A Taste of the Forbidden

by Carole Mortimer

  Grace all but gaped at him now. Oh, not because Cesar Navarro had asked her to cook the food for his dinner party in three days time—she could do that standing on her head, no matter how many guests he invited. No, it was the fact that he, a man reputed not to have a social or a private life, was having a dinner party at all that surprised her.

  A fact she had all too clearly revealed if the derisive rise of his dark brows and mocking expression were any indication!

  ‘Of course, Mr Navarro,’ she agreed briskly, aiming for—but perhaps not reaching?—that discretion he had repeatedly remarked upon.

  He nodded, that mockery still glinting in the darkness of his eyes as he sat back in the tall leather chair behind the desk. ‘And, if possible, I would ask that you make the same delicious chocolate mousse from last night as the dessert. I have no doubts that one of my dinner guests, at least, would enjoy it very much.’

  Grace was momentarily taken aback to see that the light in his eyes was now one of warmth rather than mockery. Because of thoughts of his dinner guest who would enjoy it very much if they could eat one of Grace’s chocolate mousses? Her delicious chocolate mousses...

  Grace had noted the empty and washed glass bowl on the draining board this morning when she entered the kitchen at six-thirty so that she could have Cesar’s breakfast ready for seven o’clock, but she had assumed that Raphael, or Rodney, had been the one to empty the remains of the chocolate mousse into the bin before washing it; Cesar’s comment now made her rethink that assumption. ‘You obviously enjoyed it?’ she prompted shrewdly.

  ‘So much so that I believe its pleasurable qualities could almost be likened to those experienced during sex.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Grace took a step back to press against the panelled wall nearest the door.

  ‘Did I say that out loud?’ He eyed her mockingly.

  Her cheeks burned. ‘You know that you did!’

  He arched a coolly mocking brow. ‘You are allowed to say whatever outrageous comment comes into your head but I am not allowed to reciprocate?’

  There was reciprocity, and then there was reciprocity—and Cesar Navarro had just stepped over the line into the latter.

  Besides turning Grace’s thoughts to imagining Cesar having sex, of all of that naked muscled leanness arched over a woman—over her!—as those firm and sensual lips kissed her breasts, and those long elegant hands caressed a path down from her breasts to her—

  Oh, good grief!

  For the second time in hours Grace found herself flushed and overheated with arousal. For Cesar Navarro!

  A fact he was very well aware of if she read the mocking glint in those black eyes correctly.

  A physical response Grace knew she was unable to deny as she felt her nipples once again spring to avid attention and press achingly against the lace of her bra, at the same time as that heat once again dampened her panties.

  ‘Can it be that the outspoken Miss Blake has finally been rendered speechless?’ he drawled.

  Her eyes flashed her displeasure. ‘I really don’t think we should turn this into some sort of competition to see which one of us can shock the other the most!’

  His expression was unreadable as he regarded her between those hooded lids. ‘And are you shocked, Miss Blake?’

  Was she? More than a twenty-six-year-old woman ought to be, if the truth were known—and where this man was concerned she seemed to be honest to the point of totally embarrassing herself!—especially a twenty-six-year-old woman who had spent a year living and working in a city as romantic as Paris.

  She loved her job, enjoyed nothing more than creating beautifully cooked and presented food for others to enjoy. But cooking was so much more than that. It was an art. A delight for all the senses—as Cesar Navarro had obviously discovered when he ate the remains of her chocolate mousse the night before!—and it wasn’t a skill that was easily acquired, or perfected overnight. Grace had studied for years, worked under several distinguished chefs, before even attempting to create dishes of her own, let alone the desserts and pastries in which she now specialised.

  All of which had taken its toll on Grace’s private life. Especially so when it came to having any sort of romantic relationship. A career as a chef meant working most lunch times and evenings, which didn’t allow a lot of time for a social life, and Grace had learnt very early on that most men weren’t willing to fit that social life around her career.

  Which was one of the reasons Grace was still a virgin at the age of twenty-six.

  Only one of them, of course. The other reason was more personal than that: a need inside her to find love, and permanence with a man, a special man, before she made love with him.

  Maybe one of the reasons for that was the mystery surrounding her own birth and adoption. Beth had been luckier in some ways, in as much as she had always known her birth parents had been James and Carla Lawrence, both killed in a car accident when she was only five.

  And wonderful adoptive parents as Clive and Heather Blake had been to both of the little girls they had chosen as their own, Grace would be lying if she denied having given some thought, over the years, as to who her birth mother might have been. Whether or not she had been young and single, and unable to cope, either financially or emotionally, with a baby? Or if Grace had just been one child too many in a marriage already straining at the seams? Or if her mother might even have died in childbirth? The possible explanations for Grace being put up for adoption were endless.

  Information was often available nowadays on the birth parents of adopted children, of course, and maybe one day Grace might decide to look into that; until two months ago, after Mum had died, it had somehow seemed disloyal to the wonderful couple who had adopted and raised her as their own to do so. But maybe one day Grace might see if she could find out who her birth mother had been. Find out if she was still alive. If she had any interest in meeting the woman her baby had become—

  ‘If I had known it was going to take you this long to answer then I would not have asked the question!’

  Grace gave a start as the impatience of Cesar’s tone interrupted her personal meanderings, her smile rueful as she focused on him. ‘No, I’m not in the least shocked by your remarks, Mr Navarro,’ she assured him pertly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ The hands clenching into fists at her sides immediately gave lie to that claim. How could she not be shocked—surprised—at the strange and intimate turn this conversation had taken?

  Dark eyes glittered beneath hooded lids. ‘In that case, I believe I mentioned having some work to do this morning?’

  And, as Grace was quickly learning, a ‘mention’ from Cesar Navarro was as good as an order from anyone else! ‘Of course.’ She smiled coolly. ‘Do you have any other dietary requests in regard to the dinner party on Friday evening?’

  He gave the matter brief thought. ‘I do not believe so, no...’

  ‘Fine.’ She nodded briskly. ‘I’ll put together a menu for your approval later today.’

  ‘Along with your decision regarding moving into a bedroom in the east wing of the main house.’

  ‘Along with my decision regarding moving into a bedroom in the east wing of the main house,’ Grace echoed softly before finally leaving the study and closing the door firmly behind her, not at all sure it would be a good idea for her to move in here in the circumstances.

  Those circumstances being her wholly physical—and unprecedented!—response to the ‘gorgeously handsome’ Cesar Navarro...

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘I SEE THAT YOU HAVE not only made your decision but already decided to move in— Careful, Miss Blake!’ Cesar warned harshly even as he stepped further into the bedroom to reach out to grasp her arms to stop her from overbalancing as she stumbled slightly after turning sharply to face him.

  ‘You know, you’re either going to have to stop startling me in that way or run the risk of giving me a heart attack!’ Her breasts quickly rose and fell as she trembled in his a
rms, her hands flat against the hardness of his chest. ‘Difficult decision to make, hmm?’ she added dryly as Cesar remained silent.

  ‘You have no idea, Miss Blake!’ Cesar grated as he straightened and released her abruptly, far too aware of the snug fit of the figure-hugging black jeans and the close fitting tee shirt Grace Blake wore, the latter clearly revealing the outline of the lace-cupped bra beneath, that long sable hair splayed out loosely over her shoulders. Hair that did indeed reach down to the pertness of her bottom in those figure-hugging jeans.

  ‘You did not hurt your ankle when you stumbled?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ Grace reassured him lightly as she stepped away from him, knowing she was trembling slightly from his close proximity, the colour instantly warming her cheeks as she had the chance to take in his casual appearance.

  ‘Have you been for a run...?’ She knew her voice sounded slightly breathless as she found herself unable to look away from the width of Cesar’s bared shoulders revealed by the sweat-dampened black vest-top he wore, with a pair of soft jogging bottoms, black this time, resting low on the leanness of his hips, the darkness of his hair damp and more tousled than usual, a black towel draped about his neck, the heat and purely masculine smell of his body seeming to wash over and overwhelm her in waves.

  Slightly sweaty, his hair damp, he looked completely unlike his usual urbane—and haughtily remote—self, more earthy, and somehow primal...

  Grace was still feeling slightly hot and bothered from being briefly held in his arms, and she now felt her own body respond to all that blatant maleness, her nipples once again tingling inside her bra, her jeans suddenly feeling tight and uncomfortable as she felt herself dampen and swell between her thighs. What was fast becoming her usual reaction to this man!

  He gave a shake of his head. ‘Raphael and I spent an hour or so sparring in the gym two floors above here. Ju jitsu,’ he added dryly at Grace’s enquiring glance.

  ‘No doubt you’re an expert, too.’ Grace nodded ruefully.

  ‘No doubt.’ He nodded abruptly.

  ‘Hmm. And to answer your question, yes, I thought I might take you up on your offer and give staying in the main house a try. See if I settle any better.’ Although, if she was going to keep seeing her boss dressed—or undressed!—in this way, she already knew exactly how it was going to go: a lot of physical squirming followed by as many cold showers!

  ‘That is very magnanimous, of you, Miss Blake,’ he drawled dryly.

  Grace chose to ignore his obvious derision. ‘Is it possible to have that switched off...?’ She looked pointedly at the blinking camera in the corner of the bedroom. ‘As I’ve already told you, I’m really not into exhibitionism,’ she added with a grimace.

  His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I will talk to Raphael.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Grace beamed her gratitude. ‘Have you had a good day?’ She hadn’t been able to resist looking out of the window this morning when he had left the house, the attentive Raphael two steps behind him as usual, the other man opening the back door of the black SUV for his employer before taking his own seat in the front next to the chauffeur; now that Grace knew Raphael’s true role, it was possible to see his tense watchfulness as he opened and closed the car door, and the way Rodney, standing guard beside the front door, treated Raphael with almost the same respect and deference he did Mr Navarro.

  ‘It was tolerable,’ Cesar found himself answering wryly. How many years had it been since anyone had asked him if he’d had a good day? His mother, perhaps, a dozen or so years ago, on the occasions when he’d returned to the home he had shared with her during the years he had spent at Harvard university.

  He could not imagine anyone who affected him less maternally than Grace Blake, with her forthright manner and curvaceously arousing body!

  A curvaceously arousing body he had been far too aware of—and aroused by!—as he held her in his arms a short time ago... ‘And your own day?’ he prompted tersely.

  She shrugged narrow shoulders. ‘I managed to keep busy.’

  Cesar gave an exasperated shake of his head. ‘I do not understand why you applied for this job in the first place when you are obviously too highly qualified for such a position.’

  She arched her brows. ‘Honestly?’

  He grimaced. ‘Why bother to change the tenor of our acquaintance at this late date?’

  She smiled slightly. ‘I tried but wasn’t able to get a job in a hotel or restaurant after my eight months...sabbatical, and my sister, Beth, doesn’t earn near enough to support us both and pay off all the debts that accumulated when—I needed the money,’ she repeated uncomfortably.

  And thanks to Maddox’s file on her, Cesar knew that it was her mother’s protracted illness, and eventual death two months ago, that had resulted in Grace accumulating those debts she had almost spoken of.

  ‘I thought your sister’s name was Elizabeth?’

  ‘How did you—? The security check.’ Grace grimaced in acknowledgement. ‘Then you also know the reason I took that sabbatical. We’ve always called my sister Beth, not Elizabeth,’ she amended with a pained frown.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ Cesar had had chance to read all of Grace’s file now—in fact he had made a point of it!—and knew that her adoptive father had also died four years ago, the only family she had left being her also adopted sister, Elizabeth.

  ‘Beth and I still have each other.’ Grace shrugged philosophically. ‘We often drove each other insane when we were both in our teens,’ she recalled ruefully, ‘but we’re very close now. But you have a younger sister of your own, so you probably know how annoying that can be when you’re growing up,’ she dismissed wryly, only to give a pained frown as she easily saw the change that had come over Cesar Nevarro; every muscle in that magnificent body seemed to have tensed, a nerve pulsing in the firmness of his jaw, those black eyes glittering in warning.

  Why? Because she had admitted to knowing something of his own family?

  She gave a rueful grimace. ‘It seemed only fair that I should do a little security check on you, too!’

  ‘Then the source of that security check was obviously not up to date,’ he dismissed stiffly.

  ‘Sorry...?’

  ‘My sister’s name was Gabriela, Miss Blake, and we lost her when she was two years old,’ he bit out abruptly. ‘Now, if you will excuse me—’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Grace groaned in contrition as she quickly crossed the room to his side. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She reached out and placed a hand on the tenseness of his lower arm, before as quickly removing it, her eyes widening, as she felt the equivalent of an electric shock enter her fingers and tingle up her arm. ‘That was so insensitive— I had no idea...’ She thrust that still-tingling hand behind her back, her cheeks slightly flushed.

  He looked down the long length of his nose at her. ‘Obviously.’

  Oh, ground, just open up and swallow her now, Grace inwardly pleaded, anything to escape the disdain in those cold and glittering eyes.

  ‘I suggest that in future if you wish to know anything about my private life, that you ask me for that information, and not jump to inaccurate conclusions or look it up on unreliable websites,’ he advised coldly.

  She nodded. ‘I really am so very sorry.’

  She looked so earnest in her contrition that Cesar felt some of his own tension easing a little. But only a little. The subject of his sister, Gabriela, was still a sensitive one, and not something that his parents, or any of their family acquaintances, ever spoke of in his presence.

  He had been ten years older than Gabriela, but he had adored his blonde-haired and impishly mischievous little sister from the day she was born, her loss an emotional trauma from which none of his family had ever truly recovered. His parents’ marriage hadn’t survived the loss, the two of them remaining together only until Cesar reached the age of eighteen, when his mother had returned to America, and his father had continued living in Argentina. They had never divorced each othe
r, and to his knowledge neither of them had ever had anyone else in their lives; it was just too painful for them to live together with Gabriela’s little ghost standing between them.

  He drew in a harsh breath as he stepped away from Grace. ‘If you will excuse me? I need to shower and change before dinner.’

  ‘Of course.’ Her face was very pale, her eyes appearing huge in that pallor.

  Cesar relented slightly at her obvious distress. ‘The bowl of fruit you have placed in the entrance hall is a vast improvement on the flowers.’

  ‘Well, if you think so...’ She looked unconvinced. ‘Er—you mentioned the east wing— Is it okay for me to use this bedroom?’

  ‘Is it not a little late to ask me that when you have obviously already moved all of your things in here?’ There were clothes hanging up in the open wardrobe, books piled high on the bedside table, an open and half-emptied suitcase on the bed.

  ‘I was attempting to be polite.’

  ‘As I said earlier, that is perhaps a little too late?’ He quirked a dark brow.

  Embarrassed colour now brightened her cheeks. ‘I have no idea why but I just keep blurting my thoughts out loud every time I speak with you!’

  Cesar had no idea, either, why it was he tolerated Miss Blake’s outspokenness.

  Perhaps it was as he had thought, because for the most part he found her candour amusing, even refreshing, after years of having his instructions carried out without question?

  Most of the time.

  The shock of hearing her speak of Gabriela, the sister who was for ever lost to him, had not been in the least amusing.

  ‘Perhaps in future you should try harder,’ he bit out tersely.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave an awkward grimace.

  He nodded tersely. ‘I will leave you to finish your unpacking.’

  Grace looked down frowningly at her still-tingling hand, before glancing up to watch Cesar Navarro as he moved down the hallway with the elegant grace of a predator, in the direction of the west wing, where she knew his own suite of rooms was situated.