for a reason.”
Usually, his staff respected him. Usually, they listened to what he told them to do because they knew he knew what he was doing.
In the kitchen.
A tremor of enlightenment rumbled through him. Carmelita despaired about her son, Carlos, ever getting a date. Vinny’s comment about years was a clue as well. And lastly, the only reputation Juan crowed about was the one he had with the ladies.
He scowled at them before turning to growl at Lali. “I’m fine.”
“Tonight’s cooking…” she gestured toward the grill,“…was not—”
“Was also fine.” He slid the pans off the heat, since there were no new orders. “There were no issues.”
“At first, mon lami, there were.”
“I just had to get in my rhythm.” He kept his gaze zeroed in on the trails of smoke coming off one skillet. “And I did.”
They left him alone after that. Gracias a Dios. Because he really had nothing to say. Other than the one thing running through his head over and over again. And he wasn’t about to admit this to his staff.
He’d fucked up.
Not in a good way either. Yeah, he’d had sex. Yeah, it had been mind-blowing. But once he’d had an orgasm and given her one as well, everything else he’d done after that was a complete and utter fuck-up.
“Do you want to go with us to Pepe’s?” Juan grinned at him from the delivery door. “Maybe you can find another woman to practice with.”
“Get out of here,” Luc grumbled.
“See you tomorrow, Boss.” Ines waved as she walked out the door with the rest of the staff.
Wrenching his sweaty chef’s jacket off, he threw it into the bin and stalked toward his office. The dim light bulb swung gently in the breeze coming from the small fan he’d propped up in a corner. He sat in his old plastic chair and stared at the black screen of the computer.
You do have a way of killing things, don’t you?
Her words swirled around him. An accusation. A condemnation. A painful reminder of his inadequacies.
The crack of his fist on the wood of the desk echoed in the room.
She’d been hurt.
Hurt by his stupid, jerky comment. It was true she’d jumped from another bed to his, but what the hell had he expected? She was a baby. A flighty, flirty girl who was filled with a joie de vivre. An exuberant love of life he’d lost long ago. He’d known who and what she was from the moment he’d taken her home. He’d known the danger. He should have been the adult in the situation and acted, before things like his lust went out of control.
At the bottom of it, he was at fault.
He jerked up from the chair and paced into the kitchen again. Snapping on the overhead lights, he went through his nightly routine of checking the equipment, examining his staff’s prep for tomorrow, looking over the front of the restaurant to make sure everything was put to rights.
The streetlights cast a golden glow across the window facing Del Bosque Street, drawing him toward the inevitable. He gazed across the cobblestone road at her shop. The dark windows of Trois Sœurs stared back at him, a reminder of her and her crappy gifts.
Her funny gifts.
Her joyful gifts.
Her.
His hand slapped the window frame with a snap.
Mierda.
There was no way around it. He owed her an apology. The impulse to hide from her was strong, he’d become adept at hiding. Yet, that last look on her face before she turned and walked away from him…he couldn’t bear the thought of that look continuing.
Nina Blanchard might be a burr in his side and she might be a flighty, fussy woman. But she was meant to be filled with joy and laughter. He’d stolen it away from her because he’d been confused. Bewildered with lust. Uncomfortable with what he’d taken so heartily. Addled by the best sex he’d had in his life.
Luc stilled, his body going taut.
Sex with his wife had been satisfying. At least, for him. For ten years, he’d eagerly come to Genia’s bed, thinking what they did was the best there could be. Clearly, she hadn’t agreed and maybe she’d been right. Because comparing what he’d done with his wife to what he’d experienced last night was the difference between eating at a roadside diner instead of his restaurant.
No comparison.
The realization seeped into him like a dark, bubbling brew. It took his lungs and squeezed, wrapped around his cock with fervent memories.
“No.” He cursed at her shop and at the memory of her. “Not again. Never again.”
He’d apologize. He’d figure out a way to make her smile. He’d give her something. Though there was no way in hell he’d climb into bed with her for another try. She was a baby. What they’d done in bed together was a little jaunt into fun and games for her.
But for him, he knew, it could become more. Easily more.
And Luc had no interest in flaying his heart ever again.
Nina forced herself to open the cast iron gate leading into the saleau’s courtyard. She’d taken off early this morning after spending a sleepless night staring at his black ceiling in her borrowed bedroom. There was not a spot of interest in her for running into the grumpy, grouchy offensive male who’d given her the best orgasm ever, and then, promptly ruined it with his attitude.
Throughout the day, she’d stewed. Since her personality was almost always one of happiness and optimism, of course, her sisters noticed.
“Boo!” Jeanie had exclaimed. “Why are you slapping our products around?”
“Someone’s got a bee in her bonnet about something.” Heni smirked, her brown eyes keen. “Perhaps it’s her hunky roommate disturbing her peace?”
In any other circumstance, she would have cheerfully confided in her sexual pleasure from the night before. Her sisters had been her confidants for her entire life. Since they were all within three years of each other, they’d experienced the same life transitions at about the same time—first bra, first kiss, first loves. No secrets between sisters was the motto they’d pledged to when Nina had been ten, Heni eleven, and Jeanie twelve.
But this time, the words stuck in her throat like a crow’s claw.
Because every other time, she’d confided something fun. Something happy. Something amusing. Nothing about Luc Miró was fun or happy or amusing, however. All the man trailed behind him was doom and gloom and condemnation.
The stupid saleau.
“Did you give him your gift?” Lilith’s question rang with authority and expectation.
She had. She’d not only given him the gif
t they’d all chosen, she’d given her body and her heart as well. And the stupid man had laughed at the first and dismissed the second with his insult.
An insult that still burned in her soul.
“You did and it didn’t go well.” The older woman waved a hand in her own dismissal. “But it often doesn’t. Not at first.”
“He laughed at the gift.” She glared at the instigator of her helpless hope for a future with her Fated man. “He laughed at me.”
“As I told you,” Lilith said. “He’ll laugh you in.”
“That doesn’t make a spot of sense,” she huffed. “He was offensive and mean.”
She knew she sounded like a small child, except she couldn’t keep the seething hurt inside.
Jeanie’s blonde brows furrowed in immediate concern. “If that man is being mean and bothering you, then you can come live with us like we talked about before.”
The man was bothering her. They’d had a heavenly time in bed together. She’d given him pleasure and he’d given her the same. Such an intense pleasure the remnant still reverberated through her body, even now.
But he’d rejected it.
Rejected her.
The memory ground into her like a fine layer of glass, rubbing her raw.
“You can, you know.” Her oldest sister grabbed her tight fist and squeezed. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”
For a moment, she hesitated. She didn’t like to give up on anything, especially such a delicious male. The memories swarmed back, making her breath quicken. The breadth of his chest with its light sprinkle of dark curls. The strength of his grip, communicating how much he wanted her. The look in his eyes as she stared down at him, a glazed look of release.
Why had he been so stupid after?
Why had he run out of the bedroom to hide in his bathroom?
And why, oh why, had he accused her of being flighty when she’d made the huge step of emotionally committing to him? Even a man should have been able to see what was in her eyes and feel what was in her heart as they made love.
Stupid saleau.
Or perhaps…perhaps…
Fate screwed up. The thought hit her like a hammer, driving her deeper into depression, an emotion she rarely tangled with, and hated with a passion.
“Do not worry.” Lilith’s keen gaze hadn’t wavered from Nina and it didn’t waver now. “All will be well, mon bébé.”
“I am not a baby.” Her sharp words fell into the room like a jangle of charms falling off a shelf.
Both her sisters straightened, their eyes widening. Because she didn’t generally make a big deal about being the baby of the household. She preferred to ignore any slights, and focus on the positive aspects of her family. The way Jeanie adored her. The way Heni teased her. Her parents were handled with a minimum of fuss, since she didn’t see them more than necessary, and used her sisters as a buffer. Paw-Paw had never treated her with anything but complete confidence in her capability. Also, she’d gained quite a following during the last few months along this street. No one treated her like a baby.
Other than Chef Luc Miró.
The thought of him banged into her again, making her frown. “I’m going to find an apartment.”
“You’ve said that before,” Heni pointed out. “I thought we’d agreed you’d stay until you got his agreement about the festival.”
“No, I agreed to give him the charm and see if it made a difference in his attitude.” She folded her arms in front of her in a tight grip. “And it didn’t. It did the exact opposite. The gift made him worse.”
“These things take time.” The seer on her perch of a chair waved once more, and the scent of incense and myrrh wafted in the air. “You must go back to him tonight.”
That was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn’t want to confront his sneering face and his jeering words. It would be wonderful to go to him and find a man who wanted to embrace her and kiss her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that would happen. The saleau was too doggedly determined to hold onto his pain.
“You made him laugh, Nina.” Lilith’s voice turned into a gentle stroke of affection. “That is an excellent first step.”
“Even when he was laughing at me?”
“Was he only laughing at you?”
The memory of him filtered into her conscience. The joy on his face and the relaxation in his limbs. The way he’d thrown his head back, the way his mouth had opened, the sound of his happiness surrounding her.
“No, he wasn’t.” The older woman nodded, her lips firming. “He is laughing you in. You must continue the journey.”
After fussing and fighting with Lilith and Fate for the rest of the day, Nina had decided she’d sleep on it for tonight. By tomorrow morning, she’d know. Know the direction she should go.
The courtyard simmered in the early-evening light, the humid, late-summer air wrapping around her like a damp blanket. The rejected glass tree twinkled in the sun, the gnome glowered from his corner, the oak table lay empty.
She wasn’t going to give him anything more.
No more gifts like cooking or charms. She certainly wasn’t going to give him herself again. If a man didn’t understand the emotion shining from a woman’s eyes when she took him into her body, then he didn’t deserve the gift.
Ignoring the empty table, the rejected gift, the neglected gnome, she paced to the kitchen door and let herself in. She’d fix something to eat, take a long shower, and be in bed far before he got home.
She needed tonight. Alone.
Then, she’d know.
Following her plan, she was in bed before ten. But instead of falling right asleep as she usually did, she found herself, again, staring at his black ceiling. Fate, dammit, whispered nothing in her ear or her heart. Not one blessed hint. Perhaps she needed to go and visit Paw-Paw on the bayou. He always centered her, and he knew more about Fate and its whisperings than anyone else she knew on earth.
A hard tap, tap, tap came from her bedroom door.
Rearing up, she stared at the door instead of the ceiling.
The saleau.
After how they’d parted last night, she was shocked. Shocked that he was the one to make the first move.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Nina,” his growl slid under the door. “We need to talk.”
In her experience with boyfriends, they were never the ones to want to talk. Not that this bothered her. She didn’t waste her time wishing for things that weren’t possible. The only man she knew who liked to talk about deep things was her grandfather. And he was rarer than the finest gem.
“Nina?” The male behind the bedroom door grumbled under his breath. “I know it’s late, but we need to settle this now.”
Settle what?
Her shoulders drooped. Settle where she was going to live, in all likelihood. Why the thought depressed her, she couldn’t understand. Not twelve hours ago, she’d been determined to leave his house herself.
The doorknob jiggled. “Come on, open up.”
He wasn’t going to go away, and her inevitable curiosity popped into her brain. Sweeping the sheet off of her, she stood. Probably not a good idea to meet him naked, although the thought of his reaction amused her.
T-shirt on, Nina unlocked the door.
He scowled at her.
Typical.
“Happy as usual, saleau.” Leaning on the doorframe, she forced herself to pout, as if she were only mildly disappointed in him. “Why am I not surprised?”
His mouth twisted, and his hickory eyes turned black in the dim light coming from the kitchen below. “I have something to say.”
“But will I want to hear it?” She gave him a shrug. “I think not.”
“You’ll want to hear it,” he snapped. His hands fisted at his side and he drew in a long breath, emphasizing the breadth of his chest. “Every woman wants to hear a man apologize.”
Another shock ricocheted inside. This man wasn’t the type to say he was sorry.
She knew that like she knew the lay of the land behind her Paw-Paw’s cottage. And what was he going to apologize for? Having sex with her? Running away? Dismissing her?
“I’m sorry,” he ground out. “For hurting your feelings.”
Chapter 19
Her expression turned from frosty curiosity to tearful joy.
Mierda. Would this woman ever do what he expected? What Luc had expected was a tease or a taunt. Some kind of female trick that would make him feel like a worm.
Instead, she gave him this look.
This look he didn’t know how to respond to.
“Say something,” he growled.
“Thank you.” Straightening from her languid slouch on the doorway, she swished right into his personal space and put a hand on him, right in the center of his sweating chest. “I appreciate it.”
What was a man supposed to say? What was he to say to the sincerity in her words and the candor in her eyes?
He grunted.
Amusement filled her face. “You are such a man.”
Yeah, he was. What was he supposed to say to that?
“I’ve said what I had to say.” Stepping back from the whiff of her, the signature plummy scent of sweet and tart, he scowled again. “You can go back to bed.”
Her amusement turned into a chuckle, the low, strumming sound he’d become so familiar with. “I thought you said we needed to talk.”
“We talked.” He turned and headed for his own bedroom.
“Perhaps, cher, we can talk more in bed.”
The open invitation surprised him, especially after what he’d accused her of last night. His attack had been cruel, and even an apology shouldn’t have wiped out the hurt he’d caused. He stumbled to a stop and tried to think what he should say next.
Confusion swallowed any words. His cock wasn’t confused, however.
Say yes, it blared from between his legs. Don’t be an idiot.
Idiot.
Like her last boyfriend. The one who’d only exited her life a few days ago. The realization clanged inside his brain once more. She was too young and too impulsive. He could take her up on her offer, but ultimately, they’d both be hurt. She’d flutter off at some point, leaving him behind. Or he’d disappoint her and suffer the consequences.
