This was going to be more difficult than she’d expected. Morgan looked towards the photographer, head half-turned over her shoulder, just as he’d requested, but she was all too aware of the contact where her back pressed against Scott’s. A pulse beat hard between her legs, her pussy beginning to bloom against the crotch of her panties, and she wondered whether Scott felt the same excitement. If he did, he said nothing.
Bayford clearly sensed the chemistry between them. He took a few head shots, first of Scott, still clutching his whisk, then of Morgan, including a couple where she pressed the tip of the wooden spoon to her lips as though licking something from its surface.
‘Good ... Great … We’re working really well here,’ Bayford murmured. ‘So now let’s go on to the casual shots, shall we?’
Scott removed his loose-fitting white jacket without bothering to unfasten it, pulling it off over his head. As he did so, his T-shirt rode up beneath it, revealing a glimpse of his taut belly.
How had he acquired his light golden tan? Morgan wondered. She knew he owned a flat in Kensington with a spectacular roof garden; he and his ex-wife had let one of the celebrity magazines photograph them in every room of the place in happier times. Flipping through the feature as she sat in the hairdresser’s chair, Morgan had admired the place, never believing she’d one day find herself working alongside the man who owned it.
Maybe he sunbathed on the roof, secluded from prying eyes. Her mind picked up the image and ran with it, so that now he lay naked, the sun beating down on the firm globes of his arse, turning him that same delicious honey shade all over. And when he turned over, his cock would be hard, so hard that he wouldn’t be able to resist taking himself in hand. Secure in the knowledge he couldn’t be seen by anyone as he pleasured himself so brazenly, he would stroke up and down his length, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity till he came, his come spurting out into the warm summer air.
Such a delicious image, and part of her couldn’t help wishing she’d one day have the opportunity to see it in reality. Aware Bayford was waiting for her, she unfastened her apron, lifted the neck strap over her head and put the garment to one side. Beneath it, she wore a pretty floral dress with a V neck, revealing just a hint of cleavage. Not so sexy that it would be off-putting to a Saturday morning audience expecting good family viewing, but enough to remind them that she was as feminine as Scott was masculine.
‘Right, we’ll try something a little different this time,’ Bayford said. ‘Scott, could you stand behind Morgan and put your arms round her, then both turn your faces to me like you did before?’
Morgan half expected Scott to make some objection to this more intimate pose, but he didn’t say a word, simply wrapped his arms around her waist. Was it her imagination, or could she feel his erection, harder than it ought to be for a man who swore to have no interest in her, pressing against her bottom? When Bayford asked her to move her position slightly, leaning into her co-presenter just a little more, she felt Scott’s cock twitch and knew he was turned on.
Whatever else she’d expected from taking part in this photo-shoot, it hadn’t been such solid evidence that Scott found her so desirable, despite his very public comments to the contrary. Part of her wanted to share the details with Carrie, but she knew better. Given their earlier conversation, and her equally vehement insistence that she wasn’t in the least interested in Scott Harley, she knew the kind of teasing she’d receive. And she couldn’t deny that she’d deserve every last scrap of it.
Damn Martin Bayford! The man was clearly one of the most professional photographers Scott had ever posed for, but from the moment they’d stepped into his studio, he’d seemed intent on tormenting Scott by guiding him into poses that couldn’t fail to make him conscious of Morgan Jones’ bewitching loveliness. His whole body seemed to fizz with erotic energy every time they touched, and now here he was, holding her in his arms, his cock a solid bar, trapped in the confines of his underwear. All he could think of was what it would feel like to push up the hem of Morgan’s dress, pull down her panties and slide his erection between her pussy lips. Fuck it, if she was willing, he’d screw her right here on the studio floor, dress up round her waist and her plump, bare arse on display, and let Bayford photograph every last second of that.
What made it all the more frustrating was that she seemed totally oblivious to his need for her. He longed to move his hands a fraction higher, so he could cup those gorgeous tits of hers, and discover whether her nipples were hard, but behaviour like that would probably just earn him a slap round the face. Instead, he simply clung to her, breathing in the scent of her freshly washed hair as Bayford continued to snap away.
At last, the photographer announced, ‘OK, I think that’s about everything I need. I’ll be uploading the shots and sending them over to your publicity department this evening, so you’ll be able to choose the ones you like.’
‘Oh, they’ll make that decision, surely?’ Morgan said.
‘Well, I know Scott had mentioned something about wanting final approval, so ...’
The look Morgan shot Scott at that moment made his erection wilt. In her eyes, asking for approval over which publicity photos went out appeared to mark you as some kind of prima donna. Obviously, she’d never been burned by the press the way he had over the years …
The thought died almost before it formed. At last, Scott remembered the nagging sense of familiarity he’d had since the moment they’d met, the feeling their paths had somehow crossed, even though they’d never been in the same room before to the best of his knowledge. The interview with Personal magazine, and his assertion that Morgan Jones was giving TV chefs a bad name, with her gooey, ridiculously calorific recipes and the extra weight she – and no doubt those who baked and ate her cakes – carried. No wonder she looked at him as though he was something she’d scraped off the sole of her shoe. Well, maybe he regretted coming out with those words, now he’d held her in his arms and sensed an obvious chemistry between them, but she needed to toughen up. If his were the only harsh comments she heard during the course of her career, she’d be a very lucky woman. Fronting such a popular show, she’d soon find people queuing up to knock her down and pass judgement on everything from her presenting style to her choice of jewellery.
Maybe he was trying to justify himself, just a little, but he didn’t care. Lucinda Leeson might call him abrasive, but his straight-talking, no-nonsense persona had made him a success, both in the kitchen and on TV. He wasn’t about to change, simply because Morgan didn’t appear to like him the way he was.
Scott gathered up his discarded chef’s jacket and checked his phone for messages. No one had been trying to get hold of him, which was a blessing, though he needed to leave in the next few minutes. He had a meeting scheduled with a potential new supplier of game birds for the Chop House, and he couldn’t afford to be late.
Saying his goodbyes on the doorstep, he was struck with a sudden desire to be courteous to Morgan. ‘I don’t know which way you’re heading, but I could give you a lift as far as Farringdon station, if that helps?’
Morgan shook her head. ‘Thanks, Scott, but I need the Northern Line, and it’s as easy for me to walk back to the Angel, if it’s all the same.’
‘Sure.’ Scott nodded. ‘Well, don’t forget we’ve got another production meeting scheduled for Friday morning. I’ll see you then.’
Walking back to where he’d left his car, Scott tried not to wonder why he felt so disappointed at being unable to spend a few more minutes with Morgan. Maybe it just irked him that she’d seemed so keen to get out of his company, even though she’d phrased her refusal with perfect politeness. He’d become used to women falling over themselves to spend time with him, seduced by his aura of fame and success, particularly after his divorce from Sasha had become public knowledge. Morgan appeared utterly indifferent to all that and, try as he might, he couldn’t see her attitude changing any time soon.
Chapter Four
MORGAN DIDN’T THINK
SHE’D ever been as nervous as she was in the moments before she introduced Cook’s Treats for the first time. Though she’d appeared on live television any number of times before – most recently as part of the extensive publicity tour she and Scott had taken part in over the last week, promoting the series on TV and radio stations throughout the country – she’d never been conscious of the fact such a large audience was tuning in.
The show’s jazzy theme tune floated through the studio speakers, and Dan, the floor manager, gave Morgan and Scott their cue, silently counting down from three to zero with his fingers.
‘Good morning and welcome, food lovers.’ Scott sounded confident and relaxed as he parroted his lines from the autocue. ‘I’m Scott Harley ...’
‘And I’m Morgan Jones.’ The dizzy thumping of Morgan’s heart slowed as she concentrated on the words scrolling up on the monitor. ‘And we’re your Saturday morning brunch bunch, here to spice up the all-new Cook’s Treats.’
The title sequence played out, visible for the benefit of the two presenters on small TV sets placed to the right and left of the set. When it came to an end, Scott continued, ‘This morning, I’ll be demonstrating a new twist on an old classic, smoked trout kedgeree, while for those of you with a sweet tooth, Morgan will be baking cranberry and macadamia brownies.’
The focus came back to Morgan. ‘Soap star turned West End musical performer, Natalie Shakes, is popping in to tell us all about playing Roxie Hart in Chicago and the healthy recipes that give her the energy she needs for such a turbo-charged role. And we’ll be launching our search for the best breakfast spots in Britain, and letting you know how you can nominate your favourite.’
Moving from where he leaned against the kitchen counter that was at the heart of the programme’s set, Scott walked over to the gas-powered hob, ready to begin his first cookery segment. ‘Now, kedgeree is one of my favourite dishes for a lazy weekend brunch ...’
Morgan took a seat on the sea-green sofa where Natalie, their studio guest, would be joining them later in the show. She caught the eye of Dan, who gave her a discreet thumbs-up, letting her know the production team, upstairs in the studio gallery, were happy with her performance so far. Reading a few lines was the simple part. The real test would come when she had to demonstrate her culinary skills to the viewers, as Scott was doing now. The show’s running order was precisely timed, and both of them would very quickly have the director barking into their concealed earpieces if any item was taking longer than it should to complete. That added pressure made what should be simple tasks like chopping and whisking seem fraught with complications.
Though Scott was acquitting himself admirably under studio conditions, it had to be said. She watched him slicing leeks for the kedgeree with lightning speed, all the while keeping up a monologue to camera about the history of the dish and the various stages in its cooking process. Already, her mouth watered at the thought of tasting his creation when it was finished.
In the week they’d been promoting the show, Morgan had come to know the story of his career almost as well as her own. He’d started working in kitchens as a way of earning money to pay his way through university. At first, he’d washed pots and carried out the most menial tasks, chopping vegetables and preparing salads, but all the time he watched the chefs around him, recreating the dishes he’d seen them make in the cramped kitchen in his student digs. On graduating, he’d found a job as a commis chef in a London hotel kitchen, assisting the more experienced chefs and learning all the skills he needed to one day do their job. Eventually, he’d become head chef at Le Cartouche in Mayfair, where his innovative and superbly executed menu had helped the restaurant gain its third Michelin star. His unique blend of culinary expertise, good looks and fiery temper had come to the attention of the producer of Britain’s Next Top Chef, and now, a couple of years later, here he was, looking thoroughly at home in the cosy setting of Saturday morning TV.
‘And there you have it,’ Morgan heard him say as he topped the kedgeree with quarters of egg, boiled till the yolk was only just set, and chopped parsley. He presented the plate to the camera. ‘Morgan, would you like to come and take a bite?’
‘I’d love to,’ she replied, joining him by the counter. Taking a generous forkful of the finished dish, she savoured the spiciness of the rice, mixed with the flaked, gently smoked trout and the creaminess of the egg yolk. ‘Mmm, that’s delicious, it really is.’ If she’d had the opportunity, she would have helped herself to more, having been too nervous to eat breakfast, but she had the job of introducing the next item, in which the show’s resident wine expert, David Delaney, scoured the high street for the best in New World whites.
The pre-recorded piece gave the studio crew and the show’s two home economists time to clear away everything Scott had used in the making of his dish and replace it with the ingredients for Morgan’s. A tray of brownies was already baking in the oven, one of the tricks of the trade that enabled her to spend five minutes demonstrating a recipe that took over half an hour to prepare and cook, yet still have a completed version to show the audience.
She took her place at the counter, noticing how the crew were attacking the remains of Scott’s kedgeree like vultures, devouring every last scrap. One of the perks of the job, she supposed. Natalie Shakes had been brought out from the green room, ready to be interviewed by Scott once Morgan’s cookery segment was over. Scott was leaning over the couch, chatting to Natalie. Though flirting might be a better choice of word for the way he bent close to her ear, murmuring something that couldn’t be picked up by the studio mikes. It wasn’t surprising; Natalie, with her long, sleek blonde hair and endless legs, honed by weeks of rehearsal for her three-month run as Roxie in Chicago, was just Scott’s type, if the pictures Morgan had seen of his ex-wife were anything to go by.
But why should she care if he decided to flirt with the guests? From her reaction, anyone would think she was jealous, and that was ridiculous. Yet, if you’d asked her to name her emotions as Scott bent a little closer to Natalie, treating Morgan to a beautiful view of his backside, round and firm in his faded blue jeans, jealousy would have been close to the top of the list, right behind pure, unadulterated lust.
Lucinda Leeson’s voice in her ear warned her there was 20 seconds till David’s wine round-up finished. Morgan plastered on a smile and waited for the cameras to turn to her. ‘And David will be back next week with more top wine choices. Coming up, Natalie Shakes will be on the sofa with Scott. But first, here’s something for all those of you wondering what to bake for a teatime treat this weekend ...’
Talking her unseen audience through the list of ingredients they’d need to make her brownies, Morgan felt herself relax mentally. For all her anxiety, she’d worked on the recipe so many times in rehearsal she felt as though she could complete it in her sleep.
But as she stirred cocoa powder into butter she’d melted on the hob, before adding the resulting mixture to eggs beaten with sugar, then sifting in flour and baking powder, she found her thoughts taking an increasingly erotic turn. If she’d been making the brownies at home, she wouldn’t have been able to resist scooping the last of the batter from the sides of the mixing bowl and licking it up. Her fantasies strayed to a scene where, instead, she was eating the gooey mixture from Scott’s fingers, the relish with which she sucked him making it very clear there were other parts of him she’d enjoy sucking just as much.
Or maybe she’d have him naked, splayed out on her scrubbed pine kitchen table. If she tied his wrists to the table legs with a couple of tea towels, she’d have him helpless. It was a nice thought – Scott, with his compulsive need to be in charge of everything, completely in her power and waiting for her to do whatever she chose to him. She’d daub his body with the brownie batter, painting it over his chest, belly and thighs, finishing off with a generous dollop crowning his cock. Then she’d take her time licking it all up, making sure she cleaned everywhere before turning her attention to the place he needed to f
eel her mouth the most. The taste as she swallowed him down would be like nothing she’d known before, salt and chocolate combining to tantalise her taste buds and set her juices flowing. Scott would be so close to coming, he’d beg her to take him over the edge, but she’d resist, determined to make this an experience they would both enjoy to the fullest.
Once his cock was completely clean, she’d take off her panties and hitch her skirt up to her waist. Climbing on to the table, she’d crawl up his body till her pussy was poised over his straining erection. Scott would glance up at her, imploring her with those incredible green eyes of his to take him into her tight, wet channel. All in good time. Teasing him further, she’d wriggle so that her sex lips just brushed the head of his cock, making him groan in frustration. Of course, she’d be frustrating herself too, and it wouldn’t be long before she simply had to have him properly inside her. With a sigh, she’d sink down on to that thick shaft, feeling him stretch her pussy walls wide. Buried in her to the root, Scott would beg her to ride him till they both came, in an explosion of passion that was sweet and sticky and oh so good ...
Scott Harley, naked, tied and begging her to fuck him. The image was so powerful, so tempting, Morgan almost missed Lucinda telling her to wrap up the segment so they could move on to the interview with Natalie. Fetching the cooked brownies from the oven, she turned them out on to a rack, cutting a slice to enable the viewers to see how moist they were inside.
‘Of course, if you leave them to cool for a while, they’ll firm up and be easier to cut,’ she explained. ‘But I’m sure our guest won’t be able to resist sampling them just as they are ...’
Placing the brownie on a plate, she carried it over to the couch. ‘That looks incredible,’ Natalie Shakes said as Morgan approached, with all the enthusiasm of a woman who’d been on a strict diet in her quest to get into shape for her stage role and couldn’t wait to get her hands on something rich and sugary.
Traded Innocence Page 11
