Just a Taste

by Deirdre Martin

  Vivi looked stunned, her expression ecstatic as Anthony began streaking a chocolate trail down her body, the flicks of his tongue long, delicious, and slow.

  “Oh, God…” Vivi moaned.

  Her naked desire had Anthony’s heart thundering, his pulse pounding out one word over and over again: Now. Now. Now.

  And yet.

  Her moaning turned to gasping as he lapped at the warmed chocolate trickling between her legs. She began rocking her hips, panting, opening herself wider and wider to him, begging, whimpering. Anthony couldn’t refuse her any longer.

  There was a shared madness between them, tangible and real. Vivi saw it in his eyes as he pulled her up from her prone position, slid her feet back down to the floor, and drove himself into her right there against the table. The rough pleasure of it was more arousing than she could ever hope to give voice to. Anthony’s hands, the strong, scarred hands she loved, were anchoring her firmly to him from behind, while his mouth continued to play across the curves and plains of her body, one minute caressing, the next demanding and ravenous as a beast. Dazed, Vivi closed her eyes and gave herself over to each dazzling ray of joy streaking through her body, each more intense than the next. When the final burst of sun came, she gave a laughing gasp, feeling as free and uninhibited as a child discovering the world for the first time.

  Anthony covered her face in kisses, delighted to have been the architect of her pleasure. All his senses were firing at once as he moved in and out of her, the building rhythm like the pounding of drums, heralding triumph. To feel this alive again, to know again the heady pleasure of a woman’s soft, silky body moving beneath his, was overwhelming. It was as if he’d finally come in from the cold after a long banishment in the wilderness. Drawn to Vivi’s life-giving flame, he had no choice but to plunge directly into the fire, and let it incinerate him.

  “Well,” Vivi said breathlessly.

  She and Anthony were resting, sated and half naked, against the long steel table that had just served them well, the kitchen silent except for their hard breathing.

  Anthony looked dazed. “That was…”

  “Delicious?”

  “In more ways than one.”

  “It certainly was, chere.” Vivi looked up at him in surprise. “You’ve really never had sex in here before?”

  “Nope. First time.” He drew her in close. “But it won’t be the last.”

  Vivi smiled contentedly, resting her cheek against his chest. “I’m so happy,” she admitted. “I was so afraid I would come back to America and you would tell me you just wanted to be friends.”

  “We are friends. And now we’re lovers. It’s good to be both, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” It was what she needed to hear, that their bond was emotional as well as physical.

  She lifted her head, looking around the pristine industrial kitchen. There was no place for them to lie in one another’s arms unless they hopped back up on the table or sank down on the floor. Given the hardness of both surfaces, neither was an appealing option.

  “I guess we should go,” she said, not really wanting to.

  Anthony planted a long, lingering kiss on her forehead and slowly began gathering up his clothes. Vivi did the same, frowning a little when she put on her blouse, which he’d divested of half its buttons when he tore it off her. “I liked this blouse,” she pouted.

  Anthony stooped to pick up the buttons lying on the floor. “Can’t you sew them back on?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I can buy you a new one,” he offered, stepping into his jeans.

  Vivi smiled. “I might let you.” She decided she’d show off her newfound idiom skills, in the hopes of impressing him. “Shall we go back to my place and hit the sack?”

  Anthony sighed, wrapping his arms around her. “I would love to, but as you know, I have to get up really, really early in the morning.”

  “So?” She nuzzled his neck. “I can get up with you. It will be good practice for when Vivi’s opens.”

  Anthony pulled back slightly so he could look down into her face. “Let’s sleep solo, just for tonight.” He kissed her softly. “I can feel you fretting. Don’t. I’m just exhausted, Vivi. If I have you next to me tonight, I know I won’t get any sleep, if you catch my drift.”

  Vivi’s tilted her head, puzzled. “That one wasn’t in the book.”

  “It’s a way of saying if you spend the night, we’ll spend the whole night having sex and not sleeping.”

  “How about this,” said Vivi. “Why don’t we make a date for next Monday night, when you’re off. You can come over to my place. I’ll fix you dinner, and then for dessert…” She nibbled his ear.

  “I’d be a fool to pass up an offer that good. You’ve got to let me make something, though. Dessert, maybe.”

  To her surprise, Vivi found herself bristling a bit. “I’ll make it all. Besides, I’m better at desserts than you, remember?”

  “It was one vote, and it was cast by my traitorous brother. I wouldn’t take it too seriously if I were you.”

  “You just can’t admit it, can you? That I’m better.”

  “I’ll admit you make better pineapple flan. But on everything else, I’d say it’s a draw.”

  Vivi rubbed her nose against his affectionately. “Stubborn man.” She was pleased when he took her hand as they began walking toward the kitchen door. “So, we’re on the same page, then, about Monday night?” She smiled proudly at another successful use of an English idiom.

  “It’s a date, babe,” Anthony assured her, holding open the door for her. Hand in hand, they left Dante’s and went out into the perfect night.

  Chapter 19

  Anthony poured himself a glass of wine and sat down in front of the TV, just as he did every night on returning home from the restaurant. When he found himself drifting off he’d go to bed, where he slept so soundly a bulldozer wreaking havoc in the next room couldn’t have awakened him. Tonight he’d hit the pillow with an added sense of contentment; Vivi was his. He had returned to the land of the living.

  He kept the lights in the living room off, the flickering light from the TV bathing the room in a faint, eerie glow. For a second, he heard Angie’s voice in his head—“You’re going to ruin your eyes doing that”—and smiled. It was the same thing his mother had said to him and Michael when they were kids. It hadn’t affected their eyesight one bit.

  He surfed, more restless than he thought. Perhaps he should have gone back with Vivi to her place. They could have just cuddled, not done anything else too, er, taxing. Yeah, right. Anthony laughed out loud.

  He settled on the local news. The reporters, a graying man with a flushed face flanked by a grim looking Hispanic woman, stood by a fire truck. Beneath them were the words, “Live from Brooklyn.” Anthony turned up the volume, worried.

  “Good evening. We’re reporting to you tonight from Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, where a small plane has crashed into a five-story apartment building near Scarangella Park…”

  Anthony leaned forward. Scarangella Park. Vivi. Hypnotized, he stared at the TV. Behind the newscasters, a fire was roaring out of control. As if he were at the scene himself, he craned his neck, trying to see past them, while deep in his guts, the contentment he’d felt just moments before was quickly curdling into something different.

  “Get the hell out of the way!” Anthony roared at the talking heads on TV, who were spewing out endless streams of words: “Accident…terrorism…number of dead unconfirmed…”

  As if they heard him, the camera zoomed in for a closeup of the building. Anthony recognized it immediately. It was Vivi’s. He fell to his knees slowly, the wineglass in his hand falling and shattering into a million little pieces. Not happening. No. Impossible. He crawled toward the TV. No. NO.

  The man and woman kept talking. Behind them, the sound of sirens, firefighters talking on walkie-talkies. He heard the word “tragedy.” Saw flames. Smoke. Vivi was dead. Like Angie. Dead.

  He
covered his face with his hands and let out an ungodly howl.

  “Jesus.”

  Anthony jerked awake and looked around wildly, his body coated in sweat. He was still sitting on the couch. On the TV screen was an old sitcom from the seventies. His wineglass sat atop the nearest end table, empty. He was still dressed. Breathing hard, he told himself to calm down, to think straight. It was some minutes before the feelings of dread and panic left him, before he was able to put two fingers to the artery in his neck and feel that his pulse had returned to normal.

  He dialed Vivi’s number, not caring that it was two a.m.

  “Hello?” Her voice was groggy.

  Anthony held back from shouting with joy. “Vivi? It’s Anthony.”

  “Anthony?” She sounded alarmed. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, relief washing over him. “I just wanted to hear your voice before I went to sleep.”

  She laughed. “So you’re still awake! Maybe you should have come home with me.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Are you sure everything is all right?” she asked with a little yawn.

  “It’s fine. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

  “You can wake me anytime,” Vivi assured him in a sexy voice.

  “Talk to you tomorrow, honey.”

  “Yes, aime. Sleep well.”

  Anthony hung up the phone, fighting the urge to weep tears of gratitude. She was alive. She was okay.

  But he wasn’t. The next night, he had the dream again.

  “Mon dieu, are you trying to squeeze the life out of me?”

  Vivi’s laugh was affectionate as she wiggled her way out of Anthony’s bone-crushing embrace. They’d just finished making love, and were now wrapped around each other amidst the tousled sheets. Such a night! Champagne and dark bitter chocolate…feeding him Brie and strawberries while she sat on his lap…the sweet tang of their kisses after she put some orange blossom honey to both their lips. So heavenly, so delicious.

  Anthony looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. I just love holding you, is all.”

  “And I love being held,” said Vivi, snuggling back into his arms. “But not so tightly I can’t breathe.”

  They lay together quietly for a while, perfectly content, or so Vivi thought. But it soon became apparent that Anthony’s mind was elsewhere.

  “I know you like to take walks,” he said, “but you don’t walk around alone late at night, do you?”

  “Of course not!”

  Anthony’s eyes interrogated hers. “You don’t go on the subway late at night, either, do you?”

  Vivi propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. “Anthony, what is going on?”

  “Nothing,” he insisted, caressing her face. “It’s just if anything ever happened to you…”

  “What on earth could happen to me?” Vivi scoffed.

  “You’re right,” said Anthony, but there was a troubled look in his eyes that belied his agreeing with her.

  “You’re being silly,” she said, taking a playful bite of his shoulder. “I’m going to get some more chocolate and feed it to you, if only to hush you up.”

  “No more chocolate,” Anthony groaned.

  “And no more worrying, either.”

  “I promise.”

  She lay back down with a contented sigh, nestling against him again. She knew it was unfair to compare, but her last boyfriend had been so thin, so slight, that Vivi sometimes thought, “This must be what it feels like to hold a woman.” But Anthony was all man—broad and muscular, with lovely stubble on his face at the end of the day to rub her cheek against, and hard muscles to push against. She had to be careful; she could easily become obsessed with his body, giving herself over to endless sexual daydreams when she should be concentrating on the bistro. She reached down, twining her fingers through his. That’s when she felt it: his wedding ring.

  “Chere?” Her voice was gentle.

  “Mmm?”

  “Are you ever going to remove your ring?”

  “My…?” Anthony replied, puzzled. Then he realized. “Oh.” Untangling it from hers, he held up his left hand for examination. “I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest.”

  “I see.” Vivi felt her heartbeat begin to pick up the pace. “Do you think, perhaps, you could take it off now?” It was a bold request, but she didn’t care. He was hers now. He was in her bed.

  Anthony lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I promise I’ll take it off, but not right now.”

  Vivi couldn’t help herself. “Then when?”

  “When I can do it in private, okay?” He sounded aggrieved. “I’d like to put it in with a bunch of other stuff of Angie’s that I’m keeping.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Vivi, embarrassed by her own insensitivity. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just need to know that you’re all mine.”

  “I’m all yours, believe me—which is why I want you safe.”

  Vivi rolled her eyes. “Back to that again, are we?”

  “Yup.” He began stroking her hair, a sensation she loved. “Better deal with it.” He lifted his head to peer at the clock on her nightstand. “We should get to sleep so I’m not late when the predawn delivery comes.” He kissed her tenderly, then turned her onto her side so they were spooning. “’Night, cara.”

  “Good night, my love.”

  Vivi tried to concentrate on the lovely way their bodies fit, and the pleasure of having a man in her bed, keeping her warm, keeping her safe. Anthony fell quickly to sleep. Vivi envied him. All she could think about was the ring.

  “What do you think of this?”

  Vivi was sitting on Natalie’s couch, perusing a catalog of restaurant furniture with her half sister. She’d already selected simple black wrought iron bistro chairs with cushioned seats, and had moved on to tabletops and bases. Vivi wanted white marble tabletops, but Natalie didn’t agree.

  “What about these fiberglass tabletops?” Natalie pointed to the catalog. “They’re less than a third of the price of the ones you’re looking at, and seem a lot more functional, in my opinion.”

  “Mmm.” Vivi neither agreed nor disagreed, though she was disappointed by Natalie’s selection. They looked cheap, and not at all right for her cozy little bistro. As she had so many other times over the past six months, Vivi couldn’t escape the feeling Natalie was trying to cut corners when it came to the restaurant, and it made her uneasy.

  “What are you thinking of for the floor?” Natalie asked, reaching for her espresso.

  “Wood. Or black and white tile. I haven’t decided.”

  “Tile might be cheaper. And the walls?”

  “You’ve seen the walls—exposed brick.”

  “And the artwork?” Natalie asked. She sounded like an impatient schoolteacher standing at the blackboard, awaiting an answer.

  “I don’t know,” Vivi said, brows knitting together in frustration. “Framed black-and-white posters of famous Parisian scenes? Reproductions of paintings by famous French artists?”

  “I like the latter better, though posters would probably cost less. I suppose you’ll play lots of Piaf?” There was a slight tone of condescension in her voice that wounded Vivi.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s something I need to investigate further.” Vivi rolled up the catalog, putting it into her shoulder bag. “How much have you budgeted for the advertising, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I haven’t come up with a solid figure yet,” Natalie murmured, slipping off the couch to stand before the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was gray and cloudy, giving the city a melancholy look. “And before you even ask,” she continued, turning back to Vivi, “I’m waiting for FM PR to call me back.”

  “Good.” That, at least, was a relief. But Vivi still had other concerns, most of them fueled by Natalie’s on-again-off-again penny pinching. “Don’t forget, we still have to buy tableware, cutlery, napkins, glasses. We need to
have menus printed up—”

  “Yes, I know all that, Vivi,” Natalie cut in impatiently. She came away from the windows, rejoining Vivi on the couch. “I saw Bernard Rousseau for dinner last night. He was asking about you.”

  “How nice,” said Vivi, pleased. He seemed like such a nice man. “Send him my regards if you see him again, will you?”

  “Of course.” Natalie’s expression was philosophical as she took another sip from the tiny espresso cup before her. “Being with him reminded me how French men are so much more refined and sophisticated than American men.” She gave a small shudder. “I could never go out with an American. Never.”

  “Well, I could,” Vivi replied happily, “and I am.”

  Natalie’s eyes held Vivi’s. “Anthony Dante?”

  “Anthony Dante,” Vivi said with a big smile.

  Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Have you…?”

  Vivi blushed. “Yes.”

  “Well, I hope he brings you happiness.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So now that the two of you are together,” Natalie asked, finishing off the last of her espresso, “has he taken off his wedding ring?”

  Vivi froze. So, Natalie had noticed the ring, too. She wasn’t surprised. Inspector Natalie noticed everything. Maybe, because they were half sisters, they were somehow telepathically linked. All Vivi knew was that Natalie had just mentioned the one thing she’d been obsessing on.

  “Not yet,” said Vivi, trying to sound confident, “but he’s planning to.”

  “Well, until it’s off, he’s not really yours,” said Natalie. The expert on romance was back.

  Vivi blinked. “Why do you say such hurtful things to me? Do you do it on purpose?”

  Natalie went wide-eyed with shock. “Of course not! I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Vivi, that’s all. Widowers can be problematic.”

  “Have you ever dated one?”

  Natalie’s face turned bright red. “No.”

  “Then button your lip.” She stifled a laugh as Natalie’s mouth fell open. God, she loved the new idioms at her disposal. They were so pithy and evocative, and in this case, the perfect cover for the uncertainty Natalie had just unleashed within her. Vivi promised herself she’d put the wedding ring issue out of her mind…until Friday night.