Something Borrowed (19 page)

‘You’re very good to him.’

‘He’s a good chef. I want him to stay here.’ He gave a quick shrug. ‘When I go back to Paris, I need to know I can leave him in charge.’

Chloe’s heart stuttered. She hadn’t really registered that he might leave. Which of course, was foolish, he’d hardly been here in the past—why would he stay now? ‘You’re going back to Paris?’

‘Of course. I have my business to run there.’

‘And’—she tried to keep her voice light and wondered if he noticed—‘what about here?’

He shrugged as if the question was irrelevant. ‘I’ll divide my time between the three restaurants. The key is to have great staff. That’s why I need you to help me find the perfect person. Then I can go.’

Great.
So her job—if she did it successfully—would ease him out of her life. There was a hollow hurt in her gut as if he’d gone already. Then it hit her: she didn’t want to ease him out of her life.

Whoa. That was another huge admission.

She barely knew the man. He had his own life to lead as she did, but a part of her wanted him to stay. A lot of her wanted him to stay. And it wasn’t just because he was the most attractive man in the whole damned universe. He was actually genuinely nice, considering he shared the same bloodline as Jason.

And that thought should have made her turn around and leave because the warning bells were ringing in her head. Maybe what she was feeling was becoming the one thing he hated: complicated.

But she didn’t leave. Instead, she watched as he pushed his fists into the thick, creamy dough and heard it sigh as he squeezed the air out, releasing puffs of yeasty scent into the air.

The way he punched and pulled and pummelled it again was rhythmic and meditative, and she could see how repeating it over and over would relax a stressed state of mind.

She edged to the counter, wanting a bit of what he was feeling because she was far from relaxed now. He was planning on leaving.

Strange how a good mood could evaporate with just one conversation. ‘Show me?’

‘Of course. You have to treat it firmly, but gently. Don’t be scared of it. Push the heel of your hand into it… like this.’ He showed her the correct action. ‘Then gather it together into a ball and push again, stretching it a little each time. You have a go. Wait! Wash your hands first.’

She saluted and winked. ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’

‘Clearly you spent way too much time tonight on the love boat.’

‘It was fun.’

He flashed a smile that lit up his face. ‘Yes, so I gather. You look different. You’re glowing.’

She went to the sink, did as he asked and was back in seconds. ‘So, I have news.’

‘Yes? A successful night too?’ He stood back and watched her as she pummelled the dough, stopping her every now and then to adjust the angle of her wrist or show her how to push with a little more force.

‘It was excellent. The boys loved the wedding, the venue and everything, and now one of them wants to organise a surprise party… here!’ She stopped pummelling and looked up at him, gauging his reaction. Okay, partly just to look into the gunmetal of his eyes because she wanted to languish there a little in the spark and the heat. ‘But it may need a little compromise on your part.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘In what way?’

‘I said you’d be happy to create any favourite dishes they have. You wouldn’t mind, would you?’

‘It depends.’

‘On what?’

His mouth hitched at the corners. ‘What do I get as a reward for being so amenable? You’re pimping me out, Chloe. I don’t know whether to be flattered or—’

She flicked flour at him. ‘I’m selling your skills, crazy man. And pimping your
restaurant
. You’ll get a hefty pay cheque, a great review, happy customers and word of mouth. That is, after all, the name of the game.’

‘But only if I cook what they want? What if I don’t think it’ll work? What if they have heinous suggestions, and I won’t be able to add my signature flourish?’ At her frown, his eyebrows rose. He slowly nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll think about it.’

‘What you mean is,
Yes, Chloe, of course I’ll do it. I’ll do anything
. Don’t hire me to help you out and then turn down my suggestions. I was right about the review, wasn’t I?’

‘No one likes a smart arse.’ He grinned, and his eyes crinkled. ‘I’ll compromise, I’ll compromise, don’t worry. But good work, Chloe. Thank you.’

‘Great!’ She almost jumped up and kissed him on the cheek, but that would be a step over the line.
No kissing.
‘I knew you would. I’ll book it in, yes? Plus, I have another wedding booking. Two adorable women, who want a festival-themed wedding with tents, hay bales, a live gypsy band and picnic hampers. Gourmet, of course. Do you fancy branching out into catering too? All the best chefs do.’

He started to run a knife over some of the dough, chopping it into smaller pieces, moulding it into small balls and then placing them on huge floured trays. ‘Perhaps. But I do have three restaurants to run.’

Yes, and two of them weren’t anywhere near here. ‘You could do it as a sideline. Think about it. You could even be in supermarkets; in fact, why not do a stall at one of those hipster festivals too? You’ll get your name out to a whole new market. Hot damn, I’m good at thinking up things for you. I wish I could do the same for my own business.’

‘You had a successful day today—take the wins, Chloe.’

‘I know, I know, I just want the world right now. Too much to ask?’ She flicked her hands in the air and flour p’ffed out across the steel surfaces. ‘Oops. Sorry.’ Her hair was also slipping across her face so she briefly pushed it back with her wrist as she tried to keep pushing and pulling the dough he’d allowed her to play… er, work with. ‘This is hard work.’

‘You have to do each batch for at least ten minutes; then we leave it to rise. Wait… there’s flour on your…’ He pushed her hair back once more and tucked it behind her ear. Then he ran his thumb over her forehead and rubbed a little. The air stilled around them and their eyes locked. She saw a furnace blazing there, molten steel, desire that he was struggling to hide. He let his hand fall. ‘Sorry… I know… Cheesy.’

‘Not cheesy at all.’ At just that tiny contact, she could barely breathe. His gaze burnt into hers and suddenly the air was thick with sexual need. Two people. One touch. One scorching look. A lot of desire. Boom! Magic. Without thinking, she put a hand to his chest, feeling the thud of his heart—erratic and fast, but strong. ‘Vaughn—’

‘Chloe—’ He tore his gaze away and huffed out a groan. ‘Right. Er… Are you hungry?’

‘Why are you always trying to feed me?’

‘Because you look too thin, and it’s the best thing I do. I’ll have you know, people pay a fortune to be fed by me.’

Her eyes flicked toward the huge stainless steel fridge. Her food-porn dream. Words got stuck in a dry mouth. She swallowed as she thought about sex by the light of the open fridge door. About hand-feeding each other food. Then she reminded herself that this scenario was very different from her dreams. For one, they’d agreed that neither of them was prepared to actually go there and do that. ‘Yes. Er… Okay. What have you got?’

‘Whatever you want. Come here.’ He took her hand and tugged her to the fridge. Opening it up, he lifted out containers of cooked meat. ‘See, there is everything you could possibly want to eat. Olives? Cheese? Finest prosciutto, from Friuli in northeast Italy. Try some.’ He ripped a piece off and held it out to her.

He wanted to give her food because it was a distraction from the need that simmered in his eyes, she knew damned well. Because he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but he was hell-bent on fighting it. And that was his choice. But it didn’t mean he wanted her any less.

He was Mr Non-Committal; he was going to leave as soon as she found a decent manager for him. There was no future for them. Whatever they did next would not only be a mark on her heart but on her soul too. She was playing a dangerous game.

But, despite everything, she still wanted to play.

Because not playing this game with Vaughn Brooks would mean a lifetime of regret, of wondering what if? Of wishing she’d had the guts to take something she wanted. So for once in her life, she was going to put herself first.

She leant forward and took the prosciutto from his outstretched fingers—with her teeth. She didn’t know who was more shocked, her or him. So, rather thank thinking about where they were heading, she concentrated on eating the delicious meat. ‘Oh, God, that is amazing. You want some?’

‘Aha.’ There was a subtle shift in his voice, one that told her he wanted more than food. And that stoked the fire in her gut, made her bolder, braver.

She took a piece of the ham and held it to his lips. Without taking his eyes from hers, he leant forward a fraction and took it into his mouth. Then he gave her a smile that was half sexy, half tease and all sin.

‘Anything else?’ She tore her gaze from his and looked in the fridge. ‘Ah… strawberries. Did I ever tell you how much I adore strawberries?’

‘Chloe—’
No kissing.
He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. It was there in the silence.

But this was eating. Right? Just strawberries, and they weren’t exactly sinful. Unless…

‘I mean, I really, really, adore them. Just irresistible. They remind me of summer… and sunshine… and…’ She ran her tongue over her top lip, then caught her bottom one in her teeth and gazed up at him. His eyes flickered red-hot need and he reached for the container of scarlet fruit.

Flicking off the lid, he lifted a strawberry out and held it to her open mouth, running it over her top lip, then on to the bottom one. Slowly, he placed the fruit between her teeth. She sucked it in, bit down and tasted the intensely sweet juice.

‘Delicious. You try one.’ She did the same to him, watching his throat work as he swallowed. ‘I’d like another, please.’

‘Yes, m’lady.’ Breathing fast, he took another out and ran it again over her lips, then put it in his own mouth. ‘You taste like heaven.’

‘How would you know?’

‘Because I’m pretty damned sure that Heaven would taste of strawberries and wine and sunshine. Like you probably do.’

‘Want to check? Just to be sure?’ Then, unable to resist any longer, she tiptoed and cupped his face in her palms. With no hesitation, she licked a trail across his lips. ‘You taste pretty damned good yourself.’ Then she licked a trail down his throat.

Still no kissing. Not technically.

‘Do that again and I won’t be able to hold back any longer,’ he groaned against her forehead, but still he didn’t kiss her.

So, achingly slowly, just to prove her intent, she licked again, first his bottom lip, then the top.

He edged away a fraction, holding her shoulders as he growled, ‘I mean it, Chloe.’

‘So do I.’

His eyes flickered closed. ‘We should stop.’

‘Why, when I know you want it as much as I do?’

His voice was gravel and stone. ‘Because this isn’t a game, Chloe, and I just can’t give you what you want.’

‘
Y
ou don’t even know
what I want. You’ve never asked me.’ Chloe ran her hands over his chef’s whites, feeling the hard muscle underneath, the solid wall of chest. Her heart was beating rapidly, but she was flush with business success and felt bold and brave. For the first time in a long time, she felt she could actually grasp something she wanted. And if she didn’t do this, she would definitely regret it. ‘Right now, I’m thinking hot sex would be a perfect end to a great day.’

‘And then what?’

Good question.
‘And then the sun will rise tomorrow, and we will carry on with our lives.’

‘Simple as that?’ His eyes narrowed.

‘Simple as that.’

‘But nothing’s ever simple with you.’

‘Let’s just say I’m a work in progress.’ Because she didn’t want to examine too deeply what on earth was happening here, she nuzzled her head into that perfect dip between his neck and his shoulder and let her fingers stray over the top of his trousers, playful and light. Didn’t matter what words he was using, if ever there was a show and tell as to what he wanted, it was this hard length against her palm.

He grasped her hand, brought it to his chest and kissed the knuckles, a gesture so tender it made her heart squeeze.

Oh. Maybe he’d meant no mouth kissing? She lowered her head to their hands and kissed his knuckles in return, relishing his sharp intake of breath as she licked across them. Curling open his fingers, she licked across his palm, over and around his wrist. With every lick, his eyes fluttered closed. Then opened again in anticipation of the next touch of her tongue on his skin. Desire emanated from him, as did a struggle to fight this deepening need. His eyelids were hooded, his breathing fast.

And God, she ached to feel his mouth on hers.

She reached for another strawberry and put it half in her mouth. Turning towards him, she leant close, offering him the other half.
Take it from me,
she told him with her eyes.

He immediately knew what she was doing. At first, he shook his head, but she kept on looking at him and nodding. She saw the moment his resolve was totally blown; heat seared his eyes, and a guttural groan escaped him.

He tipped his head down and took the other end of the fruit into his teeth and bit hard. An explosion of flavour erupted into her mouth, and as he bit, their lips grazed, and another molten rush of heat suffused her face, spreading fast across her body, lower and lower. It was as close as no kissing could ever get to kissing.

Excruciatingly sensual, her skin felt alight with desire, craving his touch. He was so close. His mouth so close, she could see the exquisite lines in his lips, the day’s stubble on his jaw, fine pores, and a delicate dimple in his cheek.

This was torture—tantalising, sexy, torture—to be so near to his mouth, to be able to taste him, but not to kiss him.

She reached up to his jaw, stroking across it, increasing pressure as she smeared her fingers across his mouth. When he caught her fingers in his teeth, she gasped. When he sucked them into the heat and wet of his mouth, she closed her eyes, unable to control her breathing, her composure.

Then she felt the whisper of his breath on her face, and she dragged her damp fingers away just before he slammed his mouth over hers in a hard, greedy kiss that had her melting into him.

She opened her mouth in response, and he stroked his tongue across hers, the sweep of sensation after sensation rippling through every inch of her body. His spicy scent enveloped her. His arms reached around her neck as he hauled her against him, gripping to her as if she were a lifeline in a stormy sea. And with each moment in his arms, she felt more of her defences smashed against the rocks.

She knew why kissing was so damned dangerous. It was so intimate, so raw and so real. It opened up parts of her heart that she’d slammed shut. It made her crave him more and more and more.

His initial reluctance only proved he was trying to protect her. His tenderness showed her his heart. His steady grip gave her hope to cling to, and above all of those things, the ceaseless pulsing ache for him to be inside her, rocking with her, filling her, was a need she’d never experienced before. She curled her hands to his neck and kissed him hard, noticing the exact moment when they had stepped over that line, and that sleeping with him was not only inevitable but necessary.

‘You do realise we’re breaking a zillion rules,’ he groaned, as he lifted her to sit on the gleaming steel counter, sending trays of rising dough skittering onto the floor with a series of crashes.

‘Whatever.’ She imagined he was talking about kitchen hygiene and health and safety, but what the hell. This was her dream, her rules. ‘Rules are made for breaking.’

‘Some are for your own good.’

‘For example?’

His thumb smudged across her lips as he pushed her legs apart with his hips and stepped into the space, leaning closer, ever closer. ‘No kissing.’

‘How can that rule be for anyone’s good?’

His hands fisted in her hair now, tugging her closer, his mouth hovering a fraction above hers. ‘Because it leads on to so much more.’

‘Good.’ He was saying this to make sure she was okay, she understood, to smooth the way, to stop embarrassment, and to prove that he was the gentleman she knew he was. But somehow he’d relieved her of her dress; she could barely remember how, but there it was in a puddle on the floury floor. She laughed as he slicked a hot trail of kisses along her breast and sucked her nipple into his mouth. The giggle turned to a moan as he pressed against her, his erection pushing against the super-sensitive part of her thigh. She was half naked, in just bra and panties and stilettoes, yet he was still all cheffed-up and with far too many clothes on.

‘Take this off.’ Dragging at the hem of his top, she inched it over his head and threw it, wishing there’d been a way to do that without him taking his mouth from her skin.

But
oh, God
… she swallowed deeply, drinking him in. That French sun had been very bloody good to him. Tanned shoulders gave way to solid, thick biceps, toned pecs and a tight, ridged stomach. Her eyes widened as she focused from one exquisite part of him to another. He was a dream come true. She ran fingers across his chest. ‘Wow, Vaughn. You are amazing. Bloody amazing.’

‘And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.’ He cupped her breasts in his hands and leant to kiss them again. She wriggled her bottom to the edge of the counter and squirmed against him. At the touch of her heat, he groaned, and all talking stopped.

Kissing her again, he stripped her of her underwear then circled her thigh, nudging her legs further apart, slowly sinking fingers into her core. Intense pleasure ripped through her as he stroked and explored. She could feel pressure inside her lighting up, growing more intense as he pulsed his fingers inside her. She was on the edge. Hanging on, holding on with a tiny sliver of self-control. She wanted him inside her—only then would she allow her release.

This time, when she reached for him and felt his hardness under her hand, he didn’t stop her. With shaking fingers, she undid his waistband button, and he kicked the rest of his clothes away. Then he was naked in front of her. Magnificent. Assured. Turned on.

God,
how he was turned on.

She took him in her palm, relishing the strength, the heat, guiding him to her. ‘Condom?’

‘Sure.’ He turned briefly, rummaged in a pocket in his trousers on the floor, and when he turned back, his eyes glittered with desire and a tenderness she’d never seen in him before. ‘Chloe, we don’t have to—’

‘Yes, we bloody well do.’

‘Yes. Yes, we do.’ Those eyes bore into her and there was so much he wouldn’t say, so much she could see in those dark irises that he refused to give a name to, and she knew then, knew with all her heart, that she was fooling herself if she thought this was going to be simple.

But it would be beautiful. It would be like her dream. It would be hers. It would be theirs. And whatever came after she would deal with.

But for now… just for now…

His mouth covered hers, and shivers of need ran through her and over her. The kisses were hard and desperate and hot. She wanted him inside her so badly, so damned badly, and nothing else would ever be enough. Nothing… and no one. This was a man who wanted her, who connected with something in her that no one else had ever reached.

She wound her legs around his hips and wiggled to the very edge of the counter, showing him what she wanted, what she needed. And then he was pushing inside her, gently at first as she moaned his name, his mouth on hers, his eyes locked with hers. Over and over she whispered his name, and over and over he answered her, pushing harder and deeper until she was lost in the rhythm and the sensation and his scent and those dark, serious eyes that told her he was captured by this connection too.

Then there was a change in the air, a shift in his breathing and in his rhythm that sent a charge through her, rising and rising until she couldn’t think anymore until every cell in her body exploded into a pulsing crescendo that had her bucking with him. Her mouth craved more kisses, and her hands ached to feel his skin under her touch—it would never ever be enough. She pressed herself closer and closer to him, moulding her body with his, sharing this release, giving him everything, losing herself in
us
, losing herself in
this
, until he lost himself too, further and deeper, and further and deeper.

And always, always,
always
, those dark grey eyes glittered with the truth; there was nothing simple about this at all.

* * *

H
e held
her close to his chest, head on her shoulder, his lips pressed gently against the dip of her collarbone. It was the kiss of a man who wanted more, but who was satisfied for now. And he was not letting go.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. But there were still moments of tender kissing, touching his face, looking, caressing. Of wonder at what had just happened between them.

Eventually, he pulled away and looked around at the fallout. There was dough rising in small puffs on the floor. Tin trays tipped over, resting against the counter legs, discarded across the tiles.

He smiled and brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face. Then he passed her her bra and pants with a glint in his eye. ‘What do you want to do now, Chloe?’

‘You know what? I want to go to sleep wrapped up in you and wake up with you in the morning. That’s all. I don’t want to think past these moments. I don’t want to spoil this. I want it to last… at least until tomorrow.’ She had a feeling she wanted so much else, but saying those words would muddy everything. ‘Come home with me?’

‘Of course.’ And so he tidied up the kitchen and went home with her. All she’d had to do was ask. And it was pretty damned scary that he was here in her bed. Two parts scary, and two parts miracle.

It was still night-time as they lay again, exhausted and satisfied, still drunk on the magic of what had happened over the last few hours. Vaughn laughed as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘I didn’t have much time to look before, but this is a nice place you’ve got here.’

She curled her fingers into his and stared up at the huge, intricate ceiling rose in her bedroom and remembered the week she’d taken off work with Jason to decorate the room. Back before the good old days had turned bad. ‘It’s old and has its issues, but I do love it here. I feel like I have a haven of peace in the centre of everything. We had such a lot of plans for it.’

His words were against her neck. ‘Ah, yes. Plans. The road map for life until reality gets in the way. Shit happens.’

‘Life has a way of not working out how you expect, that’s for sure.’ Like this. Like him. But then she realised maybe he wasn’t talking about now, or about Jason, maybe he was talking about his past. Chloe’s heart began to beat fast. ‘Are you talking about…?’

There was a long silence. She lay with it, not wanting to force him to speak, but wishing he would. In the darkness, she reached for his hand and held it tight against her heart.

Eventually, he stirred. Not asleep, then. Just thinking.

‘Bella. Her name was Isabella.’

‘The name of your restaurant in Paris. I always thought it just meant beautiful or was referring to the setting or the food.’ It had never occurred to her to question the reason behind its name. She’d always thought he was just a little too arrogant, just a little too sure of himself. She knew different now as he lay beside her. Knew he was giving and thoughtful. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘Not a chance.’ He shifted a little, making space between them, but his voice was still soft.

She turned over to face him, her face close to his, her body against the length of his. ‘Why not?’

He smiled, but it was a reluctant one. ‘Chloe, this is so not the right place.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want you to talk about your relationship with Jason. I don’t want to think about you with him, so I imagine you don’t really want to know about Bella. Why would you?’