“Are you complaining?”
“Never,” I say, turning into his embrace.
“I brought you something. Admittedly it’s a trite excuse to see you. You know how I’m always bringing stuff from your shop to colleagues? Well, today one of them tried to return the favor.” Donovan grabs a box that sports the imprint of Belle Boulangerie de Jour, a flashy, over-priced rival in Beverly Hills who is known more for its address than its goods. When their innovation does manage to one up us, it pisses me off for weeks. “It’s perfectly fine,” he continues, “but you could do better.”
Donovan grabs a fork as I peer inside the box. “Are you going to tell me what I’m getting into, or is this Russian roulette?” I ask of the orange-colored tartlet. “Knowing those guys it could be anything.”
“A very good, but uneventful, mango with a little passion fruit.” He leans in to whisper, “Tonight, we both need your magic.” His breath warms my neck, then slinks down to thrill my breast. Tenderly his fingers glide my chin upward, drawing my eyes into his. He feeds me a bite, then traces my lower lip with his thumb. The curiosity on his face is far more appetizing than the tart.
“You’re right,” I utter with heated breath. “Meet me at the baker’s table.”
“How many prep bowls?” Donovan calls as he heads off. My eyes wander down to his hips, and I wish to forgo the bowls and spoons for the curve above his ass and my tongue.
“Three,” I holler, darting for the fridge. Its chill helps me regain my focus, which quickly shifts back to his ass as he straddles a stool at the counter. “Use 70% mango, 30% passion fruit,” I say, handing him the purees and dashing off of for some juice and spices. God, I can’t get my mind off of how tightly his butt cheeks curve in, especially when he’s got me on a counter and I’m watching his back in a mirror, his hips pounding against me.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
Boy, am I ever.
After we’ve prepped the last bowl, Donovan motions me to sit next to him. Drawing our stools tightly together, he wraps his legs around mine. The urge to forgo my stool and straddle his waist nearly overwhelms. “Which way would you like it first?” he asks. My eyes flash up as he reaches for a bowl containing puree and lime juice. “How about this?”
Donovan’s eyes shine into mine as he raises a spoonful. My mouth drifts open in anticipation, my breath going shallow. The spoon glides over my tongue, and a drop of the puree slides onto my chin. A feather’s touch sends my heart soaring as he caresses it off with his thumb, licking it with an enchanting smile. “You should have avoided the middle man,” I tell him. Suddenly self-conscious of my flushing face, I fidget and touch a napkin to my lips.
He leans in, and I relish in the fluttering of his lips on my ear. “I take it you didn’t like that one as much as you could have. It’s not what I wanted, either.”
His hand goes to my knee, then slides upward, sending my heart racing. I turn my sights to the puree and our original mission, eagerly grabbing the second bowl and sweeping a spoon into the mint mixture. Raising the utensil to him my mouth slacks, and my eyes rendezvous with his. His grin morphs into a pleasure-awaiting vessel as I relish inserting the spoon. His lips clamp down with a moan, and my insides warm and tighten in delight. Languidly I withdraw, then flip the spoon into my own mouth—my tongue worshiping where his once graced.
“What do you think?” I ask, my voice deep.
“Better, but I need something more.”
“So do I,” I say, swooning.
His hand extends to the back of my head, his fingers stroking my scalp and taunting me with gingerly tugs to my hair, his lips softly revealing, “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
My eyes dart to the bowl. Quickly I grab a spoonful. As the cool puree and mint slides over my taste buds, Donovan tucks his favorite cluster of hair behind my ear, pulling me back into his beckoning eyes. “You’re right. Much better, but we’re not there yet,” I say, craving his hands on my breast.
From the last bowl, Donovan brings forth a spoonful. My breath turns deep and soft as my mouth widens in anticipation of mango and lemon, wishing I had the courage to cast the spoon aside and taste him. Suddenly he yanks it away and thrusts it into his own mouth, bringing forth my groan of jealousy. It’s me his lips should clap on.
“Wipe that smirk off your face,” I scorn before sounding breathless. “Actually, please don’t. It’s rather captivating.” My head drops, and I turn a little flush. His teeth tug at his lower lip, and I become jealous of their capture.
“Fun, but still not what I crave.”
“What do you crave?” I ask.
A dirty grin crosses his face. “You, and the way you used to make me feel,” he says, feeding me another spoonful. “Be sure to savor it this time.”
Reluctantly, my brain shifts its focus from the man to my taste buds. “Hmm…the best flavor was when there was nothing left on the spoon but you.”
His eyes fill with a blaze that causes my insides to melt down, and my legs squeeze together. If he doesn’t touch me soon, I think I may die. I try to snap myself back into our project. Jetting my hands out, my fingers flail toward the bowls as my eyes lock their focus, but Donovan doesn’t let me back down. “Casting a spell?” he asks.
“Stop it!” I giggle. “You’re making this hard.”
“No, that’s what you’re doing,” he says, nearly derailing my brain.
Again I strain to focus on my job, not an alternate universe where I’ve been tossed onto the counter and am matching every one of his hard thrusts with my own downward lunge until swirling colors dance behind my eyelids.
With a forced snap, my flavor affinity skills kick in, and I take the bowls containing mint and lemon, mix them together, then head off to add a speck of pepper.
“Try this.” I slip a spoon of the puree into Donovan’s mouth, the only passion exhibited being culinary. The flavor slaps him back into reality.
“Umm,” he utters. “That’s fantastic!”
I taste it, this time remembering to put some on the spoon. “Wow, you’re totally right,” I tell Donovan as Jenny enters the back, bringing the day’s remaining desserts to the refrigerator. I completely forgot we weren’t alone. Actually, I almost forgot a lot of things.
“Oh, hey, Donovan. I didn’t know you were here.” Jenny looks down at the display before us as she blazes past. “What are you two up to?” she calls while opening the door to the walk-in fridge.
“Donovan had an idea for a new dessert,” I yell before turning to him. “Thank you. I needed this creative boost.” Actually, I need you.
“Sure thing, Lil.” Rising from his chair, he grabs the napkin that once touched my lips and slips it in his pocket. He eyes Jenny as she dashes to the front before he addresses me. “You free for an extended lunch day after tomorrow? I thought we could try that new restaurant that opened down the street from my office, if you have time.”
“I always have time for you,” I tenderly moan before realizing my tone and squishing thoughts of him licking puree off of my breasts out of my head. He places his hand to the back of my neck and draws me in so he can kiss my forehead. The kiss lingers a beat, sending a feeling of pixie dust spiraling down around me.
“Bye, Jenny,” he calls to the front. My eyes cling to him as he departs. It’s going to be a long two days.
Gazing at the spoons on the table, I wish one still had his taste so I could savor it again. It’s been years since I’ve had that much fun being creative. Donovan fuels all of my passions.
Jenny returns with a tray of cookies and places them on the counter before heading off for some plastic wrap. “It’s amazing how well you and Donovan get along. Most married couples aren’t as connected as you.”
“Boy, isn’t that the truth,” I muse. “We’re pretty odd.”
“Odd? If we all didn’t know better we’d think you two were dating.”
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry. That sounded really bad, huh?” Jenny
rips off a sheet of plastic wrap with a flourish. “It’s just that with how Donovan pays you little visits, brings you trinkets, and takes you out, if we didn’t know he was your brother we’d think he was Christopher’s rival.”
Rival?
I have a boyfriend.
Oh, crap!
After a restless night, I accept that Lilyanna Eccles and Lily Beckett have collided and merged. As Donovan exits his office for lunch I bolt into his lobby, stick my hand out in front of me and push him back inside, shutting the door behind me. My hands touch my temples then bounce out in revelation as my words jabber forward. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“What, Lily? What can’t you take?” He rolls his eyes as if I’m about to blurt out something utterly ridiculous. My sleep-deprived brain should take it as a warning. Sometimes how well he knows me really sucks.
“I’m having an affair, and I can’t stand myself,” I blurt.
Donovan shows he wants to throttle me as he smacks the files in his hand onto his desk. “You’re what? With who?”
“With you,” I reveal. Suddenly realizing my stupidity, I squeeze my lids as if the act will make me invisible.
Donovan's hands go to his hips as his head turns into a maraca. “Are you crazy? Look Lil, we all know I have moments where the obvious escapes me, but I’d be well aware if we were cheating on our spouses.”
“We’re not cheating. We’re having an affair.”
“Wow! You have really got me this time.” He drops his hands in surrender before approaching me. Cupping and raising my chin, he forces me to face him. His tone changes from shocked to passive, yet sturdy—like I’m a toddler needing a reprimand for an innocent mistake. “Okay, Lily. Tell me about this affair and exactly how I’m involved.”
“Um, well, you’re kind of my boyfriend.”
His blinking eyes match his stammering words. “Your—your what?”
“We’re dating!”
“Lily, we are not dating,” he asserts.
“No? Think about it. All the lunches we have, the way we interact like lovers—”
“Lily, you’re my best friend, not to mention that we have been through hell together. Of course we lean on each other.”
“Best friend? Are best friends constantly on the verge of throwing themselves at each other?”
“Some are.”
“Oh, please. How about feeding each other—seductively. What about the playfulness and the innuendos? Damn it, Donovan, if you weren’t off limits, last night I would have thrown you on that workbench, used you as a bowl, and licked you clean.”
“I think there’s some mango yogurt in the fridge…”
“I’m serious! Does this not faze you, or were you playing me all along?”
His sapphires close off the world as the truth of my words sink in. “I’m not playing you, but the idea of what was going on had smacked me in the face before.” He pauses to digest reality. “I suppose you want to stop.”
I step closer and look him squarely in the eyes, wishing a lie would come forth. “No.”
His hand caresses through my hair, stopping at the back of my head. My chin raises, my lips suddenly in need of moisture. “Neither do I,” he confesses. “How close are we going to allow ourselves to get? I really want to be the dutiful husband, but…”
My eyes blink away their forming pools. “There is no way I will cheat on Christopher, but since you’ve come back into my life I’ve gone from happy and relatively satisfied to excited and passionate. You fuel me like no one else is capable. I hate to admit it, but being like this is so much more honest than ignoring the truth we don’t want to hide from.”
With a touch to my chin, his words grant blessing for the release of my tear. “Please don’t hide from us. We fought so hard to accept the truth. I can’t bear to ignore it again.”
“Okay, no hiding, but we need to remember there is a line before we cross it.”
Chapter 14
The car’s bop into my driveway reflects eager anticipation. Christopher called requesting I come home early and not worry about the children. An enticing surprise may await me. Well, vanilla ice cream enticing. Sadly, for the last ten years my daring sexual adventures live in an alternate reality. I’ll happily take it though. After last night’s encounter with Donovan I’m hungry for anything that pumps life into my marriage that is inching toward failure.
My insides droop at the site of my family gathered at the kitchen table. Antonia sits on Christopher's right knee with Graham in a chair to his left, all of them staring at a laptop’s screen. This can only mean one thing—and dessert has nothing to do with it.
Eric’s image transmits over video chat. A slinked smile hides my disappointment. “Hi, Eric!” I crouch behind Christopher and kiss his cheek. Residing next to the laptop is a note pad decorated in scribbles. Christopher's handwriting indicates he missed his calling as a doctor. All that is legible is “6 weeks, 21 stops.”
“You’re looking lovely, Lilyanna. How are you, dear?” Eric asks.
“Wonderful, thank you. You sure are missed. You’ve been dangling hope of a visit in front of us for a decade. Don’t you think it’s long past time?”
“Be careful what you wish for, luv. Keep me posted, Christopher. You did right by firing that yob. Cheers.”
“Cheers, mate.” Christopher says before closing his laptop.
Antonia jumps for the television with Graham scrambling behind. Christopher rises from his seat. His grin is hard to contain, yet a little twitchy. “Fire?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his waist. He gives me a lovely kiss that leaves me dying for more.
“I fired Mike.”
Oh, thank the Lord! “I’d ask, but I think I know why.”
“He was simply out of control and completely unprofessional,” Christopher asserts while throwing the pen in his hand onto the table. “That and I know he was making you uncomfortable. It was big of you not to say anything. It’s a good thing I did it last night too,” he declares, returning his arm to my waist.
“Because the big news that came through today is?” My lips curve in anticipation.
“It’s getting harder to keep anything from you.”
I give him a little flash of my eyelid. “Good. That makes it easier to keep watch on your antics.”
He looks to my work shoes, his grin sheepish yet reserved. “You know how I’ve been making friends with promoters and offering to play poxy, last-minute gigs in an effort to boost interest in the band?”
“Umm hmm.” Boy, do I ever! We’ve had some great moments interrupted and family plans flipped around by bad, last-minute gigs.
“It finally paid off. We’ve been offered a twelve week, cross-country tour opening for Spiral Lamb, whose album just went platinum.”
“Christopher, that’s fantastic!” And it’s horrific! Twelve weeks? Instead of vanilla ice cream I get cow dung. The last thing I need while being tempted away from my husband is for him to leave for three months. “When is it?” I ask, my breath trapped in fear he’ll leave tomorrow, yet also wanting this over with so I can have my husband back.
“That’s the cracking part. Since it’s a major tour and the band specifically wants us, we actually get notice. We leave in the middle of January.”
“That’s perfect! That gives you months to prepare.” My face contorts into an overplayed smile with full moons for eyes. Christopher’s blanched expression and sagging body tell he sees through my charade. “Why don’t you look happy?” I ask. “You’ve been waiting years for this.”
“All that preparation means I’m going to be away a lot more. You’re not all right with this, are you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“It certainly is. You really want to let me have it right now, and you’ve every right. Today I heard of the children’s recent adventures. Donovan’s become their surrogate father.”
My eyes turn to the children. Where Christopher’s absence has led me is merely a fraction of my concern.
“Christopher, we shouldn’t be expected to wait like neglected puppies who are grateful every time you brush past and tap us on the head. You already have a full-time job at the studio, not to mention all of the rehearsal time with your band. I know you can’t do it all, but please try a little harder. We all need to enjoy what we have a bit more. Okay?”
He snuggles me into his shoulder, his voice soft and reassuring, his body tense. “More than okay. I won’t let us slip away further. I promise.”
Chapter 15
Cindy and I cower in the dark recess of the kitchen, afraid someone will discover the delectable Mascarpone-Pear mousse we created and we’ll have to share. It’s so luscious we’re giggling as if intoxicated. Visions of using it in a mousse cake with a pistachio crème insert accompanied by a glass of wine swirl in my head. “Hmm…Moscato is perfect with the pear and mascarpone, but…given the pistachio this needs a strong red.”
“Yeah,” Cindy agrees with idolatry for the mousse. Her eyes flair. “Like a good Cab.”
My head tilts back as my knees dip with an excited bounce, relishing the thought. “Oh, totally!”
Jenny softly interrupts, suspending my taste buds from their happy dance. “Lily, Donovan’s here. He needs to see you.” Her expression is pained to the point where my grin instantly crashes.
“Why didn’t you send him back?” I ask.
“He, um—he warned me that he needs to take you on a walk. I think something’s really wrong.”
Chucking my spoon into the sink, I bolt to the front of the store where Donovan trudges with angst. Halting his tread he turns to me with a shrug of emptiness, thus selling out the source of his misery.
Grabbing his arm I drag him through the kitchen, past the lockers, and out the back door. Once we reach the lot I touch my hands to his cheeks like I’m saving his head from plummeting to the pavement. “What did she say to you? Do not let her do this!”
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