Читать книгу Flavor of the Month - Tori Carrington - Страница 10

MIDNIGHT. BEN’S RESTAURANT was closed. The infamous L.A. traffic had slowed to a trickle. The city’s residential streets were deserted. And Sugar ’n’ Spice still looked inviting, even with the lights dimmed and the tables empty.

Ben reached for the food he’d brought along with him then climbed from his black low-slung BMW convertible roadster. There was no sign of life inside the pastry shop, but having worked in a restaurant for a good deal of his life, he knew that didn’t necessarily mean someone wasn’t working away in the kitchen. He glanced through the sparkling glass toward the kitchen window. Sure enough, he saw a telltale light shining brightly behind the round pane.

Pure, physical want shot through him at the thought of Reilly being but a short distance away from him. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head all night, no matter how busy and hectic it had gotten at the restaurant. And it had been a good, long while since a woman had had that effect on him. Oh, he might be attracted to a woman, know that at some point he would get together with her, but he had always easily shelved thoughts of her while he attended to work.

But Reilly…

He absently rubbed the back of his neck. His attraction to Reilly seemed to fly in the face of everything he thought he knew about himself. She wasn’t six-foot-something with model good looks and a sexual prowess he usually found attractive. In fact, she’d tried to dismantle his interest in her, throw up a roadblock in his pursuit of her, completely unimpressed that he owned one of the hottest eateries in L.A., catering to the hottest celebrities and the who’s who of the movie industry.

Of course, he didn’t flatter himself that all the women he dated were interested in him and him alone. He was aware of those who gravitated toward him because of the indirect Hollywood connections he had. The people he could introduce them to. The newspapers they could get their pictures in just by attending an event with him. While there were stars that garnered international attention for the roles they played and the salaries they raked in, within Hollywood itself was another form of celebrity status. And Ben prided himself on being a part of it.

No, greater America might not know who he was, but the people that greater America did recognize? They recognized him. And that power drew some intriguing people his way.

It was worlds away from the gray life he’d led growing up, working in the back of his father’s hot-dog stand down on Sunset, where mingling with the customers was not only prohibited, but undesirable. After all, there were only so many things a person could say about a hot dog. And a limited time in which to talk about it as the customers either took the food with them, or wolfed it down right on the spot.

Then his father had had a massive heart attack when Ben was twenty. He’d survived but had decided to retire, and had passed on the three stands he owned to Ben, fully expecting his only child to follow in his footsteps.

Instead, a few years later, Ben had sold the stands and used the cash to open Benardo’s Hideaway. And while the menu may have changed over the years, the restaurant’s motto didn’t. Essentially, everyone who walked through the doors of his place was treated like a star and the real stars who came were anonymous. No photographers, no journalists, no press and no fawning fans allowed.

There was at least one major drawback to his switch in gears, though. His father had never forgiven him for not spending his life handing steamed hot dogs out to rushed customers and had yet to even come to Benardo’s Hideaway. The last time Ben had visited him, Jerry Kane had said he wouldn’t fit in with the hoity-toity crowd his son catered to and would rather eat a frozen dinner at home—hot dogs being out because of his constant battle against cholesterol.

Ben hadn’t even realized the door to Sugar ’n’ Spice’s kitchen had opened until he blinked and found Reilly standing staring at him through the other side of the glass.

He grinned, her appearance reaffirming everything he remembered about this morning. Her warm blond hair. Her large hazel eyes. Her curvy, hot body.

Metal scratched as she methodically unlocked the front door then pulled it open.

“Ben,” her breath seemed to rush out of her sexy, unpainted mouth on a sigh.

“Reilly.” He lifted the bags he held. “Turns out the last of my staff left before I could have them deliver this so I had to make the delivery myself.”

The twinkle in her eyes told him she didn’t buy the line. And he liked that. In that one instant they connected in a silent, knowing way that didn’t need words.

Reilly looked at her watch. “Midnight on the button. You’re a man of your word.”

“You can call me anything, just don’t call me late for dinner.”

She smiled at that. “Corny.”

“Agreed. Are you hungry?”

She seemed to consider the comment and he wondered if her mind was wandering to other hungers, just as his was as he eyed her appetizing mouth, the soft curve of her neck, her narrow wrists and toned forearms. He found it strange that he was lusting after a woman’s forearms. But since Reilly was covered from head to toe in an apron and long-sleeved shirt and pants, there was little else for him to lust after.

She sucked her lower lip in between her teeth, as if the action might help in her decision. For a moment he thought she was going to refuse him, turn him away into the night. Then she said, “Actually, I was just thinking about how I haven’t really eaten anything all day. And the thought of having Benardo’s delivered…well, it seems suddenly all too appealing.”

Ben hiked his brows then grinned, idly wondering where the bumbling chatterbox from this morning was hiding out. She held the door open and he stepped inside, instantly assaulted by the aroma of sweet dough baking and of Reilly’s clean-smelling skin as he passed her. He began hefting the bags he held to a table, but she stayed him with a hand that seemed to burn straight through his shirt and scorch his skin. “No. Why don’t we go back to the kitchen?”

He caught her looking through the front glass windows at his sports car parked at the curb.

“What? Don’t want to be seen with me, Reilly?”

She quickly glanced at him and her cheeks pinkened. “You don’t understand. I have these three friends who would never let me hear the end of it if they found out we were here together, alone, in the middle of the night.” The left side of her mouth turned up. “And who knows what my family would think.”

“And do your friends and family make a habit of driving past your shop in the middle of the night?”

“No. But why take chances?”

He wanted to give her at least a dozen reasons why she should take chances, namely with him, but instead followed her sexy little bottom through the shop and back through the door to the kitchen.

The source for the sweet scent permeating the place became immediately clear as he eyed the sheets of freshly baked—were those unfrosted and unstuffed éclairs?—goodies taking up nearly every inch of free counter space.

“Move one of the trays to the side over there,” she said, gesturing toward the middle island. She grabbed a towel, checked inside an oven, then took out yet another tray then switched off the temperature. She looked around for a free space, then propped the oven door open and slid the tray back inside. He handed her the one he’d moved to make room for him and Reilly at the counter and she put that inside the open oven, as well.

She ran her wrist across her forehead and looked at him sheepishly. “I have another cart on order,” she told him, gesturing off to the side to where two ten-tray carts were full, “but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

“You may want to go for two or three more.”

“I’m afraid you may be right. I had no idea when I opened this place that business would be so good.” She stared at him openly, licked her bottom lip, then gestured toward the island.

Ben made a ceremony out of pulling out a free stool for her, then helping her to climb on top of it, guessing his assistance hindered rather than helped the process but up for any excuse to touch her. She gracefully accepted the offer, then waited as he sat next to her and began pulling items out of the bags. Even as he did so, he wondered what they would be having for dessert. And éclairs, as good as they may be, were definitely not at the top of his list.

REILLY COULDN’T quite bring herself to believe that she was sitting in the middle of her shop kitchen in the dead of night watching yummy Ben Kane serve her up dinner from a restaurant that boasted a three-month waiting list for a table.

No, she had never been to Benardo’s Hideaway. Oh, sure, she knew where it was. Situated north of Santa Monica, on a jagged outcropping overlooking the Pacific Ocean, everyone agreed that the view was phenomenal, especially at sunset. And with the ocean-side floor-to-ceiling windows, all diners were guaranteed one hell of a show.

But Reilly understood that even the fantastic view ranked a far second to the number one reason the restaurant was so popular: the famous cuisine Benardo’s offered. And as Ben took fine china plates out, she began to see what sort of standards the owner upheld.

No foam cartons for Benardo’s. Everything was in rubber-topped glass containers and separate from the foods they would be served with. She swallowed hard as she watched Ben’s long, thick-fingered hands lay out a navy blue and gold tapestry placemat, two crystal candle holders complete with candles, linen-wrapped silverware, a gold charger plate, then cobalt blue plates that were edged with a gold Greek key design.

“And here I would have settled for a burger on a paper plate,” she murmured.

Ben handed her a crystal glass then poured in a finger of red wine. Which type, she couldn’t be sure because the letters on the label of the bottle were covered by the white linen napkin he’d wrapped around it. “Shh,” he ordered.

She suppressed a giggle then sipped at the wine. Merlot. A good one at that.

She tried to get a peek inside the dish he was opening, but he held it where she couldn’t see.

“Close your eyes.”

She widened them instead. “What?”

He grinned at her, making her stomach pitch to her feet. “You heard me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t get any food.”

She made a face. Five minutes ago she probably would have pointed him toward the door and sent him on his merry way if he’d told her she’d have to close her eyes. But now that she’d been treated to the full presentation, her curiosity had been ignited and she really wanted to see what he had in store for her.

The key word being see.

She shifted on her stool then closed her eyes. What could he do, really, if she peeked?

She felt cloth settle over her eyelids. She immediately reached for it. “Um, you didn’t say anything about a blindfold.”

She felt as well as heard him say “trust me” very near her ear. She fought a shiver, but was helpless to prevent it from sliding up her arms then down her back to settle finally between her tightly clenched thighs. He took her silence as acquiescence and continued tying the material around the back of her head, careful not to get her hair caught in the knot.

Oh, boy.

While Reilly knew her kitchen better than she did her upstairs apartment, she felt decidedly strange sitting there, being able to touch everything, smell everything, but not see it. Beyond the scent of the éclairs, the hint of cinnamon that still lingered and the honey syrup she’d used on the sticky buns that morning, she became aware of another pungent food scent and salivated.

“Open your mouth,” Ben requested next to her ear.

Reilly’s throat closed so tightly she could barely breathe but she somehow managed to part her lips, foggily trying to remember the last time she’d brushed her teeth.

Something rested against her tongue. She was vividly aware of the burst of flavor. Of something cheesy and tangy and spicy. Spots of yellow, orange and red exploded behind her closed eyelids as she closed her lips so Ben could extract the fork.

“Mmm.” She’d never connected food to colors before. But without the aid of sight, her mind seemed to compensate in other ways.

“That’s my own recipe for brie.”

Brie. She’d never had brie before, so had no way to connect it to a different type of cheese. She did, however, decide that she’d been missing out.

“More?” Ben’s breath disturbed the hair over her left ear, making her nipples harden and her thighs clench more tightly.

“Definitely…more,” she whispered.

There was a heartbeat of a pause, then she heard him moving again, and within moments another bite of the delicious brie was resting against her tongue along with something crunchy and tasting of wheat germ. A cracker? Whatever it was, paired with the brie, it was pure heaven.

“Take a sip of wine.” He took her hand and placed the wineglass in her fingers. She slowly drank, then he took the glass back. “Open.”

She swallowed hard, her heart beginning to pound at the easy cadence of his words. His voice was deep and more intoxicating than the fine wine. His closeness did strange things to her, making her feel as if she stood in the beam of an electrical current. Her skin felt alive and tingly, her toes were curled up in her tennis shoes, and it seemed to take all of her concentration to keep her breathing from becoming a rasp.

Seafood.

Shrimp.

No, a prawn.

Cooked in a sweet coconut mixture that set her mouth to watering and her throat to humming.

While she’d always been a great lover of food, sweets had always been more her thing. The more sugar the better, was her motto. And her mother had come from a sturdy meat-and-potatoes background, with lots of cabbage stuck in for flavor. Having Ben introduce her to a whole new spectrum of culinary delicacies and tastes made her shiver in anticipation.

She slowly chewed the food. “So, um, how did the desserts go over at the restaurant? I hope there weren’t too many complaints?”

“Shh. It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”

She giggled then caught herself. “Who died and made you the manners police?”

He slid the fork inside her mouth again, filling it with a mixture that would take her a half hour to try to identify. Then she felt his breath against her other ear, indicating he was no longer sitting but was moving behind her. “No, I’m just a man hoping you’ll let him sample some of your…desserts when I’m done.”

Oh, boy…

“In fact, do you mind if I take a little taste now?”

Reilly gasped when she felt his tongue against the right side of her neck. A long, probing lick that nearly melted her into a puddle at his feet. The sensation was doubly powerful because she hadn’t known it was coming.

“Mmm. Just as I thought.”

What? she wanted to ask, but found that she couldn’t. Did you pick up baking grit?

“You taste as good as you look.”

She somehow managed to swallow the bite in her mouth and crossed her arms over her breasts in case he could see how very powerfully his attentions were affecting her—that is, making her nipples fully erect. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

She heard his chuckle on the left side, throwing her equilibrium off even further. “On the contrary, Reilly, you’re the most appetizing thing I’ve seen…tasted, in a long, long time.”

She couldn’t help an indelicate snort, the sound ringing loud in the cavernous room.

Oh, now that was sexy.

She cleared her throat, wishing she could disappear as easily as the world had behind the blindfold. “Sorry.”

“You’re determined to ruin this seduction scene, aren’t you?” he whispered, making her shiver all over again.

“Is this, um, what this is? And here I thought it was just dinner.”

His abrupt chuckle told her he could still be surprised. “It will be if you don’t shut up.”

He put another forkful of food into her mouth when she might have said something. She ignored his earlier rebuke about talking with her mouth full and said, “You and my mother will have to have a talk. Because she wasn’t very good at getting me to be quiet, either.”

She felt fingers against her knee and nearly hit her head on the kitchen ceiling.

Had she thought, oh boy? Yes, she had. But this definitely deserved a more panicked one.

Reilly had never been very good with seduction. Neither as the seduced nor the seductress. She’d quickly found out she was too high-strung for that. While she was patient with nearly every other aspect of her life, when it came to sex she liked it fast and hard and spontaneous. Something that didn’t require her to think. Or didn’t call for her to sit still without squirming for an extended period of time.

“Tell me what you’re tasting, Reilly,” Ben said.

She realized that she hadn’t registered that bite. “I don’t know. All I can think about is your hand on my knee.”

He moved to her other ear. “Then tell me how you’re feeling.”

Like I want you to remove your hand. “Like I want to jump out of my skin.”

Another quiet chuckle. “Not quite the imagery I was after.”

Of course it wouldn’t be. He was probably thinking more along the lines of hot ovens and temperature probes. But all she could think about was how…awkward she felt having one of L.A.’s hottest men trying to seduce her.

She whispered, “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got to give.”

His fingers budged up the inside of her leg.

Oh, God.

“How do you feel now?”

Like ripping off this blindfold and having my way with you on my kitchen island…

The thought caught Reilly so far off guard that she gripped the sides of the stool to keep from falling off. Was she, inexperienced Reilly Chudowski, really considering taking Ben Kane up on his offer for hot sex?

Yes, she realized, she was.

And as he inched his hand farther up her inner thigh, the desire inched up along with it. Oh, yes. She liked that. She liked that very much. She reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt then pulled his mouth down to hers, deciding that his idea of skipping straight to dessert was a pretty good one after all.