She was so beautiful. Her hair was a cascade of soft waves around her shoulders and the slip of a dress was modest enough for a party but sexy as hell. Especially since I knew the body under it. But it was her blue eyes that held me captive, held the promise of everything I hadn’t known I wanted.
“Actually, I want to take a chance on something I haven’t had before. Do you have any suggestions?”
“A lifetime’s worth, actually. What did you have in mind?” I held my breath, waiting for her answer.
“I love you, Ford. I’d like to learn to trust that. To see what we can be together. If you’re interested?”
I was around the bar before I realized how I’d gotten there; then Charlotte was in my arms and nothing else mattered. Nothing but finding a way to show her what she meant to me.
“I love you too, cher.”
Ignoring the wolf whistles coming from across the room, I bent and kissed her, lost in the woman in my arms.
“OKAY, CHEF. WHAT DO WE do first?” Ford leaned against the counter, watching me as if he’d be happy to follow whatever order I gave him.
His kitchen was even better in person than it had been in his Instagram photos. So was his house—spacious without being ostentatious and filled with things he’d obviously collected over the years. There were designer touches too. The house flowed too seamlessly to be complete happenstance, but it was obviously his home, not a house someone created for him.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’d been spending more and more time at Ford’s. The hammock in the backyard was rapidly becoming one of my favorite places to read. So was curled up on his sofa with my head on his lap. Honestly, reading anywhere with Ford was turning into one of my favorite things.
I glanced over at him, his jeans resting low on his hips and his hands on the granite in a way that expanded his chest without seeming posed and thought of all the other things I love doing with him too. Naked, sweaty, filthy things, but also slow tender ones. As soon as I’d given myself permission to love Ford, it had come almost as easily as breathing. We moved seamlessly between roles which was how I ended up leading the day’s cooking lesson.
“First we make the roux. We need two sticks of butter.” I’d read through the recipe at least a dozen times, watched a YouTube video and asked Antoine for advice. I was ready for this.
“I like this dish already.” Ford unwrapped two sticks of butter, dropped them into a saucepan and set it on the stove to melt.
“You think you like it now; you’re gonna love it later.”
“I have no doubt.” He pulled me into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of my head before tipping my face up so he could kiss me breathless.
I gave into his touch, losing myself in the press of his lips and the slide of his tongue, only surfacing when I smelled the toasty aroma of butter about to burn.
“Hey.” I squirmed out of his grasp, trying to remind myself why I cared about cooking in the first place when I could spend the afternoon in Ford’s arms. “If we burn this, we’ll have to start over.” I slid the pan off the burner long enough to grab three quarters of a cup of flour. “Here, dump this in and stir.”
I handed him the flour and whisk and went to the fridge to get the brown paper package of turtle meat I’d gotten from Antoine. My trip to the deli also included the best kind of flirting, stories about Ford as a boy and a wedge of muffuletta for my lunch. I planned on returning often, especially if the soup turned out the way I hoped.
I put the last half a stick of butter in the skillet to melt while I chopped the celery, onions, and garlic. I dropped the turtle meat in with the butter to brown and turned to see how Ford was doing.
“It looks good.” The roux had just started to turn the same golden brown it had in the video I’d watched. “You can take it off the stove for now and finish chopping the vegetables.”
“Yes, chef.”
“I could get used to this kind of obedience.” I grabbed his butt as he squeezed past me to get to the cutting board.
“I’m happy to follow your orders, cher. As long as you occasionally follow mine.”
That worked for me. Ford’s orders usually involved things likehands over your headandcome for me, cher. Not exactly a hardship.
He was much faster chopping vegetables than me, and, in a few minutes, he tipped the cutting board full of minced vegetables in with the turtle meat. I sautéed them until the meat was cooked and the vegetables translucent, then added the tomato paste and stirred.
“It smells delicious.” Ford came up behind me, nuzzling my ear while I added the stock to the pot. “What’s next?”
“Next we let it simmer for half an hour before adding the roux and cooking until velvety smooth.” I’d read the recipe so many times; I could quote lines. I didn’t want to take chance on messing this up. I ended to have bragging rights I could ride for a while.
“Good. I know exactly what we can do while we wait.” He gripped my hips with his hands and nipped at my earlobe in a way that did melty things to my knees.
“We can’t leave the stove unattended.” I arched back into him, grateful for the skirt that provided little barrier between his denim covered erection and my ass.
“Who said anything about leaving the kitchen?” He spun me around to face him, kissing me in a way that made me happy to leave anything but him unattended.
