Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance

by Lila Moore

  “I’ll see you after work,” he said running out of his office to put out the fire.

  Moreau

  So Gwen was fucking the food blogger Boone? Figures. One way or another, Gwen always got what she wanted. She wasn’t above using her body to manipulate a situation. I’d fallen into that trap once before.

  For a time, Gwen drove me crazy. She was amazing in bed, but the girl could be psychotic. She had a vengeful streak in her that any reasonable person would fear. Of course I wasn’t always the most reasonable guy. I thought I could control the situation, but Gwen was too much for me.

  After her husband caught us together, she blamed me for her divorce. She was under the impression she bore no responsibility for anything. I told her that I wasn’t the one who took a vow to love, honor and cherish her husband. She didn’t care.

  I put the incident behind me when she approached me with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Gwen was opening a new restaurant with a group of investors. They wanted me to oversee it. She promised me total control. I got to pick the menu, the ingredients, how the restaurant was decorated, everything. I should have known it was too good to be true, but I was too eager.

  I wanted to start a new restaurant after the disaster that was my last place. We’d managed to get a Michelin Star, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I hated everything about that place. The investors were constantly breathing down my neck to maximize profits, the staff was incompetent, the clients were demanding. It felt impossible to please anyone.

  Eventually, the restaurant folded. The failure humiliated me, but I was more than happy to get out of there and start over.

  Lost in thought, I suddenly found myself in front of Roche’s apartment. Was this what starting over felt like? My stomach was a bundle of nerves. Girls don’t make me nervous, but there was something about Roche. Not only was she stunning, but I felt like I had to prove something to her. Maybe that I wasn’t the asshole everyone dismissed me as.

  I knew I’d been hard on her in the kitchen, but that’s life in a stressful, demanding job. I didn’t treat her any differently than the others.

  I cleared my throat and rang the buzzer. The door unlocked and I headed up. I’d come with an impressive spread: a charcuterie board full of the best meats and cheeses in the city, not to mention a very good bottle of wine. I was sure she’d appreciate it, if for no other reason than the fact she’d been eating nothing but crap lately. I don’t know how a chef could tolerate microwavable dinners. It was sacrilegious.

  Roche opened the door as I approached her apartment. She gave me a small, enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. Her hair was down, hanging long over her breasts. She wore a tight ankle-length, white dress-again without a bra. Did she do that on purpose because she knew it drove me wild?

  I wasn’t sure how to greet her. Should I hug her? Kiss her? Luckily, my hands were full. I didn’t have the opportunity to be awkward and set a strange tone for the night.

  “Am I late?” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

  “No. We never set a time, really… though I was starting to wonder if you were coming.”

  “I wouldn’t let you down like that,” I said awkwardly. So much for setting the mood. I was blowing this.

  Roche tried to take one of the bags from me as we entered her apartment. I wouldn’t let her. I wanted to set everything up perfectly for her. I took my time placing the food on the wooden board, arranging the meats and cheeses perfectly. I added some spicy mustard and olives.

  “I thought you were going to cook for me?” she said.

  “This is better.”

  “Are we going on a picnic?” She eyed the board and bit her lip.

  “I thought we’d eat here, and that maybe something a bit lighter was in order.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You spend all day tasting sauces and rich foods. I assumed you’d like a break from all that. This is simple; the flavor speaks for itself and it’s delicious.”

  Roche grabbed a slice of prosciutto and ate it. Her eyes closed.

  “Good?” I asked.

  She answered with a smile and reached for another piece. I moved the board out of the tiny kitchen and set it down on the bed. She followed close behind. Roche sat down and crossed her legs beneath her. I busied myself with the wine and watched as she spread cheese over bread then took a big bite. She didn’t peck at her food like a bird; she dug right in and enjoyed every bite.

  “What?” she said, catching me staring.

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re smiling. What’s funny?”

  “Nothing. I just like a woman who eats.”

  She rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand self-consciously. “Am I being a pig?”

  “No. I was being serious. I hate sharing a meal with someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”

  I handed her the wine glass. She sipped from it then picked up a slice of cheese and ate it slowly.

  “What do you think?”

  “The cheese pairs with the wine nicely. It makes it taste sweet like honey.”

  I popped one of the olives into my mouth then dug in. After a glass of wine, we’d both loosened up a bit, in fact I was starting to suspect Roche was a lightweight. After only one drink, she acted drunk. She held out her empty glass to me and asked for a second. I filled her wine glass half full this time. I didn’t want her to get wasted. She took a sip, then another.

  “Be honest with me,” she said. “Are you really dating Gwen?”

  I poured more wine for myself and took a drink. I’d grown tired of this argument. What could I do to prove to her that Gwen and I were not an item?

  “I saw you kissing her,” she said with a drunken lilt to her voice.

  “What? I didn’t kiss Gwen.”

  “In your office! I saw you.”

  “She kissed me. I did not kiss her.”

  “Women are just throwing themselves at you all the time,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  “No… just Gwen. Lately, it seems as if the one girl I’m interested in wants nothing to do with me.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s that?” she asked.

  I gave her a meaningful look. She took a big gulp of wine.

  “Gwen and I used to sleep together,” I blurted out.

  I’m not sure why I was telling Roche this. Maybe it was best to clear the air between us. If she knew my history with Gwen maybe she’d stop asking questions about her.

  “She was married at the time. It ended her marriage. She’s always blamed me.”

  “But you work together?”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes life is complicated. She presented me with a once in a lifetime opportunity to open the restaurant I’ve always wanted. How could I say no? Would you turn down that offer just because it was coming from an ex?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “I was willing to leave the past in the past. Gwen is possessive though. She doesn’t like competition. And she’s out for revenge. It wouldn’t surprise me if she knew that you were watching when she kissed me. Then there’s the whole thing with her answering my phone while she was fucking that food blogger.”

  “Wait, she’s fucking the food critic?”

  “Apparently. She was with him when she answered my phone. She could have told you that I wasn’t there, that she only picked up my phone after I’d forgotten it, but that would ruin her fun. She wanted to make you think I was fucking her.”

  “Out of revenge?”

  “Revenge and jealousy. You’re beautiful and talented. Gwen knows I like you. This is her way of destroying competition and hurting me.”

  “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

  Roche looked down shyly. I lifted her chin and kissed her without thinking. Her lips tasted of wine. I kissed her softly at first, then harder. Roche’s lips parted and her eyes closed. I ran my fingers through the length of her soft hair. I was trying to take things slowly, but that was proving difficult.

  Heat shot from the base of spine to
my cock. Her pleasure was most important to me; it was going to take a lot of self-control to wait. I wasn’t sure I possessed the level of control it took to resist throwing Roche down and fucking her.

  I slid my hand up her dress and caressed the inside of her thigh. A whimper escaped her lips. The sound made me hard.

  I touched her lightly, running my fingertips over her skin before coming to her pussy. She wasn’t wearing underwear. I touched her clit and she gasped. I stopped kissing her so I could watch her moan. I rubbed her clit in circles, never changing pace. Most men mistakenly believe that when a woman is turned on by your touch that she wants you to amp up the intensity. I’ve learned that what they really want is to keep doing exactly what you’re doing.

  I waited for her to give me a sign to move on. I didn’t want her to cum yet, but I wanted her wet and begging for more.

  She grabbed my thigh as if she was looking for something to hold onto. I took her hand and brought it to my lips. I kissed her sweetly. She pulled free from my grip and unbuttoned my pants. Before I knew what was happening she had my cock in her mouth. She sucked greedily, moving her mouth up and down the shaft slowly.

  Roche took the length of my cock down her throat while flicking her tongue along the shaft. It felt amazing. Liquid heat shot through my cock. For a second I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from cumming.

  I tried to think about anything other than Roche’s full, wet lips moving over my cock. I ran through recipes in my head and tried to recall the exact ingredients and measurement for various dishes. My mind was blank. It was like I’d never cooked a meal in my life.

  Roche’s hungry mouth moved quickly. With effort I pushed her away. I didn’t want to cum and leave her unfulfilled.

  I hiked her dress up around her waist. Roche spread her legs wide. Her tight, pink pussy was dripping wet. Lying flat on her back, she stared up at me with innocent eyes. She wasn’t an innocent girl. Far from it. She knew what she wanted and she went after it. I suddenly realized that’s why I was so drawn to her. We had more in common than either of us realized.

  Roche bit her lip; her hands gripped the bed sheets in anticipation. I positioned myself between her legs then leaned in close. I wanted to see her moan when my cock entered her. She didn’t disappoint.

  Roche’s mouth opened; her eyes closed. She threw back her head and cried out. I found myself moaning along with her as I pumped into her.

  She squeezed my cock, milking it for every drop. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last. Roche writhed beneath me, matching my every stroke with the curve of her body. I couldn’t hold out any longer. The pressure building inside me was too much. With a quick thrust, I was deep inside Roche. I came inside her just as there was knock at the door.

  Beatrix

  Stars danced in my vision. I could hear the sound of my moans echoing through the room. I didn’t recognize them as coming from me. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to regain control. My pussy throbbed with Moreau’s cum.

  For a time I watched Moreau’s muscular chest rise and fall. I needed to get cleaned up, but I didn’t want to leave the bed.

  “Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “Just you.”

  There was a knock at the door. Had there been a knock earlier? I hadn’t heard it. When Moreau was inside me, the world faded away. All I could feel was the rush of heat stirring every cell of my body to life. I squeezed my thighs together.

  “I should answer that,” I said, not wanting to get up.

  The person at the door pounded loudly, like they were the cops. I stood up on shaky legs. A fresh chill shot up my spine. Moreau smiled at the sight of me, trembling like a newborn fawn.

  I pushed my dress down and rearranged the top. I was sure I looked disheveled, but I didn’t care. I opened the door without checking the peephole first. Big mistake. Gwen greeted me with a scowling face. Her features were strangely pinched. Her big cheekbones gave her face a hollowed out look. She stared daggers at me.

  “I need to talk to Vincent,” she said.

  I started to lie. I was going to tell her he wasn’t here then slam the door in her face. Before I could open my mouth, she said: “I know he’s here.”

  How did she know that? The expression on my face must have given away the truth. Gwen didn’t wait to be invited inside. She pushed me out of the way and barged in. She only had to walk a couple feet to see Moreau lying shirtless on his back. There was no hiding in my tiny studio apartment. Not that Moreau was the kind of guy to run and hide. He sat up and faced Gwen.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “You can’t just muscle your way into Roche’s home.”

  “It appears that I can and that I did. The better question is what are you doing here? You were supposed to meet me tonight. Or did that slip your mind?”

  “I never agreed…”

  “Don’t. You absolutely did agree to meet me tonight. We were supposed to workout the problems with the restaurant. Apparently, fucking this dishwasher means more to you than the future of the restaurant.”

  “I’m not a dishwasher,” I said lamely.

  What a snob. If I was a dishwasher what difference did it make? Work is work. I suspected a spoiled, rich girl like Gwen didn’t understand that. She’d had everything handed to her in life. It was no surprise she looked down on people who worked hard for a living.

  Moreau jumped to his feet. My studio apartment was starting to feel seriously crowded.

  “You know that restaurant is my passion,” he said. “You’re just pissed off because you wanted me to come over and fuck you tonight. Instead I’m with Bea.”

  I blushed at hearing him call me Bea. Were we finally moving past the formality of referring to each other by our last names? Should I call him Vincent now? No, he hated his first name. Everyone called him Moreau-everyone except Gwen.

  “You’re fired,” she spat.

  “You can’t fire me,” Moreau protested.

  “I just did.”

  “You don’t have anyone to run your restaurant.”

  “On the contrary, I do.”

  “Who? No one knows the menu or the staff like I do. If you bring in some third rate outsider, the place will fold within a week.”

  “You greatly overestimate your value to the restaurant, Vincent. Everyone is replaceable. Besides, I’m not hiring an outsider. I’m hiring your former entrée preparer Marcel. He knows the menu like the back of his hand. He’s brilliant, only you failed to recognize it. He should have been given this little slut’s job, but you were thinking with your dick when you hired her.”

  The muscle in Moreau’s jaw tensed as he gritted his teeth. “I have a contract. You can’t just fire me.”

  “I’m within my grounds to fire you for negligence. Your contract is voided.”

  “Negligence? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You let a tainted dish be served to a customer. In fact, I’m starting to think you did it on purpose. Working along with Roche, you conspired to hurt the restaurant and poison a customer by tainting a dish with old clam water.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “We didn’t do anything, it was Marcel.”

  “Marcel told me everything,” she continued. “He told me that you were out to sabotage the restaurant because you were mad about what I was asking you to do. If you couldn’t have things your way, then you were determined to destroy the whole place.”

  “You can’t honestly believe that,” Moreau said. “This is my life, my reputation. I would never destroy my life’s work this way.”

  “You just did,” she said. “Marcel will take over the restaurant starting tomorrow. I don’t want to see either one of you ever again.”

  She turned on her heels and pushed past me, hitting my shoulder as she left. It suddenly occurred to me that when Gwen announced, ‘You’re fired,’ she was talking to me too. We were both unemployed.
>
  Moreau grabbed his wine glass and threw it against the wall. It shattered, sending glass shards all over the floor. I didn’t blame him. I felt like throwing something too. What if Gwen decided to blacklist me around town? I’d never work again.

  “I’m sorry,” Moreau said. “This is all my fault. I’m going to fix this.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to make it right.”

  I took a step back and leaned against the kitchen counter. I could feel my dreams slipping away. I’d never work as a chef again or save up enough money to open my own restaurant. It was over through no fault of my own. I did nothing wrong. Sleeping with Moreau was all it took to have my dreams stolen from me.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “You’ll cut yourself.”

  I hadn’t been paying attention. I’d almost stepped on a piece of broken glass. Moreau found a broom and started to sweep up the mess.

  “I was such a fool to think I could work with her,” Moreau said. “I should have known this would blow up in my face. I’m so sorry, Bea.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Moreau should have handled the situation with Gwen better, but I couldn’t blame him for this mess. She was acting beyond unreasonable.

  “What about the other investors?” I asked. “Maybe you can go to them and convince them this is a mistake.”

  Moreau shook his head slowly. “No. Gwen calls the shots. She has majority control over the restaurant. The others have no experience in the restaurant business. They look to Gwen for guidance. Whatever she decides they go along with. It’s over.”

  “That fucking snake Marcel-I should have thrown a pot of boiling water on him.”

  Moreau smiled. “You’ve been hanging around me too much.”

  He had a point. Moreau’s temper and demand for perfection was rubbing off on me. I wanted to destroy Marcel.

  “He can’t just ruin our lives and get away with it.”

  “He won’t,” Moreau said. “Gwen’s made a huge mistake. Marcel is not qualified to run the restaurant. No one respects him and he’s in way over his head. He doesn’t have the discipline to run a restaurant or the talent.” Moreau sat down on my bed and ran his hands over his face. “This isn’t over-not yet.”