by Brit Blaise
"Yes, but I need to say something first,” she told him.
"I'm afraid to ask. What?"
"You know, if your mother mentions a comment I made about your ass, remember she's probably getting along in years and her memory might not be what it used to be."
"Is that so? I'll keep it in mind, if she should happen to mention my ass."
As her hair tickled his chin again, he struggled to take a deep breath and maintain his composure. Her hair reminded him of apricots and moonbeams as it clouded around her shoulders and down her back. The generous curves of her lips were full and inviting beneath their peach-colored gloss. Would she taste like peaches?
Her sparkling amber eyes slanted in an almond shape and were framed by thick lashes, curled beguilingly. There was certainly nothing ordinary about her.
Mike picked up the remaining towel and draped it over his arm. He held it low in an effort to hide his humiliating condition. He watched the last of the students take their soufflés from the ovens and knew he didn't dare stand there with Cara much longer, ignoring the rest of the class. He took a deep breath. She smelled better than fresh-baked cinnamon rolls on a crisp spring morning, a spicy sweet scent that made him take another moment to inhale strongly.
"Are you all right?” he asked when she remained silent.
"You told me to be quiet,” she said too sweetly.
"I was speaking of your hand. Is your hand feeling better?"
Her mouth curved into a teasing smile and two dimples made a striking appearance to sock him in the gut. “I'll survive. How about you, big guy?"
His cock twitched at her words. “I think you may be a witch. See if you can talk him down as well as you can make him preen for you."
"I don't think I've ever talked to a cock."
"Trust me, Cara. You're talking to him. And he's listening. Walk over to the ovens and I'll help you get your soufflé,” he said.
"Should I walk slowly?” She winked as she sashayed her lusciously rounded bottom in front of him.
This woman probably wouldn't be caught dead asking for a doggy-bag after a couple of bites of one of his rich creations. She'd savor every morsel. Why did he see her licking her fingers? She made the rest of the women in the room look anemic with her curvaceous shape. Funny how he'd always thought he preferred his women on the thin side.
"Walk how you normally walk ... it makes no difference to me,” he told her. Yeah, right.
When she looked straight toward his offending body part, he groaned out loud. Any control he'd regained flew out the door at her bold perusal.
"You seem a little stiff,” she announced as they walked past his mother, on purpose no doubt.
"He gets it from his father's side of the family,” his mother retorted. “The Nichols were an odd bunch that way. Everyone always said so."
"Not now, Mother,” he said. Just a few more steps to the ovens and he could set Cara's soufflé on the waist-high counter, which would shield him from the camera lens.
When they opened the oven, only Cara's creation remained. Even if the oven hadn't been emptied, he had no doubt he would've recognized her dish.
"What happened to it?” Cara asked as she leaned into him to get a closer view.
Mike smiled inside. “It lost its breath.” So did he ... every time she touched him.
"Lost its breath? You've got to be kidding. That thing never breathed. It looks flatter than it did before I put it in the oven. And what's that smell?"
"The smell is the rest of your soufflé burning at the bottom of the oven."
"There wasn't much room left when I put it in the oven so I tilted it a bit to make it fit, but not enough to make it spill out. I watched for a second to make sure."
"You evidently didn't watch long enough,” he teased, but when he saw her crestfallen face, he wished he hadn't been so insensitive. “No big deal.” He pulled the hot dish out of the oven and sat it on the counter.
"You said foolproof."
The cameraman swooped in for a close-up of Cara's creation. “Is that really necessary?” Mike snapped.
"This makes a more interesting story,” the cameraman said.
"What story would that be?” Cara sounded so sad it wrenched Mike's heart. “Cara Thomas, hopelessly inept at all things domestic, manages to make a perfect disaster of Chef Mike Nichol's sure-fire soufflé recipe. Stay tuned to see what she'll do for an encore."
Mike had let her down. An idea occurred to him, a solution that might give him an opportunity to get to know her better.
"I think all the Baking Blonde Barbies make better viewing.” Cara nodded toward Felicia's handpicked clones.
Since he had dated several of them, Mike felt a tug at his conscience. How long had it been since he'd had a relationship lasting longer than five minutes? As Felicia stormed across the room, headed in their direction, he remembered.
Felicia, the ultimate cool blonde, who'd once held the key to his heart—until it twisted off in the lock. There were no lingering feelings, or a compulsion to rekindle the past, but for reasons he didn't care to explore, he hadn't moved on with his life. Fear of failure? Fear of the unknown? Fear the success of the restaurant had more to do with Felicia than his cooking?
"You're spending too much time with Miss Thomas. There are others who could use your guidance,” Felicia said, after she joined them. “I'll take care of—what is that?"
"Surely you don't mean my soufflé?” Cara said, as if she'd not, moments before, been speaking of it in less than glowing terms.
"Did you do this on purpose to ruin our program?” Felicia's squinting gaze snapped back and forth between the two of them like she suspected they'd formed a pact just to annoy her.
Cara squared her shoulders and crossed her arms tightly over her well-developed chest. “I beg your pardon. I'll have you know my stunt double did this."
"Why would Cara purposely ruin her dish?” Mike challenged and threw his towel over the nearest camera. “This isn't the time. Let's wrap this up right now."
It took twenty minutes to bring order to the class before sending them on their way. What they'd originally planned as an hour-long class had became almost two. Mike gave Cara credit for her cheerful attitude. She attempted to make the most of her ruined meal, while stopping short of actually putting any of it into her mouth. Mike found his attention riveted to her, despite constant interruptions from the other women.
"You have to tell Cara Thomas she can't return for the next class,” Felicia said, once the cameras were packed away.
"It wasn't so bad,” Mike countered.
"Not bad?” Felicia sounded ready for a fight. “If you want to fuck her, just do it! You don't have to ruin our publicity. She might've been sent here by our competition just to make us look bad."
"I'm not having this conversation with you.” Mike turned and started to walk away.
"I'm right about this,” Felicia said.
"I'd take bets you're wrong. Why don't you just leave it alone? I can't imagine she's any more anxious to return than you are to have her.” Mike balled up his apron and tossed it at the laundry bin. He missed.
"Are you aware she wasn't on the original list of people I'd planned for this class? I still haven't figured out what happened. Just out of curiosity, are you so interested in adding her name to your list of conquests you'd hurt our business to do it?"
"You stay away from Cara Thomas until I get a chance to speak with her.” Mike had reached his boiling point, and thankfully Felicia let him have the last word as he went to find Cara.
He found her saying good-bye to his mother. “Could I speak with you in private for a moment before you leave?"
"That sounds intriguing,” she said.
"Would you mind joining me in my office?” He didn't want his mother to hear him tell Cara that Felicia thought she could be a spy. He had no intention of telling Cara to stay away from future classes, but he wanted her to know Felicia's feelings so she could be on guard.
> "In your office? I don't mind at all. Lead the way.” She gave a soft chuckle, and it took a direct path from his ears to the point of his motivations.
When they walked out of the kitchen, past the restrooms to the door of his office, she stayed so close to him he could smell her inviting fragrance.
"Could I call you sometime?” he blurted, before he could even get his door open. Smooth.
"You brought me to your office to ask if you can call me?” She didn't raise her voice above a throaty whisper while she followed him inside his private room.
Cara Thomas clearly had no idea what the sound of her sensuous voice did to him or she wouldn't look so calm and self-assured. Or maybe she did know, he thought, when he recalled what had happened during the class.
"I was hoping for some privacy. My mother sometimes takes too much interest in my love life. That was hard enough when I was teenager. Now I'm thirty-four it could lead to nasty rumors about my masculinity."
"Your love life? What exactly do you have in mind?” she asked, giving him her hand when he reached for it.
He wanted to kiss her—needed to kiss her. She stared at his lips, inviting him to do what he wanted. Once he had her inside the door, he moved into her space. The place where their breath would mingle and the atmosphere would sizzle around them before he touched his lips to hers.
"Did you tell her?"
Felicia. Mike could see a frown crease Cara's face before he looked over her head to glare at Felicia. He tried to subtly motion with a jerk of his chin for her to leave, but she didn't take the hint.
"Tell me what?” Cara pulled away. The atmosphere started to sizzle, but it wasn't with their ignited passion.
"Felicia, could you give us some privacy?” Mike cursed under his breath. “If you have anything to say to me, you can do it later."
"Mike wanted to ask you not to return to our cooking class.” Felicia's words were clipped and biting as she spit them out, like a rapid-fire machine gun exploding in his ears.
"Is that what you were doing, Mike? You could've fooled me,” Cara said very slowly, without a hint of emotion to betray her feelings.
"I wanted to become better acquainted and no, despite Felicia's demands, I want you to return. I did, however, think of suggesting something more private—just the two of us.” Suddenly, it became very important he see her again. A pain twisted inside him when he realized he might not get the opportunity.
"There you are,” came another female voice from the doorway.
"Riva?” Cara said. “What are—"
Mike recognized the latest intrusion. Since she was a famous food critic, he couldn't ignore her. “Bubba, did we have an appointment?"
"Bubba?” Cara yelped and jerked away.
"I wanted to tell you,” Bubba said to Cara before she turned to him. “Mike, I think you spoke to my roommate on the phone last night."
In an instant, everything clicked, but Cara was already heading out the door. He pushed past a gaping Felicia and a smiling food critic to follow Cara out of the restaurant and into the parking lot.
"Please don't leave. I hoped we might get to know one another. I meant what I said to Felicia about giving you private lessons, where you wouldn't feel the pressure of performing for the cameras."
She stopped and whirled around. “Boy, when Riva said you were a sure thing, I thought she was exaggerating. Once again, I didn't have a clue."
"Riva? Who's Riva?"
"Yeah, right. You call her Bubba."
"Bubba is a food critic. I am in the restaurant business, in case you didn't notice. Why would she say I'm a sure thing?"
She winced like he'd struck her. What's going on here?
"Riva is my best friend and roommate. She made me come here, saying you were a sure thing. Maybe you should ask her,” she said, finally. “Trust me, I know less than you. Why did you let me think you had the wrong number?"
"You told me I had the wrong number."
"Did you ever!” she said and stomped away.
He took a step toward her, still intent on stopping her when it occurred to him, he needed answers. Bubba.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER 4
"What are you wearing?"
Cara recognized her caller's voice. “I have a headache. Didn't Bubba answer all your questions?"
"What are you wearing?"
"I can't do this now. I know you now."
"You're killing me here. Remember how hard I was this afternoon? Multiply that by ten. Now ... what are you wearing?"
She'd wanted a sure thing ... “I'm wearing a burlap bag."
"Put your hand under the bag and touch your pussy for me. Start at your belly and travel down. Tell me about it. Let your fingertips travel slowly over the gentle curve of your stomach."
Gentle curve? He didn't have see her pouchy stomach it in the mirror every day. Cara only needed to pull up her gown to play.
"All of your energy is in your fingertips. Focus. Your touch will create heat. Can you feel it?"
Cara hit speaker on the phone and heard a soft chuckle. She lifted her hips and pulled her gown over her head and shucked it onto the floor.
"Start at your belly button. Trace a single finger around it. Use your ring finger."
"It tickles,” she said, and he groaned.
"Do it again. Don't force it. Feel the energy coming from your finger."
She slowly moved her ring finger around her belly button. This time the touch traveled straight down to her cunt, and she clenched in a spasm of pleasure. She moaned loudly enough for him to hear.
"What did you feel?"
"I felt it down there."
"Where, Cara? What's down there? Are your curls soft and inviting? Are you wet?"
"I feel silly now I know who you are."
"Then feel silly. Go with it. Feel as silly as you can be. Enjoy feeling silly. Revel in the embarrassment. Doesn't it feel good?"
"Yes,” she whispered.
"Touch yourself like I'd touch you if I could. What do you want me to do to you?"
"I want you to touch me with your tongue,” she said and clenched again. Heat radiated from her face at her bold declaration. This time she felt exhilarated with it. Her breath came in a rush.
"I love the taste of pussy. I love the smell and the velvety touch of it against my tongue. I want to rub against you like a cat stroking its whiskers. I want to make you purr when I suck your nub between my teeth. I'll suck your clit into my mouth and rub my tongue back and forth at the same time. How will it make you feel, Cara? Rub your clit for me. Now."
"Holy cannelloni.” She clenched so tight, she would've broken anything in there.
"What are you thinking, Cara?"
"I want you inside me."
"I'm here and you're there. What should we do?"
"A cucumber?” she panted.
"Not this time. Open the drawer next to your bed."
My vibrator? It wasn't that kind. She opened the drawer and found a pink box. “What is this? How did you..."
"Bubba put it there for me. Just open it."
Cara opened the box and pulled out a pink cock with pearls in the base and a little animal with long ears at the base as well.
"Turn it on and turn me on, too."
Cara flipped the switch. The beads revolved while the ears vibrated. “Holy cannelloni.” She spread her legs wider and touched it to her nether lips.
"Don't hold back. I want to hear how good it feels. Can you do that for me?"
"Do you have ear plugs?"
"Spread you lips and run it along your slit."
A couple of swipes and she wanted it inside her so the ears would connect where they were intended ... and she wanted to fuck it.
"Fuck it."
Is he a mind reader?
She pushed the dildo inside and had to go slowly. Once the unyielding length filled her, the vibrating ears caught her clit. Her breath rasped and she pumped it in and out. The tension signal
ing her climax came much too fast.
"I'm coming..."
* * * *
"You're crazy if you think I'm going to ask Cara Thomas to come back to our next class. Thanks to you and our local TV station, she probably won't be speaking to me,” Mike told his partner.
"Nonsense! Anybody could see she's attracted you.” Felicia leaned against his desk. “All you need to do is turn on the charm, and she won't be able to resist. Here's her work number ... give her a call."
Felicia shoved his magazines aside to sit on the edge of his desk. “You act as if you're afraid of her. The worst she can do is tell you to get lost."
"I'm not going to call her in front of you.” Mike swiveled in his chair to set his magazines on the credenza behind him. He could hardly tell Felicia he'd had phone sex with Cara twice before she went out of town with her mother for the weekend. He'd accused her of leaving because she couldn't take the heat. In reality, he was worried she was using the trip to distance herself from him.
"You big baby. She probably won't take your call anyway. Just give it a try."
Mike grabbed the scrap of paper from her hand, ripping it in the process. He put the pieces together and stared at her number before he picked up the phone. “Leave,” he ordered. He began dialing, but Felicia didn't budge.
"Only if you let me do this in private. I know you're worried about business, but even if she agrees, I'm going to make sure she's not embarrassed again.
"We need her to be herself.” Felicia jumped up to pace back and forth across the floor. “That's what made the show so exciting! Don't lose sight of why we began this project in the first place. We were hoping to increase business. We've done exactly that. We have reservations booked through the next two weeks and the show only aired yesterday. Now let's make sure it continues.
"By the way,” Felicia said before she closed his door behind her, “if you can't convince the daughter yourself, perhaps you'd do better with the aid of her mother. I invited Mrs. Thomas for a free lunch today, just in case.” Felicia looked at her watch. “She'll be here soon, so start thinking about what you're going to say to her."
"What do you think Cara's mother can do?” Mike said. “She doesn't know me. And how do you know her? Why would she help? Frankly, I'm not sure I want anything to do with this hare-brained scheme of yours, and I'm dead serious about making sure Cara doesn't embarrass herself again."
