“The pleasure is all mine,” he says. “Come, I've got the perfect table for you two.”
I look up at Monroe and he wags his brows and smiles. We follow George inside. He stops at every table we pass, making sure the diners are enjoying their food and thanking them for coming.
He's amazing. The way he works the room, making people smile and ladies blush with his charm.
“Here we are,” he says, pulling out my chair for me and pushing me in. “This table is reserved for only my closest of friends. Monroe, your father and mother used to eat here years ago, long before you were even born.”
“Really? This table?”
“Exactly as it is now. I've never changed it. Even the chairs are the same.”
“Wow, I feel even more humble now. Thank you, George.”
“Please, don't thank me. It's an honor to have the son of Jacques Martisse dining in my restaurant.” George glances over his shoulder and snaps his fingers, then points down at us. “Monroe, you're creating quite the name for yourself. I almost feel challenged.”
“Almost,” Monroe says. “My restaurant isn't even close to the status you've built for yourself.”
“Not yet, but from what I hear, you're on your way.” He reaches out and squeezes Monroe's shoulder. “Your father would be proud. If you need anything, just ask. I'll be around.”
Monroe nods as George's attention shifts to the new group of diners about to sit down. He marches off, adjusting his jacket and straightening his back. I can hear his blusterous voice as he greets them with his signature smile.
“I'm in shock,” I say quietly, leaning over and whispering to Monroe. “George Deligato. Seriously? You actually know George Deligato?”
“Me? No, not directly. But my father did. They go way back like he said, but I've seen him plenty of times over the years, ever since I was a child.”
“It's impressive, that's all I’ve got to say.”
“No, it's humbling. This man has built his empire. You can't own a restaurant like this and not have some flare to bring in people. People come for the food, yes, but they also come for him. He remembers everyone, every face that's ever sat at one of his tables or at the bar. That's what makes people come back.”
“So, your father was a chef too. Is that how you got started?”
“That's right.”
“And your mother? Did she cook too?”
“No, she did the books, and helped however she could.”
“Well, it seems your parents set you up for success.”
Monroe chuckles, glancing down at his glass of wine. He pinches the stem and takes a long sip. “Not exactly. We weren't rich. We didn't have much, just a small apartment above the restaurant my parents sunk all their money into. And my father, well, for all you might hear about his reputation, let me just say there's a whole other side to him. An unforgiving, relentless man, with a drive and passion he was never going to give up on, no matter how much he struggled to keep his head above water. In the end he made it work, his food carried him to places he only dreamed of. He was blessed.”
“I think that's honorable. Nothing should be easy. If making it was easy, no one would appreciate the ride to get there.”
He tilts his head to one side and peers at me. “That's exactly what he used to say. I worked my ass off for him, and worked just as hard to get where I am today. It took years for my father to build up his name and turn The Roost into what it was before he died. He didn't have magazines with his face on the covers, or food critics hyping him up to the public. My father made it on pure blood, sweat, and tears. Not only of his own, but also the tears of my mother and me. But it worked. By the time he died his place was legend.”
“If it was legend, why didn't you keep it going? Why close it down?”
“Because that was his legacy, not mine. I took what he taught me and made something of my own. His legacy isn't gone, it lives on inside me. The restaurant didn't make the man, the man made the restaurant. That's what I'm doing. I'm taking his legacy and building on it.”
Pursing my lips, I let my eyes drift around his face. “You know, honestly, this whole chef thing was never my dream. I didn't know what I wanted to do really; I was kind of lost. But my brother helped push me here.”
His hands become skittish, playing with the silverware at his side as he jerks his eyes away. “So, what are you going to get?” he asks, completely changing the topic.
I'm not sure if it's talking about his father that's making him uncomfortable or if it's me bringing up my brother. Why would he care about your brother?
Maybe he's just not into a long deep conversation. It's possible he can only do it in short bursts. Or maybe just reliving the memories of his childhood, of his mother and his father, it's too much for him.
Cooking is a release. I've come to learn that and enjoy it. It releases stress. It gets rid of worry and fear. When you're in the kitchen, there's nothing but you and the food. Some people do drugs, some people drink until they can't stand up and don't remember their name, but for me, cooking's become my vice.
I think Monroe and I have that in common. A love of escape. A love of sharing a piece of yourself with someone else. A simple recipe can become so much more than just a meal. It's a memory. A thought. A feeling and emotion. That simple meal can take you back to a specific day and time.
That's what I truly love about cooking. And for Monroe, I think he feels the same, only maybe he enjoys the escape more than the memory.
We order our food. Of course, we're going for a full three course meal. Appetizer, main course, and dessert. It's only right. For our appetizer we order seafood stuffed mushrooms, and pomegranate pistachio crostini.
The presentation is incredible, the aromas bold, making our mouths salivate. I cut through a mushroom, picking it up with my fork. Monroe chuckles.
“What?” I ask.
“You're eating it all wrong.” He picks up a mushroom, holding one hand underneath as he leans across the table. “Here, like this,” he says. I open my mouth and he feeds me the mushroom. “Feel that? All the juice that spills out when you bite into it?”
“Yeah, it's delicious.”
“Okay, now try this.” He pinches a crostini and feeds that to me too.
“Mm,” I hum. “That's incredible.”
“Right. The crunch of the crostini with the pistachios and the tartness of pomegranate. It's phenomenal.”
Our main courses come next, and he lets me taste his. Monroe feeds me a little bite of everything on his plate, and I do the same. Dessert is baked Alaska Flambé. The bright blue and red tendrils flicker on top of the meringue. They cast a sexy glow across Monroe's face, making his shadows darker and his cheeks a soft glow of yellow.
There's something so intimate and erotic about feeding someone else. His fingers brush against my lips, and he dips the tip of his finger into my mouth. I suck on it gently, swirling my tongue around. Monroe's eyes still on mine as he smiles with thin lips.
“How about we get out of here?” he asks.
“And go where?”
“I don't really care, anywhere.” He throws some money on the table as he stands up. Reaching out to me, I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet.
“I don't have my car though.”
“I've got mine.” He guides us out of the restaurant, weaving between tables. Gorge yells goodbye, and Monroe gives him a nod and wave.
He's a man on a mission. Walking with purpose, with need, with a hunger that's insatiable. My heels click against the sidewalk as we walk around the building and into the parking lot.
He fumbles his keys out of his pocket and hits the button. A car a few rows over beeps and the lights flicker. With powerful steps he zig-zags through the lot. The second we reach his car, he jerks me around and pins me against the door.
I exhale a sharp breath as his lips drive onto my neck and he flutters kisses across my skin. His hands glide down my ribs, swooping around and grabbing my ass. My eyes
shut tight, and I moan as his mouth keeps moving, kissing and tasting every inch of flesh that's available to him.
“Mm,” I groan, leaning back against the car. I drag my fingers through his hair, latching them around his neck and pulling him closer.
I can't control myself around this man. He steals my thoughts. He steals my breath. He steals every beat of my heart. He infiltrates every ounce of my being and takes it all for himself.
He grips my thigh and pulls it up high on his waist. I hook my heel around his leg. Monroe's hand slips up my leg, and he presses my clit with the base of his palm. My panties slip between my lips as he rubs up and down.
“I love how fucking wet you get when I touch you,” he says between kisses, moving closer and closer to my lips. He softly bites the curve of my jaw and growls, “It drives me fucking crazy.”
“I love how hard you get,” I say, reaching down and grabbing his cock in his pants.
“Mm,” he groans as he rubs my clit harder. My needy button is pulsing and throbbing, begging to be touched.
I push my hand into his pants, grabbing his cock and stroking his length. Monroe lets out a long, throaty moan, then crushes my lips with his. He kisses me like I'm something he lost long ago and is reclaiming all over again.
The tip of his tongue sweeps across the roof of my mouth, licking and tasting. He pinches the center of my panties and pulls them to the side. With one push, his finger is inside my pussy, and his thumb is tapping and rubbing my clit. A gust of cool air blows around us, but I barely feel it. We're outside in the open, anyone could walk past at any moment, and I don't even care.
I need him here and now. Not later, not in a bed or in the back of his car, just like this. My body is alive, the thrill and excitement mingle with desire and need, making everything around us a blur. All I see is Monroe.
One finger quickly turns into two as he fucks me with his hand. My juice is dripping down his fingers. He pulls his hand free, smearing my heat all over my pussy lips. Breaking our kiss, he's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling fast.
“Fuck, you're corrupting me,” he says, his voice thick and scratchy. “And I fucking love it.” He slides his hand up the center of my chest and wraps it around my neck. Applying light pressure, he gives my throat a squeeze. “I'm going to take you right here.”
Monroe pushes the edge of my dress up my legs. I pull my hand out of his pants and fumble with his button until it finally pops open. He's still holding my neck, laying firm kisses across my jawline from one side to the other.
The second I tug his cock out, he releases my neck and grabs my ass. Digging his fingertips in, he lifts me off the ground. Both my legs wrap his waist as I line up his engorged tip with my entrance.
Giving one quick thrust, his cock slides easily in my pussy. “Fuck,” he says under his breath as he lays his head on my shoulder. Thrust after thrust he fucks me against his car.
“Yeah, fuck me,” I moan into his ear. Licking the shell of his ear, I bite his earlobe and exhale a deep breath.
His thrusts grow harder and faster. My pussy is clenching around him tight, refusing to let him go. I'm so wet, the sound of his dick slamming in and out echoes between the cars around us.
“Damn your cunt is so tight.” Monroe bites the top of my shoulder as he grunts. “I could fuck you all night.”
My back arches hard as I rock my hips, meeting his cock with a thrust of my own. His balls slap against me, and his fingers dig into my ass with demand. Pistoning his hips, he fucks me so hard his car is rocking back and forth.
Raking my fingers through his hair, I grab fistfuls, ripping and tearing at the roots. My stomach clenches as tingles begin to work their way out through my body. My clit is swollen, ready and eager for the pleasure to flow.
The orgasm comes on hard, making me tighten my legs around his waist as my head falls back and I moan.
“Mm, Monroe.” His name flows out from the back of my throat, and the moan comes from deep within my chest. I can feel his name as I say it, like warm water pouring over my body.
He grabs my neck with his teeth and bites hard as he throws his cock inside me. Grunting, Monroe stills as his cock goes rigid and begins to throb. He comes, his groan buzzing across my skin like the tremble of an earthquake.
I'm not sure how this man makes me come undone like this. I'm so willing to give myself to him. He makes it so easy to let my guard down, to allow him in without questioning it at all.
You only live once.
Monroe lowers me gently to my feet, holding me for an extra second longer to make sure I have my footing.
“So,” I say as I fix my dress. “This is your car?”
“I hope so. Otherwise we just fucked on a strangers car.” He chuckles as he zips his pants. Pulling the door open on the passenger side, he smiles. “Want a ride home?”
“Yes. I'd at least like to ride in the car too, not just get a ride on it.”
Monroe laughs as I drop into the seat. “Well, you're in for a treat tonight then, because you get both.”
We drive to my apartment. His hand is resting on my thigh and my fingers are intertwined with his. His thumb is softly running back and forth as we talk.
This might sound crazy, but this feels so natural, so. . .
Right.
Don't be silly, this is nothing more than a fling.
It's totally normal for two people to lose control. It's natural for two people to be so attracted to each other that they just give in. I know this isn't going to turn into anything more than it is. It can't.
It'll fizzle out once we've both had our fill.
But what if I don't want it to end?
8
Arisa
“How's it going?” Monroe asks as he leans over my shoulder.
“It's going good. I'm working on the appetizer sampler right now. So, I know you have a lamb recipe for one of the main dishes. . .”
“Yeah, so what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking, maybe one of the appetizers could be honey-mint lamb skewers? They're delicious, and we get to create a theme maybe between the dishes. What do you think?”
“I think it's brilliant. Take the main courses I want to use and see what you can come up with for the others. Nice job, Arisa,” he says, giving me an overly friendly smile and a wink.
These past few days, shit this entire week, has been amazing. Monroe is amazing. I've never felt so good about where I am in life as I do now. Monroe makes me laugh, he teases me with little comments and gestures that are a secret between just us.
Monroe heads to the back of the building to tend to the smoker, leaving me alone in the kitchen with this task. Plan the appetizers for Flavor magazine's Dariel Gershon. This is my contribution, and hopefully it will put my name on the map too.
“Looks like you two are getting close,” Cheryl says as she turns the corner. She leans against the wall, folding her arms over her chest.
“I'm helping with the menu, Cheryl.”
“Right, helping with the menu. . .” Her voice trails off as she veers her stare. “I know what's going on here. I'm not stupid.”
“I don't know what you're trying to say, but I'm not playing your games.” I turn my attention back to the white board. I'm not doing this with her. It's none of her business, even if she is right. “Don't you have something you should be doing right now?”
She takes long sweeping steps toward me. Her lips curl up into a snotty smile. “Does that make you nervous? The fact that I know what's going on between you two?”
“There's nothing going on, Cheryl.”
“So, you're telling me I didn't see you two kissing in the kitchen the other day? Was that just my imagination?”
Shit. She saw us? But when?
My mind begins to tumble, searching for when and how. Then it hits me. The day I thought I heard a noise. The noise was her.
“What's your problem, Cheryl? Why do you even care?”
She lets
out a soft, devious chuckle. “Oh, I don't care.” Shaking her head, she brings herself closer. She's so close I can hear her breathing, and almost feel it on the back of my neck. “I just think it's a slutty way to work your way to the top. Get in your boss's pants and he gives you special treatment. That's low. You must not be very confident in your skills.”
“Screw you, Cheryl. This has nothing to do with that. Whatever happened between Monroe and me has nothing to do with you or my place here. It's not my fault I'm a better cook than you.”
“Yeah, that must be what it is. I'm sure it's not the fact that he was paid by your brother to hire you.” She grins, an evil, shit-eating grin. Her thin fingers reach past me and pluck a toothpick from the holder. She rolls it between her teeth as she watches the blood drain from my face.
“What did you just say?”
“I said, your brother Tom paid Monroe to hire you. A good chunk of cash too, from what I heard.”
She's lying. She's just trying to get under my skin.
“No, that's not true. You're making it up. You don't even know my brother.”
“I know him pretty well, actually. He's our alcohol supplier, has been for years.”
“You're lying,” I snap through clenched teeth.
There's no way my brother paid him. And there's no way that Monroe would have accepted it even if he offered. This business is his life, why the hell would he put it on the line for money?
No, she's full of shit. I earned this!
“I wish I was, Arisa, but I'm not. Why do you think Monroe picked you over me? You're here barely a day, I've been here far longer. Only someone who's been paid off does something like that. Tell me you're not too stupid to see that?”
My eyes start to tear up and my cheeks are heating with embarrassment. Have I been played? Am I only here because of a bribe?
“I don't believe you, my brother—”
“Your brother might have a side you don't know about. Maybe he didn't want to hear his little sister bitch and moan about not being good enough to get hired anywhere. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of you, and this was the easiest way. We all know you can't cook for shit, Arisa. Even you know that, but you're too afraid to admit it to yourself.”
Don’t Touch Page 6
