Joshua

by Beatrice Sand

  “Ooh, nice,” Lola says.

  “Perfect, take your time.” He looks at me again. “Join them for lunch.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t. I open in an hour.”

  “You don’t have staff?”

  “I have a friend helping me out.”

  “Then come.”

  “Is this because of what happened the other day? Because you don’t need–”

  “No!” he says curtly. “I apologized for that. This is because you just blew my mind, and now I wanna blow yours.”

  Hannah clears her throat; probably to remind us they’re still in the room as Josh and I stare at each other, wordlessly. His words have me flustered in front of his family. Even my mouth is dry. Is he talking about food here? I can’t say for sure. “I’ll be there.” My voice sounds hoarsely, and it’s pretty clear to everyone present, his remark affected me.

  “Good,” he says, and nods briefly. “See you girls later.”

  Hannah and Lola are both smiling from ear to ear as Josh closes the door behind him. “You may understand we’re curious now how the two of you first met.”

  “Don’t ask,” I say, waving Lola’s question away.

  “No, please, tell us. Really. Tell us.”

  I smile at the two grinning women in front of me. “Let’s just say I didn’t blow his mind then.” I push myself up from the table and place our glasses on the tray. “More coffee, anyone?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  teresa

  Suite 63 is a small but large open space, with high ceilings and enormous metal chandeliers. Charcoal Chesterfield sofas are placed against one side of the gray brick wall with mirrors behind it, so whoever is sitting on the chair opposite the square table can see what’s going on in the kitchen, which is completely visible through a glass wall. It’s private enough for an intimate conversation. Smaller round tables for two or four are scattered around the room. The damask tablecloths have a beautiful drape, and each table holds a black taper candle. It’s trendy meets classy, refined and urbane, and certainly one of the sexiest restaurants I’ve ever seen. I could say the same of its owner, although I haven’t spotted him yet, but the very thought he insisted on blowing my mind with his food, is about all it takes to flare my passion.

  “Say that again,” Hannah utters in a huff, as though her cousin insulted her personally.

  Sighing, I shift my gaze back to her. “He disliked my desserts, and that’s putting it mildly. He thought I was a restaurant critic, and gave me a piece of his blunt mind.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” she says, staring at Lola indignantly. “What about you?”

  Wait until I come to the part where he offered me to check out his cojones, I think.

  “Guess you were right, Han,” Lola replies. “Our dearest cousin isn’t that charming after all. My bad. Well,” she shrugs, “maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to pair the two of you anyway.” She wrinkles her nose. “And he has tattoos. Don’t know if you’re into that whole inking thing.”

  Oh, I’m into ink, all right. Tattooed guys are my weakness, and in the end, my downfall, which is why I try to stay as far away from the kind as possible. I guess leaving Spain wasn’t far enough.

  “Look, we talked it over that same night,” I say in a low tone. I shift on my seat. I don’t feel like talking about Josh in the lion’s den. And we weren’t seated in the restaurant, no, we were promptly dumped at the chef’s table in the kitchen for crying out loud. “He helped me clean my restaurant, apologized, and then gave me positive feedback.”

  “Ah, that’s better.”

  “He saw it right; I’m way too careful with my menu. It’s not exciting.”

  “He thought your cake was exciting,” Lola says, her eyes fluttering.

  “He’s forgiven,” I joke. “He even didn’t have to offer me lunch.”

  “You heard the man,” Hannah says. “You’re not here so you can forgive him. You’re here because he wants to impress you like you just impressed him.”

  Lola tilts her head sideways to look at her cousin. “Isn’t that how Abel impressed you? With a candle-lit dinner in his fancy rooftop bar?”

  Hannah’s smile reaches her eyes; even her cheeks turn a little pink. “I love it when they try to impress us with food, or organize an out-of-the-box dinner. Food can be sensual, don’t you think?”

  I glance at my dish with the irresistible and most beautiful plated appetizer. “Very much so.”

  Lola keeps wisely quiet, and I should do the same. These girls are still my clients, although it’s easy enough to talk to them as if they were my friends.

  “Hello.” A pretty young woman in a black chef’s coat shows up at our table. Her blonde hair is cut straight at about jaw-level, and her blue eyes are huge. She was the one talking to Josh the night of the opening. “Welcome to Suite 63. Have you been here before?” she asks.

  “It’s a first for me,” I say, lifting my hand. “I’m really excited to be here.”

  “We’ve been here a few times before,” Lola replies. “Always a pleasure.”

  “Oh my God, you’re Josh’s cousins!” she says with a cheerful smile. “So great to see you again. Josh didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “It was kind of last minute,” Lola explains. “Nice to see you again, Donna. How are you?”

  “I’m great, thanks. Josh should be here any minute to ask what you’d like to eat.”

  “He’s here already,” Josh says happily as he pops up at our privileged table, looking imposing and tough in a black traditional chef coat with rolled up sleeves. He’s sporting a bandana à la Axl Rose. Oh, yeah, I can definitely see him rocking it with sharp blades and other handy tools.

  Donna gazes up at Josh towering over her. His gaze drops down on her. “I invited them to lunch, so I need you to run the pass for me.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “By the way,” he says, pointing at me, “sitting over there is Teresa. She owns Camila’s Kitchen.”

  “That’s you?” she asks, meanwhile looking me up and down. “Congratulations on your opening.”

  “Thank you.” I’m curious about what Josh told her about my dessert menu.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you all,” Donna says, then places her hand atop Josh’s biceps. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Josh. Enjoy your afternoon.” With one last adoring look at her boss, she takes off.

  Josh pulls up a chair, flips it around, and sits down, using the back of the chair as an armrest.

  I almost gasp at his thick ripped forearms. A black leather bracelet is wrapped around his right tattooed wrist. Really, it’s perverse if not offending sitting here like that, in that posture, slightly rebellious. When I look up at him, his eyes are on me, and when he flashes me a smile, I wished I’d took him up on his offer that first night.

  “So, tell me what you like,” he says, holding my gaze.

  Given the sort of place we’re in, his question is perfectly legit, but it sends a heat wave to a certain part between my legs as I think of that same question coming out of that sensual mouth in an entirely different setup. With our clothes off.

  I clear my throat, then ask, “Would it be weird or ill-suited if I asked you to surprise me?” In said different setup, I would have asked the same. I’m sure I’ll like everything he can come up with. Get a grip, Sainz!

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d say that,” he replies with a grin. “Anything I need to know? Allergens, diet?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up, and a dimple appears, turning the bad boy into an adorable man. “A woman for the win,” he says, his throat a little rough. “What time do you need to be back?”

  “I was told not to rush, so that’s what I’m planning on doing.”

  “Perfect.” He shifts his head toward his cousins, and I love how relaxed he appears as he inquires about our wishes and time. Not int
ense or hard-edged in any way as I’ve come to know him. This is his territory, and it shows he’s in his element. “What about you two?”

  “I don’t think Vandenberg is in immediate jeopardy if I don’t show up today,” Lola says with a shrug.

  Hannah shrugs too. “I’m my own boss, and Harley stays with Tristan.”

  “How about a seven-course tasting menu?”

  Oh mother!

  “Bring it on,” Lola says, smiling broadly.

  “Enjoy the appetizers,” Josh says as he pushes to his feet. He turns the chair in its right position, then swaggers toward the burners with an intangible flair that leaves no question as to who’s in charge. The cooks at the line are working side by side, calm and collected, each at their own cooking station, and they’re a joy to watch. I expected a gang of loudmouths, but this is by no means the stress-environment I thought, and no one is swearing like a sailor. It’s a professionally and efficiently run operation.

  I focus back on the girls as I try to regulate my breathing. When I stumbled out of bed this morning, the last thing I expected was a seven-course lunch with one of the wealthiest families of New England, prepared by the hottest chef in town. And I’m planning to enjoy it to the fullest, for god knows I’m in for a hell of a night for trying to get Felipe back in line before we have a serious problem.

  I pick up my glass of bubbles and take a sip. I sure can use alcohol to toughen up.

  Then I gaze at Hannah. “Is Harley your son?”

  She bursts out in laughter. “He sure thinks he is. No, Harley is my dog.” She reaches into her purse and takes out her cell phone, then scrolls through the pictures and holds one up for me. I shriek as I stare at a gigantic mastiff with a dark striped pattern lying on the floor and staring into the camera. I can’t believe a lovely small woman as Hannah would own such a terrible creature. On the other hand, the guy in the photograph sitting behind the killing machine and leaning against a kitchen cabinet, looks sexy with a mop of messy brown hair. He’s smiling into the camera, and I almost feel jealous of the intimate, homely picture.

  “He’s scary. The one in front, I mean.”

  Lola chuckles.

  “That’s what he’s hired to do,” Hannah informs me casually.

  I lift my brow. “Scare people?”

  She puts away her phone, turning serious. “Only when they mean harm. As for the rest, he’s as sweet-natured as they come.”

  “And the guy in the picture?” I joke.

  “That’s Abel, my boyfriend, and he’s sweet-natured too.” There’s an undeniable twinkle in her eye.

  “He looks very happy.”

  Hannah smiles. “He is. We are. I’m one lucky girl.”

  “But tell us about you, Tess,” Lola chimes in. “You mentioned earlier that you’re raising your kid brother?”

  I swallow down the delicate appetizer with the quail egg on top. It’s so good. “I am, for a few years now. Our parents died ten years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “My God, you were only seventeen... So young to have to take care of a younger brother. How did you manage? You had family?”

  “Yes, our family lives in Spain.”

  “You’re Spanish?”

  “For three quarters,” I explain, smiling. “My father was born in Spain. He met my mother in the States on a road trip on his bike. My mother’s half Spanish, half American.”

  “So you have the best of both worlds?”

  I sip my drink as I think about her question. “Yes, that’s well put. I always find Spain one of the best countries to live in. Nice weather, great food, laid-back people, but Felipe and I were born in New London, so we feel Americans in the first place. I want him to get his high school diploma here so he has all the opportunities to go to college and do whatever he wants. All the choices I make are in his best interest.”

  “He’s one lucky kid to have you as his sister.”

  “Thanks,” I say, putting down my glass. I stare at Josh, who’s rapidly cutting up a shallot. Por Díos, he’s a heartthrob. At that moment, he looks up and catches me watching him. I smile, but he doesn’t return it. His gaze is unfathomable, but the intensity in his eyes twice as strong, and I break contact before Lola and Hannah catch me flirting with their hot cousin.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  joshua

  I keep on watching her for a moment longer as she averts her gaze. She’s too fucking beautiful to look away from. I wish I could pick up words of their conversation. Then again, why?

  Because you’re interested, that’s why.

  Yeah, I’m interested all right; interested in getting her out of that green wrap dress. I don’t need to know her life’s story to be able to wear her out.

  I focus back on the task at hand, and finish the mignonette sauce, then continue with the foam. I add a small amount of soy lecithin to the champagne liquid, and mix it up until the bubbles are set, then pour the contents into a siphon I charge with an N2O charger. Lastly, I shuck three oysters, flip them around in their shells, and arrange them on top of a glass bowl filled with crushed ice and coarse sea salt. I spoon a little of the vinegar mixture over the oysters.

  Party time.

  I grab the bowl and siphon, walk over to the girls, and set the oysters in the middle of their table within their reach.

  “Ooh, oysters,” one of them drawls.

  “I want to put up a little show,” I start explaining. “It’s something I was playing with in the back of my mind for a while now, but I’m not sure if this is too farfetched. It’s always fun to try it out on family. So, show me the backs of your hands. One hand.”

  With curious stares, the three of them hold out their hand, and I pipe the champagne air onto the skin between their thumbs and forefingers. “This is champagne foam. The oysters have a dressing of vinegar, minced shallots, and fresh ground black pepper. Now lick the foam off your hand and slurp down the oyster. Don’t forget to chew it once or twice before you swallow.”

  “God, love it!” Lola exclaims, smacking her lips.

  Teresa looks up at me, smiling. “Yeah, me too. The spongy texture feels amazing when piped on the skin. It’s like sea foam, and tastes delicious with the tangy sauce and the oyster.”

  “Very good,” I say, impressed, then gaze at Hannah with a quizzical stare.

  “How do they say that in French again? Swenyee.”

  “Soigné,” I correct with a laugh.

  “That’s what I’m saying. That was one hell of a sexy dish, cuz. I have a very velvety mouthfeel.”

  “Thanks, girls. I’ll get someone to bring you wet tissues so you can clean your hands.”

  As I move on to prepare the next little bite, yeah, they’re getting seven courses, but not before they eat their share of appetizers, I have a hard time focusing on the dishes. I’m too distracted with Teresa nearby, and certainly wasn’t prepared for the huge turn on when she licked the foam from the back of her hand. Terrific timing to try out a dish like that. It never happened before, but here I am, chopping parsley with my cock swelling in my pants.

  ***

  Approximately two hours later, I’m working on the girls’ last course. I’ve been brooding on a dessert since the moment Teresa told me to surprise her, and all I came up with was a deconstructed tiramisu. Let’s see what she’s made of, and whether she has a sense of humor. I have a fifty percent chance my dessert won’t offend her, and has her walking out of the door, never to return.

  That said, I’d be lying if I wasn’t trying to stir her up, provoke her to think outside the box. Her cake this morning proved she can excite, and has a palate. And that sponge cake was one of the best I ever had. It’s safe to say the woman can bake. It’s a damn shame she’s not more adventurous.

  I look up and smile as I see her enjoying my food with wide-eyed delight. All of a sudden her gaze finds me, and she flashes me a spontaneous smile.

  And I’m fucking s
pellbound.

  Donna places a cup of dark espresso on the prep table. “Here’s your coffee,” she says, interrupting the prolonged eye contact between Teresa and me. Her gaze wanders to the chef’s table. “Are you flirting with our neighbor?”

  “No,” I say gruffly.

  “My God, you’re trying to impress her with your own version of tiramisu, aren’t you?”

  With a grunt, I pick up the coffee, mix it with sugar, and add the prepared gelatin. “Don’t you have a pass to run? Last time I checked, the rail was jammed with tickets.”

  “You hate tiramisu. Now you’re making it for her? Our competition for crying out loud!”

  I look up as I swipe the sweat from my face with my forearm. “Yeah. Grab me a container while you keep standing there. This isn’t a damn hangout.”

  “You’re grumpy.”

  “I’m focused,” I counter as I remove the tuiles from the oven.

  Donna slams a container in front of me and struts away. What the hell is her problem?

  After twenty minutes, I’m ready to assemble and pipe a few dots of coffee flavored mascarpone onto a stoneware plate. “Michelle, get me some lavender.”

  “Yes, chef!”

  I add the coffee jelly and the marsala-soaked sponge cake, then create a quenelle of the ice cream, and stick pieces of the cacao tuiles between all components. I finish the dish by scattering around purple flower heads for a splash of color against the dark background, subtle flavor, as well as aroma.

  Pleased with the outcome, I pick up the plates myself and bring them to the women. “Are you girls ready for a classy flamboyant dessert with a twist?” I ask nonchalantly as I put the plates in front of them. I take five to sit and talk with them before they leave.

  “Tiramisu? Seriously?” Lola asks, studying her dessert with interest. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that one of your least favorite dishes?”