by Aria Cole
“You think you’d really be happy sitting behind a computer all day?” He stood to his full height, towering over me well over a foot.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Sure.”
A small huff escaped his lips before he shook his head. “Wanna bet?”
I frowned, not sure what exactly he meant, when he took me by the elbow and hauled me alongside him and back to the kitchen.
“I’ve got fifty more napkins to roll. I’m not sure what you’re trying to prove, but—”
“Shut up, Delaney.” His hands snaked around my torso, fingers weaving with mine before he spread our hands on the cool, stainless-steel counter in the kitchen. “You come alive in the kitchen.” Our fingertips trailed across the overhead warmer, where I’d stood, expediting the food my first night here. It’d been the most exhilarating thing I’d ever done. “I can see it in your eyes.” His lips were right there, humming just out of reach of my earlobe, though close enough to singe. “I feel it in the way you move.”
I sucked in frantic breaths of air. I shifted, feeling the press of his hard body against my back, from the tops of my thighs up past my shoulder.
“Someone like you needs fire.” He trailed a finger up my inner arm, raising goose bumps in his wake. “We’re the same, Delaney.”
I swallowed, for once in my life, completely at a loss for words.
It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last that Jean-Luc Martel left me speechless.
“I don’t think we’re the same.” Stubborn defiance spat from my lips. “I may be good in a kitchen, but that’s because I was raised in one, not because it’s my passion.”
One hand slid into my hair, causing my eyes to flutter closed before I could stop them. How did he have this power over me?
“You came alive in my kitchen,” he husked at my ear. “It’s all over your face.”
My heart hammered furiously, my palms tingling with arousal as the crotch of my panties flooded with desire. But I still couldn’t shake the moody way he growled and spat orders at everyone he met. Myself included. This guy didn’t have a polite bone in his body, and something about that rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t believe he was malicious, just…too busy to be bothered with things like manners. Or friendly conversation. “You’re seeing things, Chef.”
I heard the curve of his smile in his chuckle, felt the breath that washed across my neck with his words. “My vision has never been clearer, Delaney. I think it’s yours that needs checkin’.”
FOUR
Jean-Luc
Pain throbbed through my groin as I pressed myself against Delaney, the inviting curve of her ass resting right against the spot so desperate for relief. My fingers ached as they flexed between hers, my threads of control slowly slipping as she arched, her ass brushing against my dick and sending me in-fucking-sane with need for her. “I don’t know what the fuck your uncle was thinking bringing you here.”
“He said I could help.” Her beautiful round eyes peered up at me, alarmed.
I couldn't help the smile that turned my lips. A real fucking genuine one. Delaney was intoxicating. “You are a help.” I ran one tattooed finger down the creamy, unmarred line of her neck. “But you’re also one helluva distraction, Ms. Thomas.”
My words must have had the desired effect, and her breathing grew more rapid. The little hairs at the back of her neck rose once I slipped one finger under the hemline of her shirt.
“I don’t know if I should thank you or punish you.”
Her throat flexed with her swallow, my cock twitching in a painful wave between her ass cheeks. Fuck, I wanted to feel her. Drop down to my knees and sink my tongue into her. I wasn’t above begging this woman for a taste.
“Punish?”
The throaty way she said that one damn word nearly had me coming in my chef pants right there. And I didn’t wear boxers, so that mess would be all over the front of my pants and the back of her ass.
And then I thought of what that might look like, and a slow throb settled deep in my balls.
Delaney. Claimed. By. Me.
“I want to fuck my name right off your lips.”
She swallowed, eyes shuttering closed on a sexy sigh. Just as I was about to throw her over my shoulder and haul her off to my rooftop apartment and sink myself balls deep, the kitchen door slammed open and in walked four-foot-eleven and hell-bent-on-trouble Nero.
Delaney’s uncle.
Fuck.
“I think that vent screw is all tightened up now,” Delaney purred innocently, slipping out from under my arm and sidling up to her uncle. “How’s it going, Zio Nero?”
She spoke to him in Italian. As if she couldn’t get any damn sexier.
Nero cocked one eyebrow at me, holding my gaze long and hard before Delaney pulled her uncle’s attention away from me and to tonight’s menu. “Can you explain the watercress salad you’re doing tonight? Was it cranberries or almonds?”
She was working him like a pro. She’d clearly been doing this for a while, and I was damn glad for it. Because when Nero went on a bender and his temper flared, watch the fuck out. Not even I could calm him down, and I was pretty good at keeping him calm.
“Cranberries and watercress, almonds too.” Nero hooked his arm in hers and guided her to his station. He pulled out a pile of leafy greens from the fridge, then began opening and tasting bottles of flavored vinegar.
I caught Delaney’s glance as I was backing out of the kitchen, pursing my lips only a little before giving her a small salute. A grin that about stole my heart turned her cheeks before Nero caught her attention and she went back to listening to him intently.
All a ruse. She knew damn well what was in that salad, we’d gone over the menu already when she’d come in earlier, and she was a quick study. She knew food and knew it well, so she was humoring her uncle while he rambled on about mixing flavors and ratios of sugar to fat. She smiled indulgently, acting like it was all brand-new information.
Delaney may very well have had the kindest soul of anyone I’d ever met.
And honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised me. Nero had saved me from more than a few scrapes in my life, his heart as big, even if his temper matched it.
I ducked out the back door, striking a match against the brick and lighting my first cigarette of the evening.
I knew I should quit these damn things, but carrying the weight of a Michelin starred restaurant was stressful, and by the time I shut my eyes at night, I was often already meal-planning for the next night.
Cooking was my passion; it was also my biggest anxiety.
I was a perfectionist, and if it wasn’t right, it wasn’t allowed out of my kitchen.
The high standards I had for myself had gotten éloïse this far. I wasn’t about to fuck it up now.
If it took my slipping out the door for a few cigarettes throughout the night before I lost my cool on the entire kitchen staff, so be it.
A man needed a vice or two to get him through life.
I pushed my foot flat against the wall, relaxing into the curls of smoke that wrapped around me, when the heavy back door creaked open, and a pair of sexy, blue eyes peered out.
“You okay?” Delaney’s soft voice called to me.
“Great,” I huffed, feeling that familiar pounding low in my balls.
Cooking may have been my passion, but why the hell was Delaney Fucking Thomas occupying all of my thoughts?
“Can I bum one of those?” She rested against the brick wall next to me.
“Hell no. These things will kill you.” I took another quick puff then tossed it in the tray.
“Worried about my health over your own?”
I shrugged, hovering just at her side, wondering what she’d do if I licked the little tiny vein that traveled up the length of her slender neck. “I’ve built up a tolerance. Nicotine is about the tamest thing I’ve put in my lungs.”
Her eyebrows lifted before she shifted her gaze away.
&nb
sp; I refused to lie about my past. I stood there, the man I was today, because of the struggles I’d endured then. No one would make me apologize for the decisions I’d made, and I refused to be defined by them. My history was written in the ink across my arms; hiding it was impossible even if I wanted to.
My eyes crawled up her creamy copper skin, the dark hair tied back in a low ponytail cascading down her back. My fingers itched to brush against her jaw, trace the sleek pink bow of her lips with my tongue…
And then I remembered her uncle’s glare eyeing me up and down earlier for being way too close to his niece. Indecently close.
I huffed again, shoving a hand through my hair before pushing off the wall. “Ready to rock tonight?”
I turned when she didn’t follow, hand on the handle of the door, before pausing and arching an eyebrow.
A grin finally broke across her face before she pushed off the wall. “Born ready, Chef.”
FIVE
Delaney
“Delaney! Come next door with us, get a few drinks and unwind,” Rosario sang in his richly inflected voice later that night, long after the last guests had left.
“No, I’ve got some stuff to do at home. Maybe next time, though.” I waved him off.
“Come on. Bond with us, girlfriend! Best tequila in Brooklyn, right next door.”
“Have fun.” I laughed when he shot me a wink before shoving through the door, following the rest of the kitchen crew out.
“Girlfriend?” Jean-Luc’s gravelly voice was at my shoulder as soon as the door thudded closed. “You knew him before you worked here?”
“No.” I turned back to the small drawer I kept my purse in.
“Then why’s he callin’ you his girlfriend?”
“He didn’t call me his girlfriend. He called me girl-friend, as in, a girl who’s a friend.”
“You made friends with him that fast?” He stepped closer.
I shrugged, pulling on my coat. “I make friends easily. I think it’s the warm personality. You should try it sometime.”
“Warm?” he repeated, as if he’d misheard. As if he wasn’t the biggest asshole chef in all of Brooklyn.
“Yeah, like friendly. Engaging. Caring. You might have a few more friends,” I finished with a gentle smile.
“I don’t need any more friends.” He stepped out the door, propping it open with his foot before lighting a cigarette and taking a smooth puff.
“Everyone could use more friends. People are good. Invite the right ones into your life, and the goodness rubs off on you.” I bumped into his shoulder playfully.
His gaze ran up my body slowly, making every single cell catch fire with his attention. “I’ve got a couple close people.”
“Name one.”
“What?” He frowned, surprised by my direct question.
“Name one friend who knows all of your deep, dark secrets.”
He took his time with the next puff, considering my question. “Nero knows more about me than anyone.”
“Zio Nero doesn’t count.”
“Why the hell not?” He squinted at me, the silly look on his face alone almost making me burst out into a giggle.
“He works for you. People you pay or give orders to aren’t your friends.”
“I don’t give him ord—”
“You don’t?” I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorjamb with a smirk.
“Often. I was going to say I don’t give him orders often.” A cocky grin lifted his lips, causing one little dimple to peek out. That fucking dimple nearly did me in.
“Only every other table order,” I finally laughed.
Jean-Luc shrugged, turning his attention back to his cigarette.
Now seemed like a good time to exit.
“See ya tomorrow, Chef.” I tucked my bag under my arm and set off down the alleyway, aiming my way the few blocks to my apartment.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jean-Luc caught up to me, tossing his cigarette into a storm drain as we walked past. “You’re walking home?”
“I always do.” I didn’t slow my speed.
“Shit.” He shoved a hand through his hair, keeping pace with me as we broke out into the dingy city night. Brownstones climbing with ivy surrounded us, all-night diners and shuttered bodegas positioned on nearly every street corner. “I should have paid attention last night.”
“Paid attention to what? Me?”
“Why the fuck is Nero letting you walk home alone?” Jean-Luc asked.
“He doesn't know. I told him Gia picks me up, but she’s been working nights. I know if I told him, he’d offer to take me home, which is in the complete opposite direction of his house. So, I can walk. I grew up walking these streets anyway.”
“Me too, but it’s changed a fuck of a lot since then.” Jean-Luc caught my arm, stopping us under the towering elms of East River Park. One of my favorites in the city, probably because I’d grown up swinging on the double swings and twirling on the merry-go-round here.
“I’m only a few more blocks away. It’s literally ten minutes. Eight, maybe.”
“I don’t care. From now on, I bring you home. Don’t leave without me, got it?”
I arched an eyebrow. “And I should listen to you, why?”
“Because I give a fuck about you.”
Words weighted with cement blocks.
“You give a fuck about me?” I stopped, forcing his gaze to land on mine. “Don’t say something like that and expect not to have to explain it.”
His cocky grin deepened, that dimple burning a tattoo straight onto my heart.
Fuck me, that dimple.
“Look, I can’t explain it, Delaney. Words aren't something I do well, but I feel it.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip, heart battering my rib cage until it felt like bruises might form. “This is my place.”
I looked up at the red brick building, a small navy blue door leading up to my third-floor walk-up.
“Great neighborhood,” he commented, and the pregnant air between us slipped away.
I breathed a sigh of relief, turning to punch my code into the box. “Thanks for walking me home, Chef. It’s nice of you.”
“It’s not nice of me.” I turned, and he was suddenly there, chest pressed to my back, pulling the door open with his thick, tautly muscled arm stretching above me.
Oh my God, I thought I might faint.
And what was that scent?
A combination of some intoxicating aroma that was uniquely him. Like rosemary and leather and a dash of something that heated my belly way down deep.
God, I think I could just stop to stare at Jean-Luc all day, he was that gorgeous.
“I'm taking care of you, Delaney. You don’t need to be walking home alone.” His nose ghosted up the back of my neck, and shivers raced through my skin at his touch.
“I'm fine.” I nearly choked on the words, heart fluttering at the back of my throat. I pushed through my door then, my only thought that I needed to separate myself from the hot boss at my back or I might pass out at his feet.
I heard his footsteps behind me and paid him no attention as I pushed through the second set of doors and ascended the narrow stairwell to my apartment.
Insecurity flared instantly as I looked at the grungy, rarely cleaned stairs and the fading wallpaper. I was lucky to be in this neighborhood at all, one of the streets that was slowly being updated, more hipsters moving in, crime on the downslide. I’d picked this neighborhood for a reason—I was a smart girl, but I still couldn't hide the fact that the apartment in my budget in this neighborhood left a whole lot to be desired. These prewar buildings were beautiful, but they came with a lot of upkeep that a lot of landlords just couldn’t be bothered to do.
I paused as I reached the landing of the third floor, fishing out my keys and casting a little smile at Jean-Luc. He reached the top step behind me, a small grin flirting across his face as his eyes climbed up the curves of my body.
“Helluva view from the stair
s.”
My cheeks flamed as I realized he was talking about me, my ass. “You’re a pig.”
I opened the door of my apartment, no longer feeling bad that it was sparsely furnished, the rugs a little worn, the kitchen table from a secondhand shop in Chinatown.
“I’m honest.” Jean-Luc’s arm wrapped around me when he entered my apartment, curling around my neck and pulling me back to his chest. His nose drifted up my neck, other hand trailing down the front of my body and lingering just under the waistband of my pants.
My knees turned to gelatin as the pads of his rough fingers brushed the hypersensitive skin across my pelvis. Just one touch from him was frying my brain; what would happen if he was buried deep inside me, thick and full, and…
“I like your place,” he murmured, running one fingertip down the curved slope of my neck. “Give me a tour?”
I swallowed, wanting only to spin in his arms and press my lips to his. I wanted to feel him. Earlier had just been an appetizer. Tonight, right now, was the entree.
He bent then, spinning me around so his head faced my body, his nose dusting right at the juncture of my thighs. Just the thin fabric of my leggings separating him from my aching pussy. His heavy palms slid down my calves and gently lifted each foot in his hand, slipping off my shoes, before placing my bare feet on the cool wooden floors.
I nearly sighed as desire uncoiled deep in my stomach, his hands on my skin so heady I thought I was drunk on him.
“You smell like heaven.” The words husked past his sculpted lips before he pressed them to the fabric right over my pussy.
My flaming, throbbing, achingly desperate for him body nearly melted into a puddle of need at his knees.
I didn’t think I could stand anymore, and he must have sensed it because his hands cupped at my ass cheeks, pulling me a little closer to him, his mouth inching ever so much nearer. His hot breath spread across my heated skin, flaming out in waves of pleasure as my muscles seemed to mold to him.
“I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.” He uttered the words so quietly it was almost as if he resented saying them. Resented having the feelings at all. Being consumed with someone. Well, good. I’d been pretty damn preoccupied too.
