“Nonsense. Tell me his name, and I’ll call the kitchen so I can speak to him personally.”
“Vincent,” she said softly, not wanting to say his last name after Roberto’s reaction.
“Is that his last name?”
“No. His name is Vincent Moretti he’s—” She stopped herself and waited because if Roberto knew the name, she was positive he did as well.
“I know who he is. Are you telling me that Chef Moretti is in my kitchen right now doing the cooking while you’re outside talking to me on the phone?”
She wasn’t expecting that reaction from him. “Yes.” Her voice was soft like a child who knew they were in trouble. But for what she wasn’t quite sure.
“He wasn’t on the guest list last week.”
“No he wasn’t. I assume he was a last minute add or filling in for someone else. I never actually asked.” Another poor choice on my part. I’m supposed to be monitoring the entire resort, and I don’t even inquire why he’s here. I should never be left in charge again.
“You should be by his side, learning everything you can. It’s an opportunity that most are not given. And yet you’re talking to me as though it means nothing to you.”
Because, it doesn’t. I don’t like cooking. Just because he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met and I could listen to him talk about cooking all day, doesn’t mean he can teach me to cook. “Dad, he’s here to help, not train me. You’re the chef, probably better than Vin—Mr. Moretti. Besides, you know how I feel about being in the kitchen, having people try what I make.” I dread it. I know I’ll never be as good as you, so why bother?
It was the same argument they’d had since she was a teenager. He wanted her to learn and take over the kitchen at the resort, and all she wanted was to be out on the slopes.
“You know how you feel about learning how to cook from me? Trust me, you’ll feel different with Chef Moretti. With the right person, it’s not learning but connecting, sharing. A man and a woman cooking together can be very enlightening.”
Oh, my God. Dad, you’ve got your fever back because you seem to have forgotten I’m your daughter. “Dad, I don’t—”
“Do not Dad me. I’m not getting any younger, and at this rate, I’ll never have any grandchildren.”
This is worse than I thought. He’s trying to get me married off. “Dad, I’m a grown woman who—”
“Would stay on this mountain, trying to take care of me, and never get out and live and find love. If you’re not working, you’re skiing alone on the slopes or sitting at home reading. And a successful, well-liked, and respected man is there helping you, and you don’t want to be with him. Why?”
“Dad, he’s not helping because of me. He just doesn’t want the other guests to suffer through my cooking.” Can’t blame him.
“Chef Moretti wouldn’t care about the other guests. It’s not his reputation on the line. It’s mine and the resort’s. Open your eyes, child, and see; if he is in there doing all the work, he’s doing it because of you.”
“Me?” That’s ridiculous. He could have any woman he wants.
“Really, Nita, I don’t know what you’re looking for in a man, but you’ll be thirty before you know it. Your mother and I’d been married eight years by your age.”
She was regretting even speaking to her father right now. As if I don’t have enough stress on me already, you’re talking like I’m going to be an old spinster if I’m not married by thirty. She wanted to tell him this was a different time; people didn’t jump into marriages and live happily ever after. They had careers and lives that also fulfilled them. Of course that will only open up another can of worms. Because right now I don’t have those either.
“And you think Mr. Moretti will be impressed by my cooking skills and do what, ask me to marry him? Dad, I think you better get back to bed and take something for your fever.”
She wasn’t trying to sass her father, but what he was saying made no sense at all.
“Maria is not intimidated by my cooking skills. She’s in my kitchen making fresh pasta. And she brings me a spoon to taste, and her eyes sparkle when I tell her how good it is.”
More information than I need to know, but at least you’re eating. “Yeah. Great. I have to get back to work now.”
“I hope you understand what I’m telling you.”
More than I want to. “Yes, Dad, I do.”
“Good. Now do as I say and don’t leave his side for a moment. Understood?”
How is it that I’m twenty-six and you’ve got me wanting to run to my room and hide under my blanket? I thought fathers were supposed to scare the boys away, not push me to them. Do you want me out of the house that much? There are easier ways than this to stop me from living at home.
Renita was no fool. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she’d seen Vincent looking at her, and when he was close to her, she knew there was a mutual attraction. But all that changed the moment she found out he was not one of the skiers here, but he was one of the elite attending the formal New Year’s Eve event. He was only flirting with her until the other guests arrived. He’s probably just bored.
Knowing that made her more determined to keep her distance. She didn’t want feelings for someone who’d never reciprocate. And if her father was right, the last thing she needed was spicing it up in the kitchen with Vincent. I need to keep it professional. Go in, do what he says, and get out. Simple.
No matter how much she was going to hate that, she’d never disrespected her father before and wouldn’t start now.
“Yes, Dad. I understand. Can’t wait till you feel better and can come back to work.”
She disconnected the call and reluctantly entered the kitchen again. Vincent was barking orders at Karen, one of the other sous-chefs. The man who’d been so kind and gentle with her seemed to be totally different with the staff. He was all business and expected—no demanded—perfection. That was something he wasn’t going to see from her. Not in a million years.
Although, there was nothing between them for him to look at her any other way than the way he did the rest of the staff. Craziness. That’s exactly what I am. And I’m not even kitchen staff. I’m supposed to be out in the dining room to make sure everything is perfect. Why did I ever promise to be by Vincent’s side? I’m only going to irritate him with my lack of skill.
As she watched him, she took a step backward. I don’t think Dad meant to literally stand next to him. I think in the same room, actually on the other side of the room, will work just as well. Probably better.
He must’ve been watching her while she’d been looking at him because he patted the workstation. “Come by me.”
She stood, hoping to be able to get out of doing what he requested. She looked at the others; although still working, they were paying close attention to both she and Vincent. “I thought you wanted me to plate,” she said softly.
Never turning to her, he said more firmly, “I want you here with me. They can plate.”
When she made eye contact with Roberto, she saw a hint of a grin before he turned away quickly. I hope the guys don’t think that Vincent and I are . . . oh, this is embarrassing.
Renita held her head up and pretended to be confident as she made her way to Vincent’s side. Once there she whispered, “I really think that I’d be better at—”
“If you don’t try, you’ll never know if you can do it.” He reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll never be the same after a couple of private lessons with me.”
Her cheeks flushed as somehow her mind had wandered from the kitchen and into the bedroom. She had no doubt he was not only a master in the kitchen. His confidence was sexy as hell. If he were a spice, he’d be a habanero pepper, super hot. Remember Renita, he warned you, cooking is all about chemistry. And if you get too close to him, you know you’re going to ignite.
“So what are we making today?” Please don’t say love because I’ll have to quit my job and move away if you d
o.
“Why don’t you tell me what you know how to cook, and I’ll show you how to make it better.”
“It’s a very short list.”
“How about we start with lasagna?”
Oh, God no. That is way too hard. “I can’t. Maybe something simpler.”
“Grilled cheese?” He arched a brow, but the curl of his lips said he was teasing her.
I think this might be easier if you yelled at me like you do the other staff. That way I won’t like you so much. “Maybe something in-between.”
“How about we skip cooking and head straight for dessert?”
Renita’s tongue betrayed her as she licked her top lip. “Sounds sweet.”
She could be as playful and teasing as he could, but somehow she knew she’d just challenged him, and he wasn’t going to back down.
Vincent went and grabbed all the ingredients, and she tried to listen and pay attention as he measured flour, sugar, eggs, milk, baking powder, and fresh vanilla. There was more added, but she’d stopped paying attention as the aroma filled her nostrils.
“Did you get all that?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. I got it.” She was lying, but had no plans on ever needing to make a cake from scratch again.
“So tell me what do you smell?”
“Cake batter?” She didn’t know what else to say. But it was a logical answer as far as she was concerned. Can’t be wrong there.
“Renita, you weren’t paying attention. But I refuse to let you fail at this.” He turned away and barked, “Everyone out. Now.”
She heard the utensils being put down and footsteps hustling out of the kitchen. This was not his kitchen or his staff, yet no one questioned his order. Can’t blame them. He can be pretty damn intimidating. But it was her job to remind him who was in charge here, and it wasn’t him. “You can’t—”
“I just did. Now we continue with your lesson. Okay close your eyes and give me your arm.”
She looked at him. “Why?”
“You think cooking or baking comes from some paper. It doesn’t. You need to use your other senses as well. Now give me your arm and close your eyes.”
She gave him her left arm.
He lifted it up and said, “I warn you, if I see you peeking, I’ll get a blindfold.”
“I bet you have one too.” She sucked in her breath not meaning to have said that out loud.
With her eyes still closed, she felt him closer to her. Then his warm breath was by her ear as he said, “I’ll be happy to show you when we’re alone.”
Her cheeks burned hot, but she refused to open her eyes. Not for fear of him, but she didn’t want Vincent to see the effect he was having on her just with words. God help me if he touches me.
She felt him rub something on her bare arm, a powder of some kind. Then there was something wet and once again another spot of something dry. This continued all the way down her forearm. She had no idea what he was doing but wasn’t going to question him.
“Hold your arm there for one minute. Don’t move.”
Don’t worry. I’m afraid to right now. I think my legs will be shaking if I try walking.
“Without opening your eyes, I want you to smell each spot where I put something.”
She lifted her arm and the first thing made her nose tingle, and she almost sneezed. It was spicy and nutty.
“Do you know what that is?”
“No.”
“Then taste it. Remember you need to use other senses when cooking.”
Her tongue darted out and couldn’t identify it.
“Nutmeg. Now do the next one.”
“Vanilla.”
“Yes, very good. And the next?”
This one smelled sweet but she couldn’t get it so she once again licked her arm. “Honey.” She actually was surprised how much she was enjoying this game.
“Very good. Now you know what they smell and taste like on you. Now I want you to tell me what they are on my arm.”
She stiffened up as there was no way she’d heard him correctly. It was one thing to lick her own arm, but there was no way she was going to do that to him. It was weird, and personal. And sexy and erotic and a lot of other things I don’t want to think of. “You can’t mean that you want me to lick you.”
“Yes, I do.”
She knew she should resist. Tell him how inappropriate this behavior was, but somehow she was unable to resist. My body is controlling my brain. Not good, but yet so good. Before she could move away, Renita felt his arm come up, and instinctively, she reached out and held it. She started by his wrist. Once again it smelled sweet, but she wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”
“Then use your other sense.”
You want me to lick your arm here in the kitchen? You’re freaking crazy. No, I’m crazy for even considering doing it.
“Vincent. I can’t do th—”
She waited a minute to gather her courage to do as he said. This is not the cooking lesson I thought I’d get. But damn, he knows how to make me pay attention.
When she was ready, she brought his wrist up to her mouth, and the tip of her tongue slowly licked it. “Honey? But it smelled different from mine.”
“Continue to the next one.”
His voice was so serious, as though this actually was a lesson instead of some form of foreplay.
As she did, she found they were all the same ingredients she’d had on her arm. “I don’t know why you’re having me taste and smell them again.”
“Because you needed to learn that even spices smell and taste differently on each person. Now I’m going to lick them all together.”
If she thought he meant he was going to lick his own arm she was wrong. Her legs trembled as she felt his tongue start at her wrist and lick up her forearm. She was glad he’d kicked out the staff because right now her heart was beating so fast and she was positive he just made her panties wet. You make me forget where I am. Who I am. God, you’re dangerous.
“Now I want you to know what they taste like all together.”
Before she could ask how that was possible, she felt his lips claim hers. So gently that she melted against him. Her hands reached up and clung to his shoulders for support as his tongue urged her to open to him.
Renita wanted to resist, knew that she should, but instead she eagerly opened and welcomed his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues explored each other, then he sucked hers into his mouth. She ached for more. This is so wrong but feels so right.
As she ignored the battle within, calling her to stop, she felt him begin to pull away.
“You can open your eyes now.”
I’m not sure I want to, because I’m having the most amazing dream. Taking a deep breath, she blinked them open. He was standing so close and her hands were on his shoulders as though holding him to her. She brought them down by her sides.
“So tell me, what did you taste?” Vincent asked softly.
“What?”
“Think of what you tasted on my tongue.”
“Is this still part of the cooking lesson?” She had long forgotten about the spices as her mind was clouded with desire.
“Unconventional, but yes.”
I’d definitely say that was unconventional. “I don’t know.” I wasn’t thinking about that. Maybe we should try again and this time I’ll pay attention. Or not.
“Do you want to taste again?” He was grinning as he said it.
Had she voiced her request out loud? He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, wanting. But it didn’t matter. I know what my answer has to be. “No. I think I’ve got it.”
“And?”
“Cake batter.” Even after all his efforts, her answer remained the same.
He smiled at her and shook his head. You probably expected something much more technical.
“Not the answer I expected.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said smugly.
Vincent reached out and brushed the back of his hand on her cheek
. “I’m far from disappointed, Renita. But I think this is enough of a lesson for now, otherwise I’m going to need a cold shower before I can finish cooking.”
Oh my God. How could I forget that there’s going to be hungry people looking for food? And here I am, thinking of what it would be like to be anywhere else with him instead of the resort. She was shaken up, and whether she wanted to face it or not, she was on the clock and had a job to do. This was no vacation or romantic getaway, and she had to remind herself of that. “I think it’d be prudent to have the staff come back in so the guests will have something to eat.”
He watched her and finally agreed. “Lunch might be a few minutes late, but it will be served. You can tell them they may enter again. Why don’t you make sure the dining room is set up better than yesterday? I think your staff needs your special attention to details because it lacked something this morning.”
She was proud that he’d noticed how seriously she took her job. Without another word, she exited the kitchen, rejoicing in the coolness of the dining room. It was way too hot in the kitchen. But I have a feeling that the North Pole would be hot with him near me. She feared she couldn’t keep her emotions in check and was going to get burned.
Chapter Four
“I’m telling you, Renita, I don’t ski,” Vincent said as he walked down the hall toward his suite.
“I recall telling you I don’t cook, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer. So if I had to try cooking, you owe me one time on the slopes at least,” Renita said with her hands on her hips, challenging him to argue.
“There is nothing I find appealing about being out in subfreezing temperatures.”
“Beats the heck out of being in a hot kitchen with no view. The only thing better than skiing at night under the moonlight and stars is skiing at pre-dawn to catch the sunrise. So which do you prefer?”
He stopped and looked at her. Even her bottom lip pouted as though teasing him to say yes. “And doing this gets me what exactly?”
Vincent caved once she batted her long lashes at him and said, “You and me alone on the ski lift all the way up the mountain.”