The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef: Seduction and Sin, Book 4

by Love-Wins, Bella

  The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef

  Seduction and Sin, Book 4

  Bella Love-Wins

  Bella Love-Wins Books

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef

  Copyright © 2017 Bella Love-Wins.

  Written by Bella Love-Wins.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Contents

  Blurb and Author’s Note

  1. Prologue – Dylan

  2. Emily

  3. Emily

  4. Emily

  5. Dylan

  6. Emily

  7. Dylan

  8. Emily

  9. Dylan

  10. Emily

  11. Dylan

  12. Emily

  13. Emily

  14. Dylan

  15. Emily

  16. Dylan

  17. Dylan

  18. Emily

  19. Dylan

  20. Emily

  21. Emily

  22. Dylan

  23. Emily

  24. Epilogue - Emily

  25. Epilogue – Dylan

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  About Bella Love-Wins

  Blurb and Author’s Note

  BLURB

  I have an appetite for the virgin chef. A hunger. A craving that can’t be filled.

  Dylan

  My need goes into overdrive the moment I see that sweet little chef at the kitchen door of a fundraising gala.

  One look and everything changes.

  I crave her.

  Then I find out she’s a virgin.

  Now, I’m going to have more than just a taste.

  Author's Note: The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef is a Standalone Romance with a guaranteed HEA ending and no Cliffhanger. Each story in the Seduction and Sin Series can be read in any order.

  One

  Prologue – Dylan

  I come to realize I have a thing for Emily.

  We have a thing for each other.

  I crave her.

  Now I want a taste, and I’m not referring to food.

  Emily cranes her neck to meet my gaze, head tipped back. I tilt her head up and gaze into the most intense eyes I've seen in a long time. And she won’t look away. There's darkness and a little torment in her stare. A lot of pain coming from her soul, if that saying about eyes being the window to the soul is true.

  I cup her chin and stroke the pad of my thumb down her cheek. A wave of hot need courses through me. I should say something, do something, but I don’t want to be anywhere but here. With her. The resolve in her eyes tells me what I already know. We want the same thing. Taking her champagne flute, I put both our drinks down nearby without looking away.

  She leans back on the cold glass door, eyes steady, locked onto mine, overflowing with longing. I’m not surprised when her hands slide up along my chest, slowly feeling her way up, experiencing my chest by touch before looping her hands behind my neck. I rest my hands at the sides of her waist, pulling her against me as my mouth covers her for another intoxicating dose of that drug. That high that spreads across my skin, courses through my chest, and causes my cock to thicken, throb and jerk.

  Except with Emily, there’s something different.

  It’s not easy to admit it, but fuck, she has me in a trance. I always thought I’d enjoy an independent woman who’s as busy as I am. And I do, but hell, she’s got so much going on, way more than what I have on my plate. That’s new to me. The woman’s busier than I am.

  There’s even more to her.

  Something more than the urge to fuck her.

  As I kiss and explore her mouth, my wayward hands move up her arms again. This time, I curve my hot palm around the back of her neck, winding her hair around my fingers. We fuck each other’s mouth, tasting, boring into each other, tangling our tongues together, bringing the intensity of our kiss to heights that rival a climax. I’ve never come from just kissing, but if it were ever to happen, it’d be with this woman.

  She feels it too. Her moans, her hands gripping the hair at the base of my skull, her left leg that runs from my calf to my knee and back down, they all tell me so. My taste for her pulses inside me like a drug. And she’d felt it, too.

  Pulling back from the kiss, I meet her wild eyes. “I want to take you upstairs to my bedroom and fuck you,” I tell her honestly. “I’ve wanted that since I saw you. After I taste you and make you come, I’ll fuck you. But then, I’ll take my time and worship every inch of you. If that’s what you want… Is it?”

  “I…” she answers in a shaky whisper.

  She circles a spot on my upper back with one finger, hands still at my neck. It takes everything in me not to press her body harder against the sliding door and take her right here. Right now. Just from her touch.

  My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her answer, the anticipation clutching me like it’s life or death. It’s the most foreign experience I’ve ever felt. A need, an urgency to hear her say yes.

  Her eyes widen under her thick lashes, and her tongue runs over her bottom lip. “Yes, I want that too.”

  I don’t wait for her to finish her sentence. Grabbing her by the waist, I lift her up to my chest, and her legs wrap around me. A quick turn and I take ground eating strides toward the stairs near the study. We make it to my bedroom. I lower her onto my bed, sealing my mouth to hers on the way down.

  Two

  Emily

  Twelve Years Ago

  I hurriedly leave my grade six classroom at the end of the school day with unshed tears in my eyes. There’ll be no more afternoons with her waiting outside like the other moms and dads. No more short walks with Joy and me skipping on the sidewalk a few steps ahead.

  No more looking back at her when we get to a curb, arms outstretched so she can take one of our hands in each of hers to cross the street. No more begging her for two, five, fifteen minutes more outside our apartment to play a little longer before we go inside to start homework or sit down to dinner.

  No more meals together, no more story time, no more lullabies sung by that voice as sweet as honey to my eleven-year-old ears. No more of her warm, cozy hugs and wet kisses on my forehead after she tucks in my covers, switches off the lights, and no more blowing one last kiss to Joy and me before we close our eyes.

  No more anything with Momma.

  She’s gone.

  Dead.

  Grams says she’s with Grandpa Henry and Great Grams up in heaven, and although I didn’t ever meet them, I’m relieved she’s not alone.

  But today, Joy and I won’t be able to say our last goodbye. Grams doesn’t want us to remember Momma that way. Especially not Joy. “Six-year-olds should never witness their Mommas being put into the ground,” she had said when I begged her to go. “I wasn’t much older when Great Grams passed. And seeing that casket sink into the dirt, knowing her body was in there...no. I won’t allow little Joy to see your mother that way. It’ll take away every precious sweet, fond memory of her.”

  I’d reminded Grams that I was eleven and old enough, but she told me she needed me. My job was to get Joy from her grade one class after school and take her to Penny’s Playland at the mall.

  There’s thirty dollars in my backpack, and I’m allowed to spend it all. I’m supposed to keep Joy occupied while all the adults who know our mother say g
oodbye and watch as she’s put into her final resting place.

  What about me?

  What about Joy?

  How are we supposed to say goodbye?

  I make it down to the main floor of our school and walk around to Joy’s classroom. She’s supposed to meet me at the doors, but I don’t see her. Checking inside the empty classroom, I call her name. No one answers. I head out to the playground just in case she forgot about what Grams told us only this morning.

  Joy is not there either.

  A wave of panic attacks my chest and speeds up my breathing. Joy knows better than to leave school by herself. The after-school yard monitors would never let her go home alone at that age. She has to be somewhere around here. Hopeful, I check the girls’ restroom. No Joy.

  I run back to her class. “Joy Rebecca Fields, stop playing and come out here right now!” I demand.

  The tiny, muffled sound of a cry comes from the back of the room. “Joy?” I say her name more gently this time. She’s always been super sensitive, shying away from louder, gruffer sounds and people. “It’s me. Don’t be afraid. Just come out so we can leave. If we go now, there’ll be time to make your favorite peanut butter cookies after we come back from the arcade. I’ll even let you crack the eggs and measure the ingredients. All of them. I promise. Please Joy, just come out. Everything is going to be okay.”

  I wait at the door, and after a few minutes, I hear the sound of metal chair legs scraping against the floor. On any other day, that grating noise would make my skin crawl, but relief washes over me. She’s here.

  After moments of patience, Joy’s little head of bouncy blonde curls pops up from under a desk in the back row. “I’ll help with the baking. I’m still very sad.”

  “Me too,” I admit, pulling her shoulder into my side. “I was so worried about you. Why’d you hide from me?”

  I feel the rise of her shoulders as she shrugs.

  “I don’t want to go home if Momma isn’t gonna be with us.” A big teardrop falls from one eye and trails down her face. “Why did she have to die?”

  “I don’t know. Bad things happen sometimes. But you know what? Momma didn’t want to die.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I heard Grams praying for her. She thanked God for giving Momma the strength to fight for all this time, and for keeping Momma with us for so much longer than the doctors thought she’d be here.”

  “It wasn’t long at all. I want Momma,” she cries, and I feel new tears burning as they roll down my face but brush them away. Grams told me to be strong for Joy.

  “She’ll always be with us.” I give her the same words that Grams said while Momma was sick and lying in her hospital bed. Turning to face her, I rest one palm over my heart and the other over hers. I add, “In here. Everything she ever said to us, did for us, shared with us, every hug, and all that love she gave us... It’s all in here. Her body’s gone, but her love won’t ever leave us. Okay?”

  “Momma’s never coming home.”

  “I know. Is that why you were hiding?”

  She nods and meets my eyes. “But you found me. Are you sure we can’t go look for her? Maybe she’s hiding somewhere in the hospital. Maybe she’s just waiting for us to come look for her.”

  “She’s dead, Joy. In heaven. Once you go to heaven, you can’t come back to earth.”

  “But—”

  “No.” I cut her off firmly. “Her body’s gone forever, no matter how much we wish to have her back.”

  “I want Momma.”

  “I know.” I take her hand and make one step toward the door. “Me too.”

  She follows me. “Can we go into the ball pit first?”

  “What?”

  “The ball pit at Penny’s Playland. I want to go there. Then the bouncy castle. And the Whack-a-Mole.” Her tone is flat and devoid of emotion. This trip won’t be fun, but we’ll both make the best of the distraction. “And the claw machine.”

  “Of course. Grams gave me a lot of money. We can play every game you like.”

  “But let’s use the girls’ room first,” she tells me. “I don’t want anyone to see I was crying.”

  “It’s okay to cry.” I tuck some loose, wayward curls behind her ear and give her a soft smile. “Your friends will understand.”

  “But I’m Joy. I’m not supposed to be sad.”

  * * *

  I slip the packet of bubblegum from my jeans pocket and stretch the opening to look inside. Perfect. Two are left.

  “Take one,” I tell Joy, tilting the opening in her direction.

  She stares at it longingly with her big blue doe eyes. “But I ate all mine. It’s not fair you have to lose one of yours.”

  She says the words, but her tiny hands tell another story as one curls around my wrist, steadying the packet so she can slip one out with the other.

  “Just have it. It’s almost time to take the bus home. Are you ready to help me bake those cookies?”

  She shakes her head and curls fly in every which way from the force. “I want to meet Grams… to see the funeral.”

  “Grams said no.”

  “Why can’t we see Momma?”

  “Because we can’t.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “I just told you that Grams said no. She going to be our new Momma now. What she says goes.”

  “Why?” she whines, eyes filled with new tears that threaten to pour down her face.

  “She doesn’t want us to remember Momma that way. Now stop asking the same questions over and over. It’s time to go home. Let’s go.”

  “I want to die too!” she screeches above the fun-filled shouts, cries of enjoyment, and ambient mechanical and digital noises of nearby arcade games. “Then I can be where she is.”

  “Shhhh. Don’t say that!”

  “I want to be with her.”

  “But then you’ll leave me and Grams alone here,” I plead.

  “We can both be with her where she is. Up in heaven.”

  “She wouldn’t want that for us. Remember when she told us she wants us to grow up and have little girls of our own, and to be happy and to keep living? She said she’ll be looking down on us, watching over us both. If you die, she’ll be so so sad. Come on. Please stop.”

  “No!”

  That wild, stubborn expression that she gets during a tantrum begins to fill her face. Any second now, she’ll drop to the floor and make a scene. If Joy takes it that far, there’s no turning back. And the people who own Penny’s Playland will probably kick us out.

  “Wait, Joy. Look. Look at this.” I reach a hand down into the front of my shirt and lift out the sterling silver chain with oval-shaped locket that Grams gave me. “See this?” I ask, dangling the locket in front of her. “Look inside. It’s Great Grandpa and Great Grams.” I slide my fingernail between the crease and open the locket to show her the ancient black and white photo of them on their wedding day.

  Her face transforms. It goes from harsh and tenacious, to an expression of pure curiosity. With eyes wide as saucers and bright as the sparkling ocean, she nods. “That lady looks like Momma.”

  “Yes. Grams says we all look alike.” I point to the empty side of the locket, the side with space for a picture to be inserted. “See this part? Grams is going to put in a picture of you, me and Momma together. You know that photo of us baking a cheese and chicken casserole, and there’s a bowtie noodle on each of our noses? That one. And when it’s done, she’ll make one just like it for you.”

  “Really?” she squeaks. “It’s so pretty. So shiny!”

  I reach up to the back of my neck and pull the necklace over my head. “Here. You can have this one, and I’ll get the other one when it’s ready.”

  “Can I really?” She grasps the open locket, staring down at the tiny photo as though nothing else matters.

  “Yes. You keep it. But you have to promise you’ll never say you want to die. Never again. I really mean it.”

  “I pr
omise.”

  “If you leave me too, my heart will break into a million billion pieces. I’ll never stop crying. You can’t just say you promise. You need to mean it.”

  “I swear I do. I want to live and grow up with you, Em. I really really do. I’m gonna miss Momma, but I don’t want to make her sad in heaven. And I don’t want you to cry forever and ever.”

  “All right.” I help her with the necklace. When it’s on her, her smile brightens to the point of beaming. She presses her palm to her chest, covering the locket. “Look, Emily. I’ll have Momma here. She’ll really be close to my heart.”

  “She will,” I agree, and lead a calm and composed Joy out of Penny’s Playland and down the main street to the bus stop.

  I turn to look for the bus and quickly wipe away the wetness on my cheek. I feel weak. Tired. And something about Joy’s suggestion wanders around in my head. I need Grams. So so much. This funeral needs to be over so she can be home with us. Joy has me to lean on, and now, I need someone to tell me why life without our mother is worth living.

  Three

  Emily

  Nine Years Ago

  Grams is dead.

  I’m fourteen years old, Joy is only nine, and no one is left. We’re alone. Orphans in every sense of the word.

  I prayed so hard for Grams to survive her fight against breast cancer. I begged God every night, promised I’d do anything, everything if He’d let her live.