RECIPE FOR DESIRE
Vera
Lester Harbor, Friday, April 1
God, I hated cooking.
“Put me in a cooking class, and you’ll get a recipe for disaster,” I told Sapphire Blake, my best friend who happened to be my brother Julian’s girlfriend. She signed us up forItalian Cooking with Pietro De Luca.
I scanned the intimate cooking studio, which could pass as a country kitchen straight out ofBetter Homes and Gardensmagazine. The scent of oregano and bay leaves assaulted my nostrils.
Fucking shit, is it too late to run?
“You know, Vera,” Saph began, flashing her baby-blue eyes. “Pietro is the head chef at a Michelin-star restaurant.”
“Unless he’s packing a meaty Italian sausage, I couldn’t care less,” I muttered.
“Vera.” Saph burst into laughter. “Is cock all you think about after all the years you spent in law school?”
“You’re damn right that’s what I think about,” I shot back with a smug smile.
“We need to douse you with a good serving of holy water.” Saph chuckled, shaking her head. Loose strands of chestnut hair framed her oval face.
“I like pussy, too,” I teased, running my tan fingers along her alabaster arm. She glanced at me, smiled, and lowered her dark eyelashes.
“I love that you swing both ways,” Saph murmured.
I dragged my fingers through my long, wild caramel hair and blew out a gust of air while waiting for our mystery chef. I toyed with the rolling pin on the bench, only to hear a thud, coinciding with an immediate blinding pain in my left foot.
“Oww.” I bent to rub my throbbing foot.
“Oh, sweetie.” Saph winced, then picked up the rolling pin and placed it on her side of the bench, far from my curious fingers.
I shot them my death stare, and the giggles at the next table died on their lips. Both women had candy-pink hair and dressed like Harajuku dolls: leather miniskirts, knee-high socks, and tanks stretched tight over their chests. Across the aisle, another couple sat in dark suits, stiff and silent, as if afraid to breathe.
“I told you this would be a disaster,” I hissed at Saph as we waited for our chef to arrive.
“Someone’s birthday girl act could use a little gratitude,” she said, her smile twitching as she tried to hold it back.
I wasn’t ungrateful. I just didn’t like cooking. Besides, I couldn’t cook to save my life. “No one wants slop, Vee,” Julian remarked once when I turned risotto into a slush of mush.
“Buona sera,” a deep voice boomed from the doorway. I stared straight into the gray eyes of a very fit, dark-blond Bacchus, the Roman god of the grape harvest, winemaking, and religious ecstasy.
“My name’s Pietro. Tonight, we’re going to cook up a storm.” His voice had that dark, velvety hum… the kind you feel in your chest. Mister Hot-and-Spicy, all marble lines and hungry eyes, swept a gaze over the group and hit us with a grin made for trouble. All I could think was, how soon could I get a taste?
“Alright, tip number one—always sift your flour, or you’ll get lumps,” Hot-and-Spicy said, flashing his killer smile. “And go for strong flour. Trust me, it’ll give your dough a perfect rise.”
“What oil works best?” I asked, popping open the top buttons of my silk blouse as the heat climbed, but it wasn’t the only thing making me sweat.
“Always go with olive oil. Extra virgin’s best for a rich, fragrant crust,” he said, his eyes dragging over me before he turned away. Hunger gnawed at me… food, yes, but also him. I straightened, the silk of my shirt teasing my nipples, and shot Pietro a smile that could thaw the Arctic. Tonight, I wanted more than a taste.
“Let’s start with my signature dough,” Pietro said, throwing me a wink. “No rolling pins here. You want it perfect, use your fingertips… feel every inch.”
I leaned toward Saph, barely keeping my voice down. “Holy shit. He’s edible.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
That night, my hands disappeared into the flour and chaos of pizza dough. I played up the helpless act, shamelessly milking Pietro’s attention… and he was more than willing to deliver. Saph shot me a look, one eyebrow arched, right as our instructor started kneading my dough. Watching his hands work the ball, all I could think about was him gripping my ass and pressinghimself deep, his fingers digging in while I lost myself under him.
