by Emily Bishop
“Hey, party people. What’s on the menu tonight, and when do I get to start sampling?”
Katie strolls in, her blond hair in a ponytail with tiny braids tucking into it on either side. She’s adorable and trendy, everything I am not at the moment. A white spray of flour covers my brown apron. My hair is in a messy bun, tangled and in complete disarray.
I didn’t think about dolling up before dawn as I was outside by the docks. Fishermen seem easier to haggle with when one tones down one’s femininity. They like talking to me as if I’m one of the guys. I’m happy to comply when it means more sleep and less effort on my end. I have more important things to think about—like how to make my food the best in town.
I shove a pan with globs of cheddar biscuit on it into an oven then pull a thick chunk of lobster meat out of a pot. I set it on a white plate, pour a butter sauce on it, and slide it across the counter to Katie. She pulls a fork from a nearby drawer and stabs the succulent meat, bringing it to her lips and taking a bite.
She takes her time tasting it, and she chews slowly as her eyes move about the room. “Nice. That’s weirdly creamy, even though the sauce is butter-based.”
I grin, proud of my own ingenuity. “Good. That’s what I was hoping for. Here are a few of the specials for tonight. You know the regular menu.”
“I do. Also, you look like hell. Did you have… a good night?”
She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and my gaze darts to Paul to see if he reads her hidden meaning. He lifts the ladle to my New England clam chowder and examines the contents, presumably to see if it’s hearty enough. He gives no indication that he’s onto our secret conversation.
“No, I didn’t,” I say.
Her lighthearted expression fades. “What happened?”
I shrug and scoot another plate with a sample scallop on it over to her. She samples it as she did the first.
“Bad dreams,” I say, and I leave it at that.
“Mmm, this is outstanding. I’m going to push this one.”
“Do, because the scallops go bad after today, so the more we can sell, the better.”
“You got it, boss. I’m going to get everything ready for open. Someone’s got to hold the rush back.”
I peek out of the kitchen to see the view from the front windows. Not a single person walks by.
“Try not to overexert yourself,” I say, my tone dry.
“Hey, we’re still new in town. Before you know it, there will be a line down the block.”
“Here’s hoping.”
“Here’s knowing,” Katie says. I’m grateful for her eternal optimism. If she knew how much we’re skating by, she might not be so sure. Her faith restores my own though, and I turn back to my oven to check on the biscuits while she prepares the rest of the house. She unlocks the front door, and I prepare for my first batch of customers.
Please let there be a first batch of customers.
The bells on the front door jingle. I pull a spoon and dip it into the vat of clam chowder, bring it to my lips, and give it a taste. The creamy broth soothes my soul and warms my heart, and the clam is perfectly cooked, a little chewy when bitten.
“You’re not supposed to be here!”
Katie’s tone puts me on alert, and I drop my spoon and head out to the dining room. There, standing over Katie, is Skippy the witless wonder.
What does it take for this guy to get a hint?
I wonder if he’s armed, and I consider stepping back into the kitchen to call Ben. As I’m considering, Skippy takes another step toward Katie, and that option goes out the window. My friend needs help now. I can’t wait for Ben to come to the rescue every time.
“God, your ass looks nice in those jeans. I’d love to get one more squeeze, maybe in the alley behind the joint. Come on, let’s go. No one’s here to serve except me.”
Katie steps back, and her palm lands on a nearby table. Her fingers are strategically placed near a silverware set—a knife fully within her grasp. If I don’t move fast, this is going to get ugly.
“Skippy! I thought that was you. You know you’re not allowed to come in here.” My tone is jovial, even friendly. I beam up at him, and he glares across the room at me.
“This doesn’t concern you. Your waitress and I are having a conversation.”
I hiss inward between my teeth in a that’s too bad kind of way and tilt my head at him with a shrug of my shoulders.
“Thing is, it does concern me because she’s on the clock, and also, you’re an asshole. I’m glad you’re here though, because I called the sheriff’s department, and I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have a legit reason to put you behind bars.”
I keep my voice steady, and my gaze firm. I’ve played poker a time or two. I know how to bluff. Now I have to see how good of a player Skippy is.
His glare deepens as he stares at me, but he doesn’t move. “Liar,” he breathes.
I shrug again, the picture of nonchalance. A couple walks by the place and looks at the menu posted outside. I notice the woman look in, glance at Skippy, then guide her partner on.
Now this asshole is losing me customers. Not fucking cool.
“Suit yourself. We can all have a good laugh about it once the officer arrives. Maybe a nice restraining order will help things, too.”
He stares at me again and I want to shiver. I hold my spine straight, and I don’t back down.
He looks at Katie one more time. “You’re losing out, you know that?”
“Leave me alone! I’ll have you arrested myself if you come in here again! Hey, is that the cop, Naomi?”
In spite of his tough act, Skippy’s head twists to face the window as he searches for the man in question. Katie and I exchange a glance, knowing we’ve won out this time.
“Stupid bitches!” he hisses at us. With wide strides, he makes his grand exit. I notice another couple eye him, eye my windows, then walk on.
Damn it.
Katie turns to look at me, and she’s pale. “Thanks. I don’t know how we’re going to shake that guy.”
“Well, now he at least thinks we’ve got the cops on his tail. Hopefully that’s enough. I thought this town was safe, but maybe I was wrong. This guy is chasing away all my customers before they even get a chance to try us out. We’ll go under for sure.”
Before Katie can console me, a group of five walks in, and we’re back to work. With my mind busy in the kitchen, I’m able to put away thoughts of Skippy for the rest of the day, but I can’t shake this feeling of foreboding. I’m fortunate that his presence hasn’t deterred the entire town from trying my food, but we’re still not busy enough.
I still have an entire vat of scallops at the end of the night.
Katie comes back and sets down a bottle of cleaner. “Dining room’s all set. We can handle one last table, but with five minutes left to go, I say we call it a day.”
“Go home. You were great today. I’m sorry you keep getting harassed here.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault. We’ll shake that guy. Chin up, OKOK? Get some sleep tonight, and things will seem much better in the morning.”
“Will do. Have a good night.”
Katie gives me a salute.
“Bye, Paul.”
“Bye, Katie.”
She walks out, and the door jingles again. I look at Paul. He’s wiping down one of the stovetops to pass time, but we were prepared for close a while ago. Not enough customers to stay busy.
“You, too, Paul. Go home. I’ll close up here.”
“You sure?” he asks. I can tell he’s trying not to look too eager.
I nod. “Go on. Go out on the town. Have a night of it. I’ve got the fort handled.”
He hesitates, and I shoo him away with my hands. “Goodnight, Paul.”
Finally, he nods and removes his apron. “Goodnight, Naomi.” He turns, then looks back. “I hope you sleep better. You’re a great cook. Great cooks attract people. It just takes time.”
My heart twists at his
comment. My sous chef shouldn’t have to comfort me. I should be the strong leader they believe in, not the feeble woman they have to lift up.
I smile at him. “Of course it does. We’ll be starting a chain in no time.”
He nods again, then leaves. I turn to look at the kitchen, but there’s nothing that needs to be done. All I have to do is lock the door and go to bed. It’s a depressing thought. One does not want idle hands in this industry.
The bells on the door jingle again, and I freeze. My whole staff has gone. Am I getting a last-minute customer? I step out of the kitchen, prepared to go into waitress mode, but my heart stops.
Ben stands in my doorway. His shoulders are slightly slumped, his clothing rumpled from the day’s work. Good lord is the man attractive. I remember that I don’t like him. Right? Right. Ben me no likey. He meets my gaze, and that thought flies out the window.
“We’re closed,” I say. Self-preservation must win out. This man can’t be trusted. He doesn’t trust me, does he?
He sighs, and I find myself aching to touch him. I want to comfort him, and I don’t even know why. The man’s an adult. He can take care of himself. “That’s a shame. I’ve been telling everyone that it’s the best new place to get a bite in town.”
“Is that before or after you give them a speeding ticket?”
The corner of his lip twitches at my comment. “Before. Stings less when they don’t know how much they owe.”
“That’s considerate,” I say, and he nods.
“Anything to help out. I guess I’ll leave you be.” He turns, and something in me bubbles up to the surface to form a word I shouldn’t say.
“Wait.”
His broad shoulders turn back, and when his azure eyes gaze into mine, I’m glad I said it. I tilt my chin back toward the kitchen. “You can eat here, but we are closed, so you’ll have to help me cook your food.”
“A gourmet meal and a free cooking class? I should show up here at closing time more often.”
“I suppose it’s repayment for your help yesterday,” I mumble.
“I’m sorry, was that gratitude, maybe a hidden apology?”
“Don’t get cocky, or you’ll get yesterday’s spoiled seafood before I can toss it to the sharks.”
He puts up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I could use a good meal after today.”
“Rough day at the station? Too many squirrels getting into rafters?”
My joke falls flat, and the stress in Ben’s shoulders doesn’t lift as he leans against my prep table. I frown and pull out some of my scallops and a pan. I remove some of my premade sauce and turn on the burner.
“I’m in some pretty hot fire for this yacht robbery. All the rich people are beside themselves with worry about their property.”
I flip the scallops. “Next to the big fridge, to the left.”
“What?”
“The wine fridge. Pick whatever bottle you want. Glasses are over there.”
“I thought this was a cooking lesson.”
“It is. Rule number one, make sure you and the chef are properly hydrated.”
He chuckles, and my belly flutters. I managed to cheer him up a little, and I try to ignore how pleased I am about it. The scallops take only a few minutes, and I have them off the pan and plated before he can pour two glasses of red wine. He slides one across to me, then moves to stand beside me as I hand him a fork.
“Scallops. Best in Maine, I’m told.”
“By whom?” he asks.
“My mom?”
He laughs again. He’s so close I can smell that clean soap scent, that light, masculine deodorant again. It awakens a craving in me that I’ve had for him since our last session. He cuts a scallop and holds it up for me to take a bite.
“Ladies first,” he says. His eyes are intense as they lock onto mine, and I don’t look away from him as I take a bite.
“The point is for you to eat,” I say.
He shrugs. He’s so close the heat radiates from him, and I crave that warmth.
“I wanted to see what you look like putting something in your mouth,” he says.
I should be offended. I should kick him out. Instead, I grab a fork and spear the other half of the scallop and hold it up for him. “And what about you?”
“I think you already know what that looks like.”
His gaze finally leaves my own as it drifts down to my lips, and I’m ready for his kiss. He pulls me close, and his mouth claims mine, his tongue flavored with passion and warm butter. I lap it up, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I press my body against his, and his erection prods me through his jeans.
“Wait,” I say again, and he pauses, staring down at me with pure lust.
“Not in here.”
Chapter Ten
Ben
My body is rock hard, every muscle aching to touch Naomi. When she tells me to wait, it takes everything in me to stop, and I stare down at her, counting to ten. She’s wearing a pale blue dress and another pair of boots, and she looks good enough to eat.
“Health code violation.”
A wicked grin stretches across my face. “Ever practical. Where to?”
“My office. Through that door and to the left.”
“Great,” I say.
I’m not wasting time with words. I pull her to me again and crush her against my body. My hands grip her ass. I press her mound against my cock. I lift her up and down along it, her heat sinking through the fabric of our clothing. I’m making her forget all about health code violations, and I’m glad.
Still, I’m a stickler for following the rules.
I bend down and scoop her up into my arms. Before she can react, I kiss her again. I bite and suck on her lips as I walk, and I crack open an eye enough to get us to her office. The door is open, and I step inside. Once we’re in, I slam it behind us, and we are draped in darkness.
I let her feet drop to the floor and maintain my hold. In the dark, my senses are heightened, and this time I’ll do things my way. Tonight, she won’t get to see anything. She will only feel.
“Take off your dress,” I say. My hands drift to her ass again and I scrunch the fabric into my fists as I help pull it up. She lifts her hands, and I take control as I pull it off and toss it to the floor. My fingertips explore her, landing on a lacy bra. I’m regretting my decision to keep the lights off. I wonder what color her underwear is. I want to see her.
All of her.
“Turn on the light,” I say.
She steps away in the dark, and a lamp clicks on in the corner and bathes the room in warm, amber light. Naomi’s skin glimmers as she walks back to me. Her bra is bright red, and she’s wearing a thong to match.
Good decision by me.
“Good. Now slowly take the rest of it off while I watch.”
Her eyes stay on me as her hands drift to the back of her bra. With a snap, her breasts bounce free. Her nipples are hard and small, perfect little pebbles. Next, she turns and bends to remove her boots.
“No. Leave those on,” I say, and she glances back at me with a sexy little grin. Then she bends over, her ass on full display as she slides her thong off, and her glistening pussy beckons.
My dick grows another inch, pressing against the seam of my jeans. She moves to stand up, and I put a hand on her ass.
“No. Stay like that. Elbows on the desk.”
She obeys me, and I unzip my jeans and drop them, my cock springing free. I rub it as I approach her, still bent over, waiting for me. I slap her ass once, and she gasps.
“Stay perfectly still,” I say, and I grin.
I’m going to make her be anything but still.
I slide the tip of my dick along her slit, and she jumps at the contact, then moans. I run it along her, slickening it. I slide in and pull back out.
“You want it? You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” she moans, and she arches toward me. I have her dripping wet, but I’m not slick enough yet.
&nb
sp; “Good. Now turn around and suck my cock.”
She drops to her knees and turns to face me, looking up at me as her palms cradle my dick. She runs a nail along the tip, and it jumps even higher.
“Suck. Nice and hard.”
She releases my gaze and works on my dick, running her tongue along its length before sucking on the end, the slurping sound music to my ears. Her other hand reaches up and tickles my balls.
“Yes, lick them, too,” I command. She sinks lower, and her tongue laps all along my balls and shaft. My legs are shaking a little, but I hold my stance.
“Now take all of it in your mouth. Let me fuck it.”
Her perfect little mouth shoots up the length of me—pure, wet heat. I’m surprised that she can fit almost all of me in there, the back of her throat opening to me as I thrust, her tongue licking my dick. I pull out of her mouth and step back.
“Bend over the desk again.”
The eager look in her eyes tells me that she likes this. She likes being told what to do. She bends back over, and I grab a fistful of her hair and spread her ass cheeks. Her pussy gapes before me, ready to be fucked. My cock slides in easily, and I tug her hair with one hand as I grip her ass with the other.
“Ah, yes. That’s good. Tell me how this feels,” I say.
“It feels fucking amazing. Harder, please.”
I do as she wishes, increasing the pace and strength of my thrusts. She arches her back to take more of me inside her, and her slick walls bend and spread to accept my dick. She whimpers, and it’s not enough.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Naomi. Moan as loud as you want.”
I’ve given her permission to be free, and she doesn’t hold back. She moans like a porn star, gasping and crying out as she spreads her palms across the desk. Her head is arched back as I maintain my hold on her hair. I move my hand from her ass cheek and lean over her until I can reach her clit. When I do, she screams.
“Yes! Fucking yes!”
I take that note and slap her clit in rhythm with my pumping.
“I want you to come for me, then I want you to finish me off with your mouth.”
She doesn’t reply because I’m stimulating her beyond words. She’s panting and arching back into me, pushing back against my dick to meet me with every thrust. After a few more slaps on her pussy, her legs shake, and her cunt pulses around me as she screams my name.
