Under Her Clothes

by Louisa Edwards

  “What the hell is that?” Chef Fevre rasped, making Colby freeze in place.

  Had she given herself away?

  * * *

  In three long strides, Dominic crossed the kitchen to where Colby was staring up at him with wide eyes, caught in the act of rolling up his sleeves.

  Heart pounding with a strange, hellish blend of anger, protectiveness and exasperation, Dominic reached out and took gentle hold of Colby’s right arm just above the dangling gauze that had covered the angry scarlet burn mark. Days old, the burn was still blistered painfully, if Colby’s half-hidden flinch was any indication, and Dom had to fight not to tighten his grip and haul him over to the first-aid station on the wall by the sink.

  “This isn’t healing well.” Of all the emotions roiling under Dom’s surface, anger was the only one that showed in his rough, hard voice.

  “It’s fine. Sure, it might scar, but it won’t be the first. Or the last.” Colby tried to pull away, rolling his eyes, but he stopped squirming when Dominic didn’t let go. The moment stretched between them, heavy with the possibilities pent up in their motionless bodies, in their locked stares, in their every inhale and exhale sharing the same breath.

  Colby’s arm was rigid with tension under Dom’s fingertips, the tendons standing out in lean cords beneath silken flesh. Dom’s fingers twitched, brushing against the warm, fragile skin at the bend of Colby’s elbow and sending a shiver through his slender form.

  The mouth that had tempted Dominic so unmercifully was right there, mere inches away. The living, breathing reality was more than Dominic could withstand.

  Colby St. James seemed to have been designed to remind Dominic that he wasn’t a cold, emotionless machine. He was human and fallible and alive. Colby evaporated Dom’s famous control like water boiling into steam. It was everything Dom had denied himself for the past ten years and now, finally, Dom stopped denying himself.

  With a muffled curse, he took what he wanted, hauling Colby against his chest and seizing those tantalizing lips in a rough, unpracticed kiss.

  For a heartbeat, the body in Dom’s arms stayed as stiff as an overwhipped meringue. Colby’s fingers came up to clutch at Dom’s shoulders, maybe to push him away—but instead of putting distance between them, Colby’s hands clenched into fists and dragged Dom to him even as Colby stretched up and threw himself into the kiss. It was fast and hard, all searing heat and thrusting tongues, the sharp, addictive sweetness of Colby’s mouth and the vibrant electricity of his touch as he speared his hands up into Dom’s hair and angled Dom’s head.

  For Dom, it was like being fourteen again, when he’d forgotten a tray of roasting asparagus and been so rattled by his father’s blistering anger, he’d reached into the oven and grabbed the hot metal tray with his bare hands. The moment was so taut and frantic, so out of control, he couldn’t tell if he felt pain or pleasure. All he knew was that it had been years since he’d felt this level of hunger for another person.

  A single kiss with this smart-mouthed, cocky young chef satisfied Dominic on a deeper level than full-on sex with any of his casual one-night stands of the past decade. And once his body awoke and realized what it had been missing, there was no going back to that half-life of detached disinterest.

  Dom curled his hands over the lean strength of Colby’s shoulders under the bulky chef coat, sweeping them down his back and over the flare of his shoulder blades. Colby had the build of a runner, athletic and graceful, strong without the bulk of Dom’s own more obvious musculature. The difference in their sizes turned Dom on even as he reveled in kissing someone only a few inches shorter. Wanting to feel the near-perfect alignment of their bodies, he backed Colby against the stainless-steel worktable, spreading those long thighs and notching their hips together. The throbbing hardness in Dom’s trousers nudged the bulge between Colby’s legs, but before Dom could enjoy it, Colby was gasping and squirming to duck away.

  “What’s wrong?” Dom rasped before his brain came back online and reality washed over him in an ice-cold flood.

  What had he done?

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Colby denied, his low voice husky and breathless in a way that did nothing to calm Dominic’s frustrated passion. “I just need a minute here. I mean...what the hell was that?”

  The hottest sex I’ve had in years.

  Banishing the thought from his mind, Dominic attempted to regain his dignity while simultaneously willing his hard-on to go down. What was he doing? He certainly couldn’t count on Colby’s discretion—which was more necessary than ever before with Marc in town like an emissary from their father.

  If Marc found out about this, if he told their father...

  The thought chilled Dominic all the way to his soul. It worked better than a cold shower. Straightening his shoulders, he prepared to retreat to his office.

  “My apologies,” Dominic ground out. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Wait. Just talk to me for a second.”

  Dom squeezed his eyes shut. He was truly concerned that if he saw the face Colby was making to go along with those ragged, imploring words, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself. But that was exactly what he had to do. For his own sake as much as for Colby’s.

  Resolutely turning his face toward his escape route, Dom said, “There’s nothing to talk about. It should never have happened.”

  Colby blew out a breath behind him, sounding overwhelmed. “So...you’re gay then.”

  A bolt of pure fear shot through Dominic’s chest. He whipped his head around to skewer Colby with a glare. “What I am is none of your concern. And I will thank you to keep your mouth shut about my private life.”

  The unhappy, resigned curve to Colby’s mouth flattened into stubbornness. “Hey. It’s not like I snooped through your desk and found your stash of gay porn, or something. You invited me into your private life with your tongue. And for what it’s worth, I’d never out someone against their will. Trust me.”

  Truth rang through Colby’s words, a promise Dom thought he could believe in. But before he could bring himself to respond, Colby continued. “Or if you can’t trust me, at least you can trust in mutually assured destruction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Colby’s kiss-swollen lips twisted bitterly even as he shrugged. “Not like I’d want word to get out about this anyway. The last thing I need is anyone thinking I’d sleep my way to a win here.”

  The words hit Dom like a heavy punch to the gut. God. Of course. Dominic felt like the world’s biggest bastard. He held Colby’s career in the palm of his hand. How could he have been so selfish as to forget the power he wielded for even a moment?

  The most intense, passionate, sexually charged kiss of Dominic’s life—and he’d never know if the man in his arms would have kissed him back if it weren’t for this damned competition.

  “What you must think of me,” Dominic said, voice as dead as he felt inside. “I have no excuse. I never intended for you to feel pressured, in any way. But I know how hollow that is and I am sorry. Tomorrow morning, I will call Eva Jansen and tell her someone else needs to be in charge of finding the next head chef for her new restaurant.”

  “No! I can’t let you do that.”

  The clasp of Colby’s fingers around Dominic’s wrist brought him up short. Those slim, strong fingers held him more surely than a cuff of leather and steel. Dominic stared down at the only place they were touching—it was easier than meeting Colby’s eyes.

  “It’s the only ethical thing to do. I sexually harassed one of the competitors.” Bile rose up the back of Dominic’s throat, sour and sickening. “Worse. I sexually assaulted you.”

  “Stop right there.” Colby’s voice cut through the fog of self-hatred like a beam of light. “You did not assault me, oh my God. You old-school French chefs are all so dramatic. Look, you kissed
me. And in case you missed it, I kissed you back. Like, a lot.”

  “Because you felt you had to or risk my judging you unfairly in the interview process.”

  “No.” Colby was firm, using his grip on Dom’s wrist to tug him closer, but it was the honest irritation in his voice that finally gave Dom the courage to look into his eyes. They were deep pools of blue, mirroring back Dom’s frustration and yearning along with an understanding that made Dom’s breath catch in his chest.

  Colby reached up to brush his other hand along Dominic’s cheek, the scratch of stubble making them both shiver. “I wanted you. I still do. So long as you swear to me that nothing we do from here on out will make a difference to your decision about the job, either for me or against me.”

  Heart pounding, mouth suddenly dry, Dominic tried to wrap his mind around what Colby was offering. “From here on out. You want...more?”

  Colby’s eyes flashed with that confidence Dominic found simultaneously aggravating and attractive, tilting his pointed chin into the air. “Babe, I want it all. Everything I can get, and that includes you.”

  Chapter Six

  “And then what happened?” Grant demanded, leaning over the café table as avidly as if Colby were the latest episode of Grant’s favorite soap opera.

  Which, come to think of it, wasn’t that far off base. Guilt pinched at her. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I swore I wouldn’t out him.”

  “You didn’t,” Grant said patiently. “Outing him would be telling everyone at the restaurant or his family or posting it on Facebook. You’re confiding in one person you know you can trust to take this to the grave. His privacy matters, but not to the extent of cutting you off from being able to talk about this crazy situation with anyone at all. And you know it’s not going to go any further than this table right here. So tell me what happened next.”

  Colby ran her fingers through her short-cropped hair and shrugged, staring out across Greenwich Street. They were the only ones seated outside on the tiny sidewalk patio, and they’d turned their chairs to face the street and watch the world go by. But this little corner of the Village was pretty quiet at nine-thirty on a Sunday morning, when most of the world that didn’t work crazy restaurant hours was still asleep. Thank God Maison wasn’t open for brunch.

  Sighing, Colby gave in. “Nothing happened. He said he’d think about it, and I went back to cleaning the kitchen and he went off to his office.”

  “To jack it while thinking about your hot twink ass.”

  “I’m not a twink!” Colby sat up straight, sloshing chai over the edge of her mug and scrambling for the stack of paper napkins their server had left on the table.

  “Embrace your destiny, hon.” Grant sipped his iced nonfat latte and eyed her over the rim of his plastic cup. “You were never going to make it as a bear or a leather daddy. Twink is really your best option. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with working that young, cute thing. It served me well, in my day.”

  Colby, who’d spent a lot of nights out dancing with Grant at the clubs in DC back when he was in college and she was working her first year on the line, snorted. Giving a morose poke at the spilled chai with her crumpled paper napkin, Colby said, “Like you’re such a washed-up old has-been now.”

  “Well.” Grant preened a little, his blond boy-band handsomeness set off perfectly by his preppy lavender-checked button-down and a pair of thick, tortoiseshell glasses. “I haven’t been on the market for a few years now, so who’s to say? But Chris doesn’t seem too terribly unhappy.”

  “You and Christian are the best couple I know,” Colby said. “Honestly, if it weren’t for you two, I’d be convinced that there’s no such thing as a healthy, functional, long-lasting, sexually satisfying relationship.”

  “It’s not as rare as you think. Practically everyone in our little circle is happily coupled up.” Grant raised his dark blond brows. “What I think is fascinating here is how you segued straight from wanting to jump the man’s bones to wanting a relationship.”

  “I’m not delusional,” Colby said sharply. “There’s no future for Chef Fevre and me. Not just because eventually, the truth will come out and he’ll realize I’ve been lying to him since the day we met. But, oh yeah, because he’s an in-the-closet gay guy who thinks I’m also a guy!”

  “That’s another weird thing. I don’t get a gay vibe from Dominic. I’m not saying he pings at a zero on the Kinsey scale, but I wouldn’t have pegged him for a six, either.”

  “Just because he never hit on you...”

  Grant threw his balled up napkin at her. “Don’t be a brat. I’m just saying, it’s a little strange. My gaydar is infallible. Or at least it was up until now—although maybe it makes sense.”

  “You think on some level, maybe unconsciously, he knows I’m a woman?” Colby wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or hopeful.

  “Human attraction is complicated. Nothing would surprise me. I mean, I’m about as gay as it gets and I still find myself checking women out now and then. It’s a spectrum.”

  Colby thought about the way college girls in bars would kiss sometimes—partly to turn on the guys around them, but there was genuine heat there, too. “You mean that everyone’s a little bit bisexual? No one ever mentioned that about Chef Fevre before, but I know he’s gone out with women.”

  “And you know he’s had your tongue in his mouth, thinking you were a man the whole time. So maybe he’s bi.”

  “I’ve always thought of bisexual people as being basically too hot for a single gender to contain them.” Colby licked her lips, remembering them swollen and hot from his mouth. “Chef Fevre certainly fits that description.”

  “Don’t you think you could call the man by his first name at this point?”

  Dominic. Colby rolled the syllables around her head, silently enjoying them, before shaking her head regretfully. “I don’t want to slip up in the kitchen. The last thing I need is to jeopardize this whole endeavor by making the other contestants aware that Chef Fevre and I have something going on the side.”

  “So you still think there’s a chance you could walk away with this job.”

  Grant’s tone was carefully neutral, but Colby heard the skepticism all the same. Heard it and, unfortunately, agreed with it. “No. It was never about the job—at least, not this job. It’s about the validation, and about getting the attention of the top restaurateur in New York City.”

  “I’m still not sure perpetrating a fraud is going to bring you the kind of attention you want.”

  “I know,” Colby muttered, dispirited. “I think maybe I could have gotten away with it if the interview had been a regular one, just a chat and maybe a knife skills test. Then this whole cross-dressing thing would’ve been an interesting statement about how women are perceived in professional kitchens. Now? If I manage to keep this up for the full two weeks, it’ll not only be a miracle—it’ll be a much bigger deal when I finally unveil myself as a woman.”

  “Chef Fevre might have been able to forgive your deception after an hour-long sit-down, but after two full weeks of lying...”

  “It starts to seem less like a brave statement and more like a sociopathic stunt,” Colby finished grimly. “I know.”

  “So why stay? This was a crazy idea from the beginning and it seems even less sane now.” The ice in Grant’s cup rattled loudly as he gestured with it. “One quick phone call and you can withdraw from the running for the job. And you don’t have to go back to DC with your tail between your legs, begging for your old job back—you can stay with us as long as you need to. There are tons of jobs for great chefs in Manhattan.”

  But in Manhattan, she’d be reminded of Dominic Fevre everywhere she looked. Colby swallowed down that inconvenient bit of truth in favor of something else that was true. “I can’t give up now. This is bigger than me. I’m not
the only woman out there who wants to cook for a living. If I can give this wake-up call to the most successful restaurateur in New York, maybe it will make a real difference to someone else’s career.”

  Grant frowned. “What about your career? If you’re not doing this for your career, then what’s really keeping you here?”

  An image of broad shoulders, dark hair and ice-storm eyes flashed through Colby’s brain. She shivered, everything low in her body going tight and wet in a rush of remembered pleasure.

  Colby was no prude. She’d had her share of bar hookups, burning off the adrenaline of a successful dinner service by riding some lucky guy into the ground. She knew what she liked and she’d never been shy about getting it or about trying new things—she would have rated her sex life as well above average in terms of satisfaction.

  But in all her years of no-strings flings, she’d never been this far gone over a single kiss. If he hadn’t nudged between her legs and reminded her that he was expecting to find an answering hardness to match the impressive erection she’d felt against her hip, Colby wasn’t sure she would have stopped him. She’d lost all control, her usual pragmatic approach to sex and release burned to a crisp in a flare-up of passion.

  Not that she could say that to Grant. He’d known her for too long—he, of all people, would be able to hear what she wasn’t saying: that there was something different about Dominic Fevre. Something that set him apart from the men Colby used and discarded before they could do the same to her. Something she knew she had to figure out, because a chance like this didn’t come along every day.

  “I’m here to prove a point,” Colby said stubbornly, shoving down the aching realization that the true reason had more to do with exploring the unfamiliar connection with a darkly mysterious man. “And not for nothing, but I’m also here to maybe learn something. The Maison kitchen is amazing, and the way Chef Fevre runs it...there are worse ways to spend my time than soaking up whatever I can get from him.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Grant waggled his brows in a parody of a leer. “Soak it up, girl. Soak it all up. I’m just saying. Be honest with yourself, even if you don’t want to admit it to me. You’re not sticking with this wackydoodle scheme to strike a blow for feminism. You’re staying because you’ve got the major hots for...” His china-blue eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. “Chef Fevre!”