What's Her Secret?

by Geraldine O'Hara, Natalie Dae, Nichelle Gregory, Crissy Smith, Lisabet Sarai

  The kitchen wall clock told me I was pretty much on schedule. I ladled the spiked cream into a pastry bag and, taking care not to damage the fragile shells, injected a dollop into each of the feathery puffs I’d baked earlier. Roth arrived with my requested ingredients. I dusted the tops of my babies with sugar and anise and arranged them into a mouth-watering pyramid. Even Etienne couldn’t help being susceptible to such an aesthetic presentation.

  I sank onto a stool a bit in front of the work counter where the food was arrayed, took off my cap, and shook out my short, straight hair. My shoulders were sore and my supposedly permanent-press blouse felt wrinkled and damp. The heat from the stove had left a sheen of sweat on my forehead. Fortunately I hadn’t bothered with makeup. It would have been running down my cheeks like rivulets of mud. Four-thirty. Did I have time to nip back to my room to shower and change? I certainly didn’t look my best at the moment…

  “Hi, Emily! Got a minute?” Harry breezed into the studio kitchen, waving a clipboard. “Got a few things I need to go over with you, before tomorrow’s show. Do you want to be introduced as ‘Mei Lee’, or should we use your English name? And what about your certifications? Do you want the full list in the credits, or just your Michelin rating?” He stopped in his tracks when he saw the feast I’d assembled. “Holy smokes! That looks absolutely scrumptious!”

  “Thanks. Let’s just hope that Etienne agrees.” I couldn’t quite keep the pride out of my voice. There weren’t many chefs who could put together a meal like this in four hours, without assistants and under pressure, in a kitchen not their own.

  “Even our Monsieur le Chef can be swayed by great food. The desserts—oh, I’ve just got to try one of these…”

  “No! Harry—”

  Before I could stop him, though, he’d nipped a cream puff off the pile and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide as he chewed and swallowed.

  “Unbelievable! Give me another.”

  “Please, no!” I grabbed at his arm, but it was too late. He’d already devoured a second choux. “Those are supposed to be for Etienne.”

  “Come on, you’ve made at least two dozen. He won’t miss one or two.” Harry made as if to reach for a third puff. I hung on, trying to restrain him, but he was far stronger than I. Under that dorky clothing, I felt his muscles tense and shift.

  He halted, his fingers inches away from their target, as if suddenly aware of my touch. Turning away from the tower of pastries, he gazed down at me. Behind his glasses, his mocha-colored eyes gleamed with powerful purpose.

  “Harry?” My stomach did a somersault. My cheeks felt as though they’d just come out of the oven. Meanwhile he held me in that fierce, all-consuming stare.

  I still had a grip on his left arm, near the shoulder. He reached out to rest his hand on my shoulder, as if we were about to dance. “You know, I actually see something a lot sweeter right here.” Sliding his palm down my back, he pulled me to his chest with a decisiveness that sent my pulse into overdrive. When he leaned in close, I smelled the almonds on his breath.

  “Harry…I don’t think…”

  “Shh!” He enforced this directive by fastening his mouth on mine in an energetic kiss.

  He tasted, unsurprisingly, of sugar and cream. His firm lips molded to mine while his tongue teased at the seam, coaxing me to open. I shouldn’t have given in, but I honestly couldn’t help it. He might look like a bit of a nerd, but this guy really knew what he was doing. Wet but not sloppy, forceful but not brutal, alternating between deep penetration and playful flickering, he kissed with consummate sensuality. All I wanted was to swoon in his arms, to let him take me over. He seemed eager to oblige.

  Cupping my ass in his palm, he yanked my pelvis against his. I gasped at the size and rigidity of the lump pressed against my pubis. My nipples snapped into aching knots and moisture flooded my already damp panties. He laced the fingers of his other hand through my hair, using them to control the position of my head as he drank his fill of me.

  His mouth slipped away from mine to nuzzle below my ear, somehow finding the precise spot that’s directly connected to my clit. Meanwhile he groped my breasts, squeezing hard—harder than I usually like, but now I actually wanted more.

  Apparently he did, too. He tugged at my blouse, trying to pull it out from the waistband of my skirt, and finally succeeding. The first graze of his fingertips along my naked skin sent a wave of arousal crashing through me.

  “Wait—no—aah…oh…” My protests faltered as he deftly extricated one of my breasts and caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged on the taut node of flesh, twisted it, flicked it back and forth. I swear I felt him doing the same to my clit. At the same time, he caught my earlobe between his teeth, worrying it like a pup with a toy.

  Oh God! He was all over me, fondling and caressing whatever flesh he could access through my disheveled clothing—and it was glorious! Crumpling my skirt to the waist, he worked his clever fingers under the elastic of my panties to stroke my soaked fur. I jerked against his palm, wanting him to explore more deeply. He appeared happy to oblige, pushing into my channel with his fingers while strumming my clit with his thumb. I wormed my way into his loose trousers and clung to his cotton-covered ass, feeling his glutes flex as he ground his astonishing hardness against my belly.

  I’d never doubt my grandmother again.

  His mouth returned to mine for a reprise of that breath-stealing kiss then he licked his way along my collarbone and burrowed into the valley between my breasts. Without removing his hand from between my thighs, he somehow managed to drag our tangled bodies down to the kitchen floor.

  The feel of unyielding ceramic tile under my back brought back a moment of sanity.

  “Harry—wait! Stop!” Here we were writhing half-naked, in public, on the studio kitchen floor. Anyone could walk in—Roth, or Marty, or heaven help me, Etienne himself! It must be close to his appointed time for sampling my creations and I’d bet my Cordon Bleu diploma that Etienne was never late.

  Terror flashed through me, momentarily eclipsing my lust. “We can’t do this, not here, not now…”

  Harry replied with an inarticulate grunt, parted my thighs and dove between them to press his mouth against my silk-covered mound. His hot breath had me boiling in an instant. I grabbed his head to pull him closer and I heard a chuckle, smothered by my moist pubis. The vibrations sang through me, kicking off a minor explosion of pleasure that left me panting and limp.

  Harry profited from my temporary immobility by stripping off my drenched panties and applying his tongue directly to my wet, aching pussy. He lapped along my cleft, down to my rear hole then back again, finishing with a flick to the swollen bead at the apex. I shuddered under him, hauled to the edge of another climax by his talented mouth. He obviously knew exactly what he was doing. Pursing his lips around my clit and sucking hard, he sent me tumbling over the cliff and into ecstasy.

  When I recovered, I found him kneeling between my splayed legs with a satyr’s grin on his face. He had freed his cock, which was long and fat enough to make any girl’s mouth water. As he rippled his fingers along its length, tugging and stroking, I could swear I saw it swell further.

  Carnal need overwhelmed everything else. My still-twitching pussy had never felt emptier. Harry watched my face, as if reading the signs of my upwelling lust. I spread my thighs wider and humped the air in lewd invitation. He didn’t speak, merely arched one eyebrow.

  “Please…” I moaned, ready to do anything to feel that solid shaft inside me. The man took pity upon me. He positioned the slick bulb at my entrance and drove his cock into my depths in one savage, perfect thrust.

  They say most women can’t come from penetration alone. Maybe that’s true, but when Harry’s cock parted my flesh, I flew off into an orgasm so powerful I kicked over one of the stools. It clattered to the floor, more than loud enough to alert anyone around that something was going on behind the counter. I didn’t care. Harry growled like an
animal, jerked his pelvis like a machine, and rammed me again and again with that gorgeous, insatiable cock. That was my universe—the only thing that mattered.

  We fell into a rhythm right away, as though we’d known each other forever. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tried to impale myself more deeply. He lifted my hips and cradled my butt in his big palms, protecting me from the hardness of the floor tiles while creating a better angle for penetration.

  I came twice more, once when Harry leaned over to bite my nipple on a ferocious down stroke, then again when he pulled out and painted white ropes of cum all over my pubic hair. The last orgasm was triggered as much by gratitude as by physical pleasure. Even under the obviously powerful influence of Gran’s aphrodisiac, he’d had the consideration not to ejaculate inside me. Overwhelmed by our fungus-induced lust, neither of us had considered the question of a condom.

  We lay together on the kitchen floor, half-dressed and sticky with our mingled secretions—like two broken dolls, limbs at every angle. My heart pounded in my ears and my breath came in gasps. Harry’s glasses hung precariously from one ear. His dreadful sweater looked worse than ever. Apparently my frantic clutching at whatever I could grab had stretched it out of shape.

  He wore a dopey grin of satisfaction, though. I suspected my expression was similar. I should have been appalled—I’d come close to jeopardizing everything I’d worked for—but instead I felt lazy and sated, as though I’d consumed a gourmet meal, and perversely pleased that the innocuous-looking powder had worked so well.

  Too bad I’d managed to hit the wrong target.

  Chapter Four

  Harry zipped up his fly and dusted off his clothes, then extended a hand to help me to my feet. “I probably should apologize,” he said. “But if I did, I wouldn’t be sincere.”

  “Um—that’s okay.” I was in much worse condition than he was. Two buttons were missing from my blouse. My breasts were hanging out of my bra like I was some stripper. Meanwhile, under my wrinkled skirt, my pussy hair was matted with cum and my own juices coated my inner thighs. “It’s not your fault.” I felt the heat rising in my cheeks as I bent to right the stool I’d knocked over in the throes of passion.

  “You mean, because you’re so irresistible?” Harry reached out to smooth my tousled hair. Something about the gesture—so familiar and so intimate—triggered an ache in my chest. “I mean, you are beautiful and sexy, intelligent and talented—I’ve never felt such a strong need for a woman before. But that’s no excuse for my acting like a caveman.”

  “I wanted you, too.” Indeed, I’d rarely if ever experienced the sort of irresistible desire that had engulfed me when Harry touched me. I’d had a tiny taste of the profiterole filling. Could that have been enough to turn me into a raging sex maniac?

  The profiteroles. Oh, God! The clock read three minutes past five. Etienne was late, but surely he’d be here any minute.

  Somehow I had to escape.

  I turned to my erstwhile lover. “Harry, I need your help. Etienne and I have an appointment—right now—for him to evaluate my cooking. But I can’t meet him like this…” I gestured at my ruined clothing. “You understand, I’m sure. I need for him to see me as a professional.”

  Harry grinned, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Yeah, your state might be a little difficult to explain.”

  “So can you tell him I’m indisposed? A stomach bug, or jet lag, or something? He can taste the dishes I’ve made even if I’m not here.”

  “Sure. But you know, Emily, you don’t have to be afraid of him…”

  The chime of his cell phone interrupted us. “Hello? Oh, hello, Etienne.” His eyebrows arched and his lips curved into a broad smile. My pulse picked up speed.

  “Really? No one hurt, I hope.”

  Had the finicky chef been delayed? I whispered a prayer of thanks to my grandmother’s gods.

  “Yes, yes. Of course. I’ll convey your apologies.”

  While Harry continued his conversation, I picked up the plate of profiteroles and dumped them into the trash. It was a shame to waste so much work, but clearly I’d added way too much of the secret ingredient. I wanted Etienne to lust after me. I didn’t necessarily want him to ravish me on the set. Afterward, perhaps…

  “Hey, what are you doing? Those are too good to throw away!”

  “I think they’re a bit dangerous.” I kept my voice light. I’d die if he learned the truth. “Look at the effect they had on you.”

  “That was your effect, not the results of eating your cooking.” He stepped closer and drew me into his arms. “You’re the most delicious creature I’ve encountered since I was a teenager, salivating over Lucy Liu.”

  “Oh, you’re one of those guys with yellow fever?” I tried to extricate myself from his embrace. That was tough—first because he was much stronger than I was, and second, because my whole body wanted to give in, to relax against his firm chest and listen to his heart beat, to feel his knowing hands taking control. I didn’t want to hurt him, though. The closer he and I became, the worse he’d feel when I bagged Etienne.

  “I like women of all shapes, sizes and colors.” He trailed his fingers down my side and over my hips, then seized my ass and pulled me against his body. A thrill skittered up my spine. He was hard again, just as hard as he’d been half an hour ago.

  How long did the excitatory influence of Gran’s fungus last, anyway?

  I decided to change the subject. “What did Etienne have to say?”

  He was nibbling my earlobe again. I was having trouble concentrating.

  “Somebody hit his Porsche on his way to the station. Sorting things out will probably take a couple hours—the driver was some little old lady without insurance.” He stuck his tongue in my ear and I almost jumped out of my skin.

  “Great! I can slip off to my hotel and take a quick shower, then.” I made a serious effort to unwrap his arms, but he was like some octopus. “By the time Duvalier gets here, I’ll be back to normal.”

  “Hey, I need a shower too. Mind if I join you?” His fingers crept under my skirt, making their inexorable way up my sticky thigh toward my naked pussy. My inner muscles clenched. I remembered the feel of his powerful cock moving inside me.

  “A cold shower is what you need, Harry!” I finally succeeded in tearing myself away. “Behave yourself!” I bustled around the kitchen, putting covers on the beef and the salad, stretching plastic wrap across the crème brûlée. I didn’t want to look at him, to see the disappointment on his honest, open face.

  “Whatever you say, Madame Chef.” He held the refrigerator door open while I stowed the dessert casseroles. “Can I help with anything else?”

  Poor Harry. I’d taken advantage of him—made him my unwitting guinea pig. He deserved better.

  Too bad he wasn’t the one who held my future in his hands.

  “Thanks, but that’s all for now. Did Etienne say what time he’d arrive?”

  Harry watched me tidy up the counter, twisting his hands together as though they itched to touch me. “No later than seven. You should be done by eight, I’d imagine.”

  “Good. I’m exhausted, and I really want to be fresh for the show tomorrow.”

  “Exhausted in a good cause, I’d say…”

  I threw a dish towel at him. He caught it handily. “I’m talking about jet lag, you lecher. I barely slept last night, and I spent the night before crammed into an economy class seat between two enormous Texans who snored like race car engines.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just hoping I could take you out for dinner tonight. You’ve got to eat, right?”

  “I suspect my tasting with Etienne will be all the food I need.”

  “Right. Okay. I get the idea.” The bitterness in his voice made me feel like dirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Harry turned to leave. I grabbed his arm.

  “Wait—please—I’m sorry, Harry. This afternoon was—well, it was amazing. And I promise we’ll go to dinner sometime,
after my first show tomorrow.”

  He gripped my arms, hard enough that it hurt. His molten chocolate eyes burned into me. “I want more than dinner from you, Emily. Much more.”

  Before I could answer, he released me and strode out of the studio. I watched his lean form disappear around the corner. I wanted to call him back, to tell him I’d changed my mind, but I suppressed that impulse.

  “I know, Harry,” I whispered to the air. “Believe me, I know.”

  Chapter Five

  “Is all this really necessary?” I gestured toward my reflection. “This is a cooking show, not some fashion extravaganza.”

  Lisa had outlined my eyes in shiny black, exaggerating the natural tilt at their corners. She’d streaked my lids with green shadow then dusted them with gold glitter. The foundation she’d applied to my already pale cheeks made them look like white porcelain. My lips were painted blood red to match my ridiculous costume. I looked like some fetishist’s caricature, a modern dragon lady.

  “Etienne’s orders.” The California blonde grinned at me in the mirror. “He said he wanted an exotic effect.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Anyway, theatrical makeup always looks like it’s too much, but you’ll find you’ll need that on camera. You’re gorgeous, Emily. Don’t worry!”

  “And how am I supposed to cook in this?” I’d been working on my recipes for the show that morning when Roth had appeared with an ankle-length, scarlet silk brocade cheongsam and announced that this was the costume Etienne had chosen for my first appearance on Tastes of France. It fit perfectly—meaning that it felt like it was spray-painted onto my body and hugged every curve. A slit climbed to mid-thigh, allowing me to walk without difficulty, but I was worried that one overly energetic twist might split the seams. That would be some television debut!