The Chef's Passion Read online

  He takes a sip of water. “The place really looks nice.”

  “Thank you. I did it myself.”

  “Excuse me,” he says. His eyes are wide, but I have a hard time seeing their bright-blue color in the dim light.

  I reach over and turn on the lamp. “I’m good at everything I do.” Except for passing the bar, of course, and I’m not going to remind him of that. I wink at him, and suddenly, I realize I’m not feeling so barfy anymore.

  Randy chuckles, and then we stare captivatingly at each other. After a moment, he takes his fingers and moves my hair from my forehead.

  “Now I can see you better,” he says.

  Somehow, suddenly, we’re standing immeasurably close.

  “So how was the rest of your day?” I say.

  “It was a challenge.”

  “It was.”

  “Yes. But I’m not here to talk about the rest of my day.”

  My body tingles. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  It’s silent.

  “So what are you here for?” The smell of his sweet breath and scent of his body have me intoxicated. He’s never made me wait like this before, and my patience has worn thin. I lift my heels from the ground so that I’m standing on my tiptoes and stop just before our lips meet. He takes the bait.

  Within a split second, our tongues are intertwined. My desire overtakes me. I grab him by the back of the head and bring his mouth closer to mine. I even get a piece of his lip between my teeth.

  He pulls back, as if he’s just as unaware of this side of me as I am. But he only studies me for a second before he meets my intensity with his.

  Randy pulls my hair downward, exposing my neck. His mouth and tongue devour my throat as if his very life depended on sucking the blood pumping through my veins. His heavy breathing warms my skin down to my collarbone.

  All of a sudden, his lips, tongue, and teeth abandon my neck. His head snaps back. Randy looks feverishly into my eyes, a conflicted expression is on his face.

  I hold onto his look with every ounce of my soul. Randy’s eyebrow rises slightly, and he again gives in. He undoes my pants and practically tears them to the floor along with my panties.

  Both our hands reach his fly simultaneously. I force his pants to his ankles and drop to put his penis in my mouth. It’s hard already. I look at it for a moment before I begin twisting my head and hand around his shaft.

  "Ah," he moans. I've never provided him with this pleasure, and seeing him enjoy it turns me on.

  I look up. His mouth has fallen open, and he’s smiling with absolute contentment. His penis is rock hard.

  He looks down. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers thickly.

  I take his cock from my mouth, and he helps me to my feet. “My bedroom is through there.” I point toward the hallway.

  He unbuttons his shirt but remains standing in front of me. “I want you right here.”

  I look over at my couch and then at the fireplace behind me. There’s a Persian rug in front of it.

  I take his hand and walk him over to the rug. His dick is still like a missile. I slide off my tank top, get on my knees, and take his shaft back in my mouth. I kiss it, suck it, and stroke it with my tongue until he’s rock hard and pulsing. He moans with each pass, followed by my hand.

  "Thank you, baby.” His voice is thick.

  Randy meets me down on the carpet and guides me on to my back. He ceremoniously parts my thighs and enters me with his rock-hard penis—at first, only half of it. Each thrust sends aggressive sensations through my body. If my pussy could moan, it would. Instead, I moan as Randy’s desirous hands take turns passionately caressing my tits and thighs. I close my eyes to delight in each stroke. It feels so good, and then he stops. I open my eyes. He’s staring at my face.

  “Look at me,” he whispers.

  I nod and do as he commands. He resumes shifting his hips—slowly, deeply.

  My insides are so sensitive. I close my eyes to feel every bit of pleasure that his thick dick stimulates.

  “Look at me,” he commands.

  My eyes pop open like they are responding to my master’s voice.

  Suddenly, he grunts and quakes. He’s coming hard, and I always like to watch him enjoy the pleasure he derived from my pussy.

  When his orgasm ends, he falls to the floor next to me. I roll on top of him to lie on his chest. My head rises with each of his breaths. I feel as if I could go to sleep right here, bare chest to bare chest, straddling him with my legs. My body is limp like a wet noodle and seems to meld perfectly with his.

  “Gina,” he says.

  “Yes.” I sigh. My ear remains nestled against his chest.

  “What is it we have here?” His voice is soft.

  I close my eyes. My heart sinks. I know that if there is a time to tell him, this should be it. He has to know everything. I take one last breath and cherish the feeling of my cheek lying against his barely damp chest.

  I free myself from his embrace and lie beside him again, staring up at my Havana ceiling fan. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I turn to my side and rest my hand on his chest, watching him with a frown.

  “What is it?”

  I gulp, close my eyes, and take one last deep breath. “I’m pregnant.” I open my eyes.

  He just looks at me with a troubled stare.

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He sits up. “What do you mean you’re pregnant? By who?”

  I sit up too and gently place my hand on his shoulder. “You.”

  He pulls away. Fearing the worst is beginning to happen, my heart begins to tear.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Not that long.”

  “How long?” he demands.

  “Since last week.”

  His expression is blank as if he’s staring at an oncoming train.

  He looks back at me. I see the confusion, frustration, and pain behind his crystal-blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I want so desperately for something to say. I search myself thoroughly. There’s nothing except, I don’t know. I shrug my shoulders.

  He takes several long hard breaths, just staring at the wall. Finally, he breaks his gaze, looks at me, and says, “I have to go.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. In silence I watch him dress and walk out away from me. I remain still except for my quivering lip, watching the door open and close. Once he’s gone, I get up and go to my bedroom. I fall face down on my bed, letting the tears of regret soak my pillow as I bawl until I fall asleep.

  16

  I stare at my purse at the edge of my prep station. My phone just buzzed. I take shallow breaths to keep the smell of roasted red bell peppers from making me nauseous. Right now, everything makes me want to throw up, and on top of that, I haven’t begun dealing with Randy’s uncertain response to my pregnancy. That alone is enough to make me feel queasy. Jeez… why did I wait this long to tell him? I wonder if he thinks I tricked him into being my partner just so I can keep him close.

  But no—he’s the one who suggested our partnership. Maybe if I had told him the truth, he would’ve decided to spend his game-show winnings elsewhere. I ache because I feel so bad emotionally and physically.

  When class is over, I check my messages. Randy sent me a text to say we should discuss the renovation and restaurant concepts later today. I sigh with relief. He asked for a time we can meet at the Calypso. I reply, three thirty in the afternoon. As I’m on my way to my second class, he texts, “Good. See you then,” and that’s it. I think I know him well enough to know that he’s being frosty. But I don’t care. Any communication is welcome.

  I make it through my first class but barely through my others. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open even if I’m very interested in the subject matter. When it’s finally time to leave school and drive to the Calypso, I feel only slightly better. I hope my body isn’t going to act this way for the n
ext seven and a half months.

  I pull into the parking lot of the Calypso. Randy’s car is there along with Jeremy’s BMW, which is all fixed up thanks to my insurance. I shake my head. What an asshole. I park, get out of my car, and slam the door behind me. I storm across the parking lot. I was exhausted, but now I’m irritated. Randy didn’t mention that Jeremy would be here. I know he’s a limited partner, but he and I have an issue to resolve before we can actually work together. Now is not the time for that.

  I gust through the door. Someone laughs in the kitchen. It’s a woman. I slow my pace. Now she’s talking, and I can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but I think I hear the words “refrigerator” and “six burners.”

  “She knows her shit, doesn’t she?” Jeremy says and then chuckles in that slimy way that he has.

  I stop before entering and shiver. Hearing Jeremy’s voice gives me the chills. I’m guessing the woman is an appliance salesperson, which means Randy has decided to start without me. Trying to garner as much self-control as I can, I walk through the kitchen.

  “I’m here,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on the woman. She’s also watching me. Only it’s like I’m the headlights and she’s the deer.

  I swiftly turn to Randy, and his expression is blasé.

  “Deanna, this is Gina. Gina, Deanna,” Jeremy says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  I feel like running out of here, screaming foul. I also want to shove Randy in the chest and ask him why she’s here. He and I just made love last night. I might have ruined whatever romance was budding between us when I finally told him the truth, but I’m starting to wonder if we were ever developing anything serious at all.

  Right now, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. I don’t want to display my disappointment. That would give Jeremy the satisfaction I assume he’s seeking. So I smile and stretch my arm to shake her hand.

  “Yes, Chef Deanna Blume. You were a contestant on Head Chef Total Domination.”

  I glance at Randy with my fake smile.

  He looks at me with confusion.

  “And you’re one of the co-owners of The Staple.”

  I cock my head, confused. “The Staple?”

  “The new name of this place,” Jeremy says.

  I grimace at Randy. “I never named this place that. When did you name it?”

  Randy clears his throat. “Jeremy suggested the name.”

  I smash my hands on my hips and make my fake smile faker. “Well then, Jeremy, you see, a thirteen-percent partner doesn’t have that much say-so.”

  Deanna’s eyes widen as though I just cursed in church or something.

  “Do you see this kitchen we’re trying to rebuild in here? I’m the one who’s fronting Randy’s half for your renovations.”

  I could explode, but I know better than to lose my composure in front of my business partners—major and minor—and the woman who’s watching me like a hawk.

  I set my glare on Randy. “Could we talk in private?”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but all I hear is Jeremy saying, “Whatever you have to say to him, you should say to me.”

  “Give it a rest already, Jer.” Randy looks at me. “Let’s go to the office.”

  I nod and walk out of the kitchen. When I pass Randy, I feel as if our bodies had just swapped energy. I hate that I’m so connected to him. It would be so much easier if the attraction didn’t exist between the two of us.

  I walk into the office. Randy enters behind me and closes the door.

  I point toward the kitchen. “What the hell was that?”

  “Calm yourself, Gina.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. I have a reason to be upset.”

  “I don’t have the cash to do all you want to do to this place. Since we’re equal partners, Jeremy’s loaning me what I need.”

  I recall Jeremy’s little parking-lot spat with Steve. “Did he loan Steve money too?”

  Randy scratches the back of his neck as if he’s frustrated by the question, and then he snaps back, “That’s none of your business.”

  “The hell it isn’t. What is he—the family loan shark or something?”

  “Just knock it off, Gina,” he says strongly.

  “No!” I shout. “You knock it off. You text me this morning saying that you and I should discuss renovations and concepts. When I get here, you and your on-screen girlfriend are in there talking about oven burners while Jeremy has already renamed my restaurant.”

  “Our restaurant.”

  “Whatever,” I snap.

  Randy stares at me. I’m breathing heavily, and my heart is pounding a mile a minute.

  “Just calm down, Gina. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  I fold my arms. “I told you that I was pregnant last night.” I sniff bitterly. “And you just clammed up on me, and now you’re here with your girlfriend. I’m telling you this now, Randy. I don’t want anything from you—I never did. And if you want out of this partnership, I’ll be happy to buy you out.”

  “No one said anything about wanting out of this partnership. Do I think you should’ve told me about you being—you know—before accepting my offer to partner with you? Yes.”

  I recoil. “You know? Is that what you’re calling my condition?”

  Randy takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. “I’m not calling your condition anything. “

  “Do you think I tricked you somehow?”

  “No,” he says in an unconvincing tone.

  “Ha.” I shake my head. At this moment, I feel like fighting him until I scratch his eyes out. These emotions feel so out of control that I’m sure my pregnancy is making me crazy at the moment.

  “Gina?” Randy says in a calm voice.

  I drop my folded arms and then fold them again. “Yes.”

  “Do you have a name for our restaurant?”

  “Yes,” I snap. “Sauce.”

  “Sauce?”

  “Yes, Sauce.”

  He narrows an eye thoughtfully.

  “I thought we would specialize in sauces. Braised pork chops with sweet-and-sour boysenberry sauce. Grilled tuna with tangy Mediterranean olive sauce.” I go on and on until Randy lifts a hand.

  “I got it, and I like the concept,” he says. “A lot.”

  “Right, and we can do the same for desserts. All of our foods are topped with delicious sauces, even our desserts.”

  “And what if customers don’t want sauce?”

  “Then we can make their order without it.” I snap my fingers because an idea just came to me. “Or we can give them an offer to encrust their entrée or coat it with freshly made toppings.”

  “Okay,” Randy says as if he’s not quite fully onboard. “That’s a great idea for LA, but this is Minneapolis.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, feeling offended.

  “It might be too much of a gimmick for practical minds.”

  “Listen, we make good food, and who the hell cares if it’s gimmicky or not? Plus, you’re the walking, talking gimmick.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “The cooking show? You’re how we’re going to get them in here to try out our restaurant. Good food is going to keep them coming back.”

  Randy looks at me askew again. He gave me that same look when I made my salty-and-sweet lemon bars for the Calypso. At first, he laughed at the idea, but after taking the first bite, he dropped the smugness and suggested I make more. That’s one thing I always liked about Randy. He’s open enough that if anyone can prove their ideas are credible, he will credit them. He only wanted the best for the Calypso Café, and I’m pretty sure the same applies for our restaurant.

  “Okay then. Sauce it is.”

  I crack a smile. “Really? You want to go with that name?”

  “Yeah, you sold me.”

  I’m positive he’s determined to keep his physical distance from me now that he’s pissed I didn’t tell him right off that I was pregnant. But if
it ever feels okay again, I’ll kiss him for approving my idea.

  “But about the kitchen and other renovations—I think we should break ground as soon as tomorrow. I don’t want to linger with this, and Jeremy knows of a good commercial contractor who deals with restaurants.”

  Once again I cringe when I hear Jeremy’s name. “Speaking of Jeremy, what the hell does he do for a living?”

  “He’s an investment banker.”

  I wonder why he couldn’t tell me that when we were out on our date. He was so cryptic about his job that I thought he probably did nothing for a living.

  “What?” Randy asks, looking closely at my face.

  “Nothing. I just think he and I should sit down and resolve some things if we’re going to be in business together.”

  Randy frowns. “What things?”

  “We went on two dates and…”

  “I know.”

  “Well, the second one didn’t end well.”

  “How so?”

  “He tried to kiss me, and I kneed him in the groin and told him to get out of my house.”

  Randy looks off and shakes his head—I wonder if that’s something else I should’ve told him earlier.

  “Listen, I want to sit down with him, have a talk, and…”

  “No. There’s no need to. You deal with me, and I deal with Jeremy.”

  I’m speechless as we stand here watching each other.

  “Randy,” Deanna calls ever so sweetly.

  He parts his lips to answer and then closes his mouth. I’m back to wanting to gouge both his and her eyes out.

  “And the showmance continues,” I say, purposely taking his temperature.

  “Deanna’s in town as a guest chef for a new restaurant that opened downtown, Srirachi.”

  “Well, this is not Srirachi, so what is she doing here?”

  “She’s being my friend.”

  I grunt facetiously. “I bet she’s being your friend.”

  Randy shakes his head. “You have a lot of nerve, you know?”

  “Screw you, Randy, and I mean it. Whatever we had going, that’s it. No more sex.” I hope that sounded convincing enough.

  “I agree,” he says.

  Gosh, hearing him say that makes my heart free-fall to my belly. I close my eyes to bear the nausea.