Recipe for Kisses

by Michelle Major

  “It wasn’t like that,” she explained. “I never said no. It wasn’t . . . he didn’t force me.”

  “From what I gather, you also didn’t feel like you had a choice.”

  She shook her head. “I’m making this sound worse than it was. It wasn’t like he hit me all the time. There were moments when his temper got the best—”

  “Don’t. Make. Excuses.” He said the words quietly but couldn’t help the venom that spilled out in his tone. “I have a temper. You know that.”

  “He wasn’t like you. Jonathan was quiet and controlled. He’d been a long-distance runner in college.” She smiled. “My hips were wider than his. It was embarrassing.”

  “Your hips are exactly the right size.”

  “Because you’re huge.” She waved a hand up and down in front of him. “Every part of you is larger than life.”

  “And that scares you.”

  She looked at him, hope and regret warring in her big eyes. “I just don’t know that we’d fit.”

  There it was, he thought. The point where he should cut his losses and let her go. Not only did he specialize in casual sex, Ben had always made a point of keeping emotions out of his liaisons. Chloe was nothing but feeling, damaged and battered and still dealing with the emotional scars left by her ex-husband after the physical bruises healed.

  But he didn’t want to give up. Not now. Not for as long as she’d let him try. It was like tonight’s dinner. In the end all the work had been worth it when Zach took that first bite. Maybe Ben had built his career on fancy recipes in Las Vegas then flash-and-dash cooking on the show, but what mattered now were a simple family meal and the meaning of it. Being with Chloe held the same significance. After years of technique and politics in the bedroom, he wanted something real. He wanted to put aside his own needs and make this good for her. If she’d let him.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” he said and stood, placing his palm out. She looked at it with wide eyes, as if she wasn’t sure how either of them had gotten to this point.

  The question was did she trust him enough to take the chance.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chloe swallowed as she looked at Ben’s outstretched hand. What was he still doing here? She’d told him the most shameful secret of her life, the humiliating detail from her marriage that not even her closest friends knew. Yet he hadn’t walked away.

  He could, she knew. It would be so easy for Ben “The Beast” Haddox to leave her behind. He could walk into any trendy restaurant or bar in Denver and have an immediate flock of willing women hanging off his arm. Even if he hadn’t been famous, everything about him screamed that he knew how to treat a woman in the bedroom. He was still here with her, waiting with as much patience as a man like him could manage. For her.

  She’d come to Denver for a new life, but had only been living half of it up until now. Ben wasn’t Jonathan, and she didn’t want to continue to let her ex-husband control who she was now. She could never overcome her past if she didn’t let anyone into her present. Slowly she straightened and slipped her hand in his, understanding she’d made the right decision as emotion flared in his eyes.

  She led him into the house, through the kitchen, and down the short hall to her bedroom. Like all the rooms, it was small, and she wondered for a moment how Ben would even fit in her tiny bed.

  She turned to him and took a step closer. He continued to hold her hand, tracing a pattern on the tender skin between her thumb and first finger. She waited, expecting him to move, to pull her into his embrace like he had in his dad’s kitchen. Still nothing.

  “So . . .”

  His eyes flashed. “So.”

  She took a breath. “You’re the expert here.”

  “But you’re in charge.”

  Her eyes shot to his at those words. “I don’t know . . . I can’t . . . what am I supposed to do?”

  He brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them tenderly. “Whatever you want, Chloe.”

  She snatched back her hand and took two steps away before bumping into the mattress. “I don’t know what I want,” she said desperately. “You have to take control.”

  “Maybe later,” he answered. “This is about you. Whatever comes to your mind, tell me.”

  “I want to see you without your shirt,” she blurted then felt her cheeks flame. Ben didn’t even blink.

  He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt. “Like this, or do you want to do it?”

  She thought about that for a moment then stepped forward. “Me.”

  Her mouth went dry as she came toe-to-toe with him, and she licked her lips, marveling that her lungs were still moving air in and out. His gaze went a deeper blue as he watched her, so she dropped her eyes to his chest, afraid she’d lose her nerve otherwise.

  She grabbed both ends of his shirt, and he lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head.

  Now she did stop breathing.

  She knew he was big and broad. After that first night when he’d taken off his shirt in her store, she’d done some harmless Google searching and found paparazzi photos of him running bare chested. But waiting for her to touch him with heat coming off him like he was close to burning—nothing could have prepared her. His muscles were sculpted, like he did more than work out in a gym and bang around pots in the kitchen.

  “I’ve never seen a six-pack in person before you,” she told him and with one finger traced the groove from under his ribs to his waistband.

  He started to chuckle then sucked a breath, flinching but keeping his feet planted on the floor.

  She glanced up at him.

  “Ticklish,” he said through clenched teeth.

  For some reason that made her anxiety disappear. In its place a deep curiosity bloomed, new and unfamiliar. She’d been a virgin on her wedding night, awkward and shy. Jonathan had done nothing to ease her nerves. Then things had gone bad and . . .

  No. She shut off her mind, unwilling to let her ex-husband intrude on this moment.

  She pressed her palm flat on Ben’s stomach, splaying her fingers across his bunched muscles. His skin was golden, with only a sprinkling of darker hair across his chest and a thin band that disappeared into his shorts. Shorts that were tented, she noticed, and felt her eyes widen.

  “I can keep that part under control, too,” he said, sounding both hoarse and amused.

  She nodded, swallowed, and continued her exploration, so close she could feel his warm breath on the top of her head. She closed her eyes and touched the tip of her nose to his skin. “You smell—”

  “Like I need a shower?” he asked on a gravelly laugh.

  “Good.” Like a man. Like every fantasy she’d ever had come to big, bold life in front of her. She ran her finger along the outline of his tattoo, something she’d wanted to do since she’d first seen it that night in her store. Her hands curled around his biceps then up over his shoulders, and she had to stand on tiptoe to reach around his neck and thread her fingers through the soft hair at its nape.

  He groaned softly, his eyes drifting shut as her breasts, annoyingly covered, pressed into his chest. She kissed him and it started tentatively, because she still wasn’t sure of herself. But he whispered her name, his voice filled with longing and need, giving her confidence to deepen the kiss.

  He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her, and she waited for his arms to come around her. When they didn’t, she drew back. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me that’s what you want.”

  “Because I’m in charge?”

  He nodded. “Because you’re in charge.”

  She felt a smile break across her face. “Do you want to touch me, Ben?” Her voice held a tone she barely recognized, full of power and a womanly knowledge she hadn’t realized she possessed before this moment.

  “More than I want to breathe,” he whispered.

  “Take off my shirt,” she told him. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”r />
  Ben lifted his hands, and she noticed his fingers were trembling a little. He reached for her, his big fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. As each inch of skin was revealed, his gaze darkened. He peeled away the soft fabric and slipped it over her shoulders, the calluses on his palms imparting awareness on her already sensitized flesh. His fingers hooked under the straps of her polka-dot bra and tugged them down her arms.

  The shirt fell to the floor and he stared at her. “I like this,” he said, tracing the scalloped edges of the bra cups.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Can I kiss you here?” His finger dipped into the hollow between her breasts.

  “Yes,” she said on a ragged breath and watched as his head lowered.

  But instead of a simple kiss, his tongue followed the path of his fingers, then he blew on her flesh.

  She felt her nipples harden as a moan escaped her mouth.

  He glanced up, his brows quirked in amusement. “Sex noises.”

  “You like them,” she said on a breath.

  “Hell, yeah,” he agreed then neither of them spoke for a long time.

  For a man so often loud and brutish, Ben was incredibly gentle with her, taking his time to learn every part of her body as he made love to her. He made her feel perfect, like everything she did was right. She touched him, explored his body in a way she never would have had the confidence to do before him.

  It was hard to imagine that a man so at ease with the strength of his body would use it to inflict pain on someone else. And when the thought that this wouldn’t last forever tried to slip in and steal her pleasure, she forced it away. She focused on the right now even as she felt every move he made deep in her soul.

  When he finally ripped open the foil condom packet, sheathed himself, then entered her, she was more than ready. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced, and parts of her she hadn’t even known existed sprang to life in response to Ben’s touch. She climbed higher and higher until she finally broke apart knowing she was safe in the cocoon of his tender embrace.

  “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Chloe said, snuggling against him, her voice a satisfied purr.

  Ben thought he’d never had a prouder moment in his life. Not when he’d first arrived in New York, or took over the kitchen at La Lune, or made his first million from the show. This moment with this woman was better than every other good thing that had happened in his life.

  “Is it always like that?” she asked.

  He pulled her closer, her back pressed to the front of him, and curled his arm around her waist, his fingers spreading over the soft swell of her belly. He wanted to answer yes, to make some lame joke about his prowess in the bedroom, so she wouldn’t realize that he’d been as affected as she was. His mouth wouldn’t form the words. “No,” he answered, afraid he’d give away too much if he said anything else.

  “Too bad,” she murmured.

  “But it will be with us,” he couldn’t help but add. He knew it was true even if he couldn’t imagine how. Ben had experienced all kinds of sex in his life and plenty of it. Angry and acrobatic, quick and dirty, long and lasting all night. Nothing had come close to being with Chloe. He knew better than to let his emotions get involved when it came to physical pleasure, but he couldn’t help himself. “I should go.”

  “Stay,” she whispered, tangling her legs with his. “Just for a little longer.” Her hair tickled his cheek, the strands soft like silk along his jaw.

  He shouldn’t want her the way he did. These tender moments were almost as intimate as being buried deep inside her, and even more unsettling. But he couldn’t walk away, not just yet.

  He shifted as a small nose bumped his back. “What the—”

  Chloe stretched to look behind him. “My cat,” she said with a laugh.

  Ben turned onto his back but kept his arm around Chloe as the cat sniffed his arm then licked it with a rough tongue. “Friendly guy.”

  “His name is Mr. Rogers.” Chloe reached an arm across him to scratch at the cat’s ears. “He was my mom’s, and I adopted him after she died. He doesn’t usually like men.”

  Ben blew out a soft laugh as the cat climbed leisurely onto the pillow and curled up in a ball next to his head, purring like an overcharged motor. “I can see that.”

  “Weird.” Chloe swallowed a yawn. “He hissed at my ex-husband every chance he got.”

  “Smart cat,” he whispered and kissed the pale column of her throat. “Go to sleep now.”

  She sighed and pressed closer, as if she couldn’t imagine any place more perfect than in his arms. Panic threatened to explode through him at the thought, because he knew he was anything but perfect and was bound to ruin everything between them. He should leave now, making sure she understood exactly how it was with him. What he could and couldn’t give.

  His body refused to move so he lay wrapped around her, listening to her breathe for minutes or maybe hours. It was better than sleep—more relaxing to be aware of how precious and rare this quiet was in his life. He didn’t expect to fall asleep. Ever since he’d started the show, he’d had to take a pill to get even a few hours a night.

  But he must have drifted off because the next thing he knew, Chloe was stretched over him, a condom between her fingers. “Some parts of you wake up quicker than others,” she said with the barest smile.

  He sheathed himself then brought her down onto him, hissing from the pleasure of it. “The rest catches up,” he said and kissed her.

  As they moved together, just as right as the first time, he understood that what he could and couldn’t give would forever be divided into two distinct parts—before Chloe and since her.

  This woman, small and fragile but with the strongest heart he could imagine, was changing everything.

  Michael showed up at the house—unannounced again—a few days later.

  “Ever think of calling first?” Ben said when he opened the door then tried to slam it shut again.

  Unfortunately, the publicist had wedged his foot in the doorway. “Ever think of answering my calls and texts?”

  “I’m busy,” Ben said over his shoulder as he stalked back toward the kitchen.

  “Busy ignoring your career,” Michael shot back, following close on his heels. “EatTV is freaking out because you cancelled the LA appearance.”

  “It’s the same night as employee family day at the Rockies. My dad wants us all to go.”

  “Who cares? You don’t do family days. I’ll rent a box at the next game and we’ll fly in your friends and invite local celebrities. It will be a great photo op.”

  “I don’t give a damn . . .” Ben started to yell then took a breath and made his tone softer. “I don’t give a damn about photo ops with local celebrities, and I can’t name one person I’d call a real friend.”

  “I’m your friend,” Michael said with a sniff, clearly offended.

  “I pay you.” Ben went to the stove, took the lid off the pot simmering, and cursed. “I need burners with even heat. This is a joke.”

  Michael stepped closer. “Are you cooking?”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “What does it look like?”

  “But there are no cameras. No restaurant critics waiting.” His eyes widened. “You haven’t invited a critic to your dad’s house?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Ben adjusted the knob on the back burner. “I’m prepping dinner.” He dipped a spoon in the sauce and held it out to Michael. “Try this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Try it.”

  Michael took the spoon, studied the wine-colored sauce for a moment then ate it. His eyes drifted shut then popped open. “Holy shit, that’s good.”

  “It’s a glaze for the meatloaf.”

  “Did you just say meatloaf?” Michael sputtered, dropping the spoon to the counter.

  “Zach’s request.” Ben grinned at his dumbfounded publicist. “So far this week, he’s tried chicken pot pie, baked ziti, and fish tac
os made with panko crumbs.”

  “You’ve turned into fucking Betty Crocker.”

  “I’m cooking for my family and enjoying myself in the kitchen for the first time in years.”

  “We need to get you out of Denver, stat.”

  “I’m not leaving.” Ben grabbed the hunk of Gruyère cheese he planned to use for the scalloped potatoes and started grating it into a small bowl. “Yet.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. This isn’t you, Beast.”

  “I hate that name and you know it.”

  “Then why aren’t you yelling at me? I know I’m pissing you off. Where is the temper that made you rich and famous?”

  “I’m working on controlling it.”

  “That temper is who you are.”

  “Not all of who I am,” Ben said, more to himself than to Michael. He smiled at the memory of Chloe saying those words to him. Of her soft skin and the sounds she made when he was holding her. Of how he felt and what he became when they were together. How for the first time in forever he actually liked himself.

  “What about the restaurant plans?” Michael tapped an impatient finger on the scratched Formica counter. “Mark—the realtor—told me you didn’t like anything he showed you.”

  “They were all crap,” Ben said even though that wasn’t true. “I want a different realtor.”

  “He’s the best commercial guy in the city.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Why should I bother when you’re determined to waste your money on that dumpy toy store location?”

  “I’m not sure that’s going to work out, either,” Ben said, voicing the words for the first time. His stomach rolled in response. With Chloe working so hard to get the money for the back rent and his niece and nephew by her side, the thought of exacting his revenge no longer held much appeal.

  “Seriously?” Michael looked stunned. “That’s all you’ve talked about since you bought the building. What’s going on with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben yelled, his temper finally getting the best of him. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, ok?” His hand slipped and the bowl of cheese went skidding along the counter before crashing to the floor, cheese and shards of glass spilling in every direction. “Damn it,” he roared then glanced up to see his publicist grinning.