His to Taste

by Winlock, Jacqueline

  “Oh, not at all!” I said. “No, everything has been great so far, sir. You have such a beautiful home and I’ll get accustomed to my new surroundings soon, I’m sure.” I gave him a reassuring smile and hoped he wouldn’t press the issue.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Just let me know if I can do anything to make you feel more at home. Did you pick a room yet?” He helped himself to another muffin and leaned back in his chair.

  “Thank you, sir. I hope you don’t mind that I chose the room at the very end of the hall. I can move to a different room if that one isn’t available.” I pushed my last few forkfuls of salad around on my plate.

  “That room?” he asked, his surprise evident in his deep voice. “My interior decorator hasn’t finished that room yet. It’s rather plain and small, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you rather use one of the other more furnished bedrooms?”

  I shook my head, and said, “Thank you, but no, Mr. Cochran. The smaller one suits me just fine. It reminds me of my bedroom at home. Besides, shouldn’t the fancier bedrooms be reserved for your guests anyway?”

  His bark of laughter startled me and I glanced back up at him. “If you end up staying on with me,” he said with a wry smile. “You’ll learn that I very rarely have any guests. Only my mother and her husband visit me sporadically. There really is no reason for you to relegate yourself to the smaller room, but it’s obviously up to you.” He finished his last bite and sighed in satisfaction.

  “Thanks for another great meal,” he grinned. “I’d better get back to work before my publisher gets on my case. You’re already proving to be a great source of inspiration for my story so I might be requesting a late dinner tonight. Please feel free to eat earlier if you’d like, though. You can always keep my plate warm in the oven for me.”

  I frowned and shook my head sternly. “Absolutely not, Mr. Cochran. You’re not paying me good money to gnaw on some rubbery stale leftovers in the middle of the night. Just text me whenever you’d like to eat and I’ll prepare a fresh meal for you. I’ll probably be up reading anyway so it’s really no trouble at all, sir.” I busied myself with clearing the table and started putting away the leftover vegetables and muffins.

  Laughing, he gave me a smart salute, and said, “Yes, ma’am!” Still chuckling, he walked out of the kitchen before I burst out in giggles. I finished the rest of my cleanup with a goofy grin on my face and thanked my lucky stars once again for stumbling onto this job.

  Once the kitchen was set to rights, I realized that I had the entire afternoon and evening to myself. I called Grandma to check in on her, but she was occupied at the senior center with Mrs. Rowland and didn’t have time to chat. Satisfied that she was doing well, I figured there was nothing really left to do for the time being except to delve into Mr. Cochran’s wonderful library.

  As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt such a sense of overwhelming comfort. I ran my fingers along the book spines as I sauntered around the bookshelves, breathing in the wonderful smell of lovingly cherished books. His collection offered an eclectic variety of subjects and I couldn’t wait to curl up by the Bay windows to soak up the warm sun.

  As I pulled out one of Patricia Cornwell’s earlier mystery novels, I accidentally knocked another hardcover book off of the shelf. I bent down to pick it up, and froze when I saw the picture on the back cover. Oh, my freaking god. Jake Cochran. My new boss was the Jake Cochran, the reclusive author of countless thrillers, and the very same author who was a permanent fixture on countless bestseller lists. Grandma and I had eagerly read every single one of his books and we loved all of the movie adaptations of his work. Scores of A-list actors and actresses coveted the roles in his movies since they were guaranteed box office successes.

  I gaped at his photo and slowly shook my head. It was no wonder why he seemed so familiar to me and I could have kicked myself for not making the connection. I plopped down into a comfortable easy chair and gazed down at the book in my lap. My employer was an internationally famous author; this was probably the closest I was ever going to have his face by my naughty bits.

  I groaned and covered my face with my hands. How was I supposed to treat him now that I finally had this realization? He definitely wasn’t a snobby prick and he hadn’t thrown his weight around as I would have assumed a person in situation could certainly do. In fact, he had been down to earth and welcoming since our first meeting.

  I suppose in my cluelessness, I must have been a pleasant change from all of the toadying sycophants and grasping gold diggers he probably encountered often. I couldn’t really fault him for wanting some peace and quiet and steadfastly isolating himself in his home.

  Since he hadn’t actually mentioned his work yet, I guess the most sensible thing to do would be to continue as we were since that was what got me hired in the first place. Pretending blissful ignorance would be a whole lot easier than to change our dynamics.

  After the shock wore off, I had to admit that I was glad that I had discovered his true identity since it only emphasized the gulf between our completely different worlds. Knowing that he was on such an elite social plane made it easier to lust after him from afar like an adolescent crush on a celebrity. Never in a million years would a man like him be attracted to a dorky girl like me, especially if he probably had herds of supermodels falling desperately at his feet.

  According to the interviews I’d read before, he was only in his early thirties, and he kept his love life quite private. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and it was such a relief to know that I could safely fantasize about him without any repercussions. Mr. Cochran was so far out of my league, I might as well ask him for an autographed headshot to tape onto my bedroom wall.

  After carefully re-shelving his book, I happily settled back into the luxuriously soft chair, and tucked my legs up under me. Grandma would have been so excited to know who my new employer was, but I couldn’t violate his privacy. I would eventually tell her once my contract was up, but I had to practice proper discretion while I was under his employ. I didn’t mind having to refrain from sharing the details because it would be easier to remain oblivious with him. Finally feeling completely at ease for the first time since meeting him, I cheerfully indulged in some light reading while I waited patiently for his next meal request.

  After a few hours, I stretched languidly and set my paperback aside. I could hear Mr. Cochran typing furiously on his keyboard as I sauntered past his office. His notoriety aside, the hardest part about maintaining my cluelessness would be the fact that I wouldn’t be able to ask him about his novels. He was such a gifted writer and I wished that I could pick his brain about his characters and plots. I turned back to look longingly at his closed door, and shook my head resolutely.

  While ensconced in my room, I turned on my laptop and lounged on the bed. I poked around on Facebook, checked out my Twitter feed, and caught up on my emails with my girlfriends. Julia had been so excited that I had finally found a job and I was grateful for her enthusiasm. I didn’t dare mention how attractive my new boss was, or else I’d never hear the end of it with her.

  I pulled up several food blogs to find some potential recipes and researched a few meal planning websites for some helpful tips. Since I would be in charge of the groceries and supplies, I was relieved to find some great websites that organized your shopping lists based on your meal plans. Although Mr. Cochran must be as rich as Croesus, it wouldn’t hurt to show him that I could maintain a reasonable food budget.

  Old habits definitely died hard, and I didn’t feel comfortable taking advantage of his funds. I checked out the delivery charges for a few local grocery stores, and figured that it would be more economical for me to just go shop myself. Another advantage was that it would give us some space, especially if he was used to living alone for so long.

  After compiling a few potential meal plans for the next three weeks, I felt well-prepared and comfortable that I had covered all of my bases. I could run them by him tomorrow to get his
feedback and tweak them accordingly. My eyes were getting tired from staring at my bright computer screen for so long so I turned up the volume for my phone’s notification alerts, and crawled under the covers for a nap. I placed my neatly folded clothes on the nightstand and shut off the bedside lamp.

  The shrill insistent beeping of my phone penetrated my sleepy fog, and I smothered a groan into my pillow. I reluctantly peeked at the screen and saw Mr. Cochran’s text asking for a meal in about an hour. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I rolled out of bed, and quickly re-dressed and fixed my hair and makeup. Yawning, I made my way downstairs to the kitchen and began my prep work.

  First, I tenderized some boneless skinless chicken breasts and seasoned them well with plenty of salt and pepper. I fried up some chopped bacon until it was nice and crispy and set them aside to drain on some paper towels. Using the bacon drippings, I sauteed the chicken breasts until they were evenly cooked and set them aside to keep warm. I then threw in some chopped garlic, paprika, and a pint of halved grape tomatoes. After a few minutes, I added a tiny bit of chicken broth to help the sweet tomato juices deglaze the pan, and I scraped up all of the delicious bits of bacon and chicken to develop the flavors. Once the sauce reduced, I added a couple pats of butter to round out the sauce for a rich finish. As the sauce came together, I warmed up the rest of the corn muffins in the oven, and then I quickly sauteed some fresh green beans with some olive oil, chopped garlic and shallots, lemon juice, fresh parsley, and salt and pepper. With a couple minutes to spare, I spooned the rich bacon tomato butter sauce over the chicken fillets, and plated the green beans. I poured him a glass of chardonnay, and a glass of lemon water for myself. For a simple finish, there was a bowl of sweet watermelon chunks chilling in the fridge.

  Mr. Cochran walked into the kitchen just as I was wrapping up the corn muffins in a clean dish towel to keep warm. He gestured for me to sit first and I smiled at him as we both sat and placed our napkins in our respective laps.

  “The smell of that bacon was driving me nuts,” he grinned. “I hope you don’t mind eating at such a late hour. When I’m struck with inspiration, I can write non-stop for hours on end, which can be rather annoying for the people around me.” I offered him the muffins and he buttered a couple to put on his plate.

  I shook my head and said, “Like I told you before, sir, I honestly don’t mind eating late. It’s no different than from my college days, actually. I can’t blame you for wanting to strike while the iron’s hot. After all, you have to take advantage of your muse when she finally calls to you, right?” I cut into my chicken and was relieved that it was still juicy and tender.

  “Exactly,” he said, after swallowing a forkful of saucy chicken and green beans. “It’s a shame that my ex couldn’t grasp that concept. She always hated my writing jags because it took my attention away from her, but that’s neither here nor there.” His beautiful mouth slightly grimaced at the memory.

  “I’ve been suffering from a few bouts of writer’s block for a while with this new story. After the incredible response to books like 50 Shades of Grey, my publisher has been harping at me to add more erotic sex scenes to accommodate my market’s demands. I’ve written plenty of sex scenes before in my previous books, but I need to write them more explicitly now.”

  He took a sip of wine and looked at me thoughtfully. “What type of genres do you like?”

  I hastily gulped down my bite, and blurted, “Oh, I’m a huge fan of...” I bit my lip and trailed off before I could say, “Your work!” I averted my eyes and rushed to say, “I mean, I’m a huge fan of a variety of genres!”

  I gave myself some time to compose myself by taking a few long sips of water. “I love horror, thrillers, and mysteries, but my absolute favorite genre is romance. I think it’s silly that women’s fiction should be categorized as if it was somehow lesser than general fiction. A good story is a good story, regardless of whether it was intended for a female audience.”

  I realized that I was gesticulating wildly in my excitement and caught myself before I almost knocked over my water glass. I was too embarrassed to look at him so I focused intently on cutting another bite of chicken.

  Without looking up, I could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, “You’re obviously a passionate and avid reader. As a writer, it’s always a pleasure to see someone consume the written word with such zeal. Would you feel comfortable if I asked you to be my sounding board sometimes? I’d like to get your feedback on some ideas that I’m bouncing around with my plot. You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings—just give me your honest opinion.”

  I couldn’t help the giant grin spreading across my face at that modest request. I peeked shyly back up at him, and exclaimed, “Oh, I’d love that! I was an English major—of course, I’m not a professional writer like you are, sir, but I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’m sure you already have plenty of assistants, but if you ever need me to help you with any research, please don’t hesitate to ask.” I ducked my head again, but the corners of my lips wouldn’t stop curving upward.

  He chuckled and gently patted my hand. “Thanks for your enthusiasm. You’re already giving me plenty of great material to work with so far.” He thankfully didn’t seem to notice when I jumped a little at his touch and I could feel the tingling from the warm contact of our skin.

  I watched him discreetly from under my thick fringe of eyelashes and marveled again at his gorgeousness. It was almost unreal that I was sitting across the table from a famous writer. Boring little me was actually sharing a meal with one of the handsomest men I had ever seen, and he had just asked me for feedback on his next international best-seller.

  That night, he was in a plain white tank top and a pair of blue plaid pajama pants. His hair was a tiny bit mussed as before, and his strong jaw was already darkened by stubble.

  I longed to stroke that roughly shadowed skin, just to see what the texture would feel like. I was gazing at him so intently that I didn’t realize that he had stopped eating and was returning my stare. Eyes widening in horror, I froze in my seat, and my brain grew fuzzy. Time seemed to stand still while his deep blue eyes glittered in the soft light. I couldn’t bring myself to tear my gaze away and I could hear my heart pounding wildly in my ears.

  His hand drifted slowly to my upraised palm and I softly gasped when he gently drew lazy circles on my sensitive flesh. I closed my eyes and reveled in the sensation, my body leaning unconsciously towards him. He traced the soft pads of my fingertips and I bit back a harsh moan. He trailed his warm fingers up my inner wrist and stroked my trembling arm until it seemed like my entire body was vibrating with need.

  I held my breath, desperate to savor the moment and hoping that nothing would interrupt his maddening caress. This was my first experience being touched like this with a man and I wanted these sensations to last forever.

  “In my story,” he murmured. “The female love interest is an enigma. She seems to be poised on the brink of discovering herself as young woman with a healthy sexual appetite, but shies away before succumbing to her inhibitions. The male protagonist finds her to be elusive; she seems to be sexually inquisitive yet she only allows him brief glimpses of her true nature.”

  Between his deep voice and his titillating fingers, it was impossible to think of him as an unattainable celebrity crush. He was overwhelming my senses with his maleness and I could feel that familiar ache and warm lick of arousal stirring wildly within me. The fabric of my bra felt sweetly rough against my tightening nipples, and I couldn’t help squirming a little in my chair. I knew he could feel the goosebumps on my tingling skin.

  “Tell me, Lynn,” he said, kneading gently at my sore muscles. “What are your thoughts about this character? Is she frightened of the hero’s attentions, or is she scared of her own reactions to her burgeoning sexuality? Does she ultimately want to be caught by the hero?”

  Having his words hit too close to home, I stiffened and pulled slightly back from his grip. I
was relieved to feel him relax his hold on my arm, but he continued to stroke my skin.

  “I’m afraid that I don’t know enough about this character, Mr. Cochran,” I said. “And I would assume that the hero doesn’t either. Instead of making assumptions about her motivations, he ought to be patient with her and give her some time to feel comfortable enough to reveal herself to him on her own terms. In fact, she might not think that he’s the appropriate partner to initiate her sexually.” With every word, I was reminded of the gulf between us, and reprimanded myself for getting swept up by his masculine allure.

  I managed to pull away completely from him and jumped up to clear the table. “If you’re finished with your meal, sir, there’s fresh watermelon for dessert if you wish,” I said, desperate to sound brisk and professional. It felt safer to retreat back to our normal roles, but my body felt so bereft without his warm touch. I avoided his gaze, busying myself with pulling out forks and small ceramic bowls.

  “Ah,” he said, with a wry smile. “I’ll take your feedback about the characters into consideration. If you would please dish up some of that watermelon for me, I’ll just take it into my office. You ought to go back to bed. I’ve kept you up long enough as it is.”

  Grateful that he let the subject drop, I nodded and silently handed him his bowl.

  With a murmured “Good night” over his shoulder, he made his way back to his office.

  I finally let out the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding, and braced myself against the sink. I tentatively touched myself where he had touched me and marveled at how unbearably good such a basic caress could feel. Shaking my head slightly to clear the sensual haze, I focused on cleaning up the kitchen.

  What was his game? Was it just harmless flirtation? Did he do this with his other cooks? I’m sure the other women would have pounced as soon as he barely crooked a finger towards them, but they probably had more freedom with finding employment after their affairs.