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Devoured

By

Letty James

www.spice-books.co.uk

Chapter One

Marco Rinadi sat down next to me, smoke curling from his nose like a dragon in heat. He leaned closer and the pungent smell of freshly chopped parsley mixed with the bitter smell of cigarette smoke made my knees weak—and I was sitting down.

“I heard about you,” he said, his voice a raspy baritone that made me want to pour honey down his throat—and maybe lick it off his tonsils. He propped his elbow next to mine on the table and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray he’d brought with him to the non-smoking section. He was so close, I could feel the heat of his dark olive skin.

I can imagine what he’d heard from Alex, the ex, who was his sous-chef. There were no secrets in the kitchen. I cleared my throat wishing I knew which way this was going. Finally, I got it out, “What did you hear?”

“I heard,” he gave me a smile that made me want to crawl into his lap and give him something to really smile about. “I heard you’re called the Queen of Darkness.”

I laughed. “That’s a new one. It’s usually Bitch from Hell or Ball Breaker. Alex tell you that one?”

He didn’t answer, but looked me over as if scrutinizing my ball breaking capabilities. Either that or he was imagining me naked. I had done my own share of fantasizing since he’d called. To make his job easier, I shrugged out of my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves. I could feel my nipples tighten in the cool air off the water. It felt refreshing after a day spent in a sun-heated car. The corners of his mouth curved up and he unbuttoned the flap of his chef’s jacket. I could picture us dropping articles of clothing on the way to the bedroom. I cleared my throat, and then didn’t know what to say. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a gold cigarette case embossed with his initials. A gift from a lover I was sure. He offered me one.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

“Pity.” He took one out and let it hang between his lips. He tucked the case back in his pocket and pulled out a small silver lighter, also embossed and covered with scratches. Older gift, I surmised. He cupped the flame against the slight breeze. “Do you mind?”

“Would you put it out if I did?”

He laughed. “I’d think about it.”

I enjoyed watching him smoke, watching his hands and mouth move in harmony, watching the eyes crinkle up. Maybe it just went with the bad-boy persona that he had managed to perfect, but it worked for me. Too well probably. I took a sip of my iced tea. He looked at it with distaste.

“They couldn’t do any better than that for you?”

“That’s what I ordered.”

“Honey, you’re here at The Alley. My restaurant. I think I can treat you to something better than an iced tea.”

“I don’t drink when I work.”

“You should. It makes things a lot simpler.” He motioned to one of the waiters, who practically ran over to do the master’s bidding. “Frank, bring us two Grey tonics.”

I glanced at my watch even though I knew what time it was. We had a five o’clock appointment. He had kept me waiting for fifteen minutes. It had been a pleasurable wait as I watched tanned boat jockeys glide their motor boats up and down Ego Alley, and listened to the squeaking of fiberglass hulls against rubber wrapped pilings. We’d met at a charity function two years ago. It was right after Alex got the job as Marco’s sous-chef and dumped me for Rachine Hines, a waitress who fancied herself a foodie, but didn’t even know how foie gras was made. But Alex didn’t want smarts, just willing pussy.

I helped organize the function so my attendance was required. I saw little of Alex, with Rachine wrapped around him like a boa in heat. I’d stopped at Marco’s table to thank him for his contribution. A group of model-gorgeous women were clustered around like he was giving something out for free. Maybe he was later. I shook his hand, loving the way his was firm against mine, not some wimpy you’re-a-woman-I-don’t-want-to-hurt-you limp shake. It made my smile broader. He stopped the chatter around him for a moment. He leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Five o’clock shadow, smoke and musky cologne.

“Good work, kid. Alex is a fool.” Then the chatter had started again and I moved on to thank other contributors. I’d fantasized about that compliment for three days and about how I could get Alex and Rachine fired, and Marco would create a new dish named after me called “Revenge is Sweet.” Ha! Dream on, girl. That didn’t happen, but we did keep running into each other at various functions where some woman was always hanging on his arm. I had him all to myself on Tuesday nights watching reruns of his reality show where he traveled to exotic locales and ate with the natives. There were rumors he was going to do a new show which was why I was here—Super Agent, my best friend, Claire, calls me. I’d rather be a spy, but real estate agent is as close as I’ve gotten. It can have some pretty thrilling aspects though, such as sitting next to this hunk of man and getting his full attention. That’s what happens when you’re a Realtor and money is at stake. People tend to pay more attention. I’ve always enjoyed that part of the job. I slid my high heels off under the table, wiggled my toes and checked my watch again.

“You got a date?” Marco asked.

“What?” He startled me the way he was scowling. “No. I just didn’t put enough money in the meter to stay and have a drink. I’ll need to go move the car soon.”

“What did you think we were going to do? You think I’m some kind of wham-bam guy?”

Were we planning on having sex and had I missed that part of the conversation? I hadn’t even received my drink yet.

“You’re a busy man, Mr. Rinadi. Isn’t it dinner rush soon?”

“Call me Marco.” He leaned back in his chair and put his arm around the back of mine. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Alex is in charge of the kitchen tonight. I’m just here to schmoose. Now relax. I’ll have Frank put your car in the hotel parking lot.”

“But the hotel lot is just for guests.” I didn’t want to have a fight with any of the hotel staff.

“You’re my guest. Frank will move your car,” Marco said firmly. Which is exactly what he told Frank when the young man showed up with our drinks. Frank took it in stride as if it were an everyday occurrence. I could use an unflappable Frank in my life. Marco called another waiter over to get us some appetizers. Finally we got down to business and talked about his house. It would have made much more sense to meet at his house, but he’d been insistent over the phone about meeting at the restaurant. We argued a bit over the possible price, but I was able to convince him of what the market could bear based on the comps I’d done early in the day. I also let him know nothing was final until I saw the house. He nodded his head over the papers then pushed them back to me.

“Everything looks good. Come out tomorrow night.”

I sighed inwardly. Here was another client who didn’t understand the basics of real estate.

“I need to come out during the day in order to look around. See what might need to be done to the property, possible problems we could run into.”

“Fine. Come at six. You’ll have plenty of daylight to check things out. I’ll make you dinner.”

“That’s not necessary.” I did not need to be in a house alone at night with this man. I needed a client, not a lover. Not that he was offering anything, but I could see myself doing something stupid.

“I know it’s not necessary, Queen Christine. We’re going to get to know each other pretty well over the next few months because I suspect there aren’t too many buyers in my price range. Plus I want to try out some new dishes and you can be my guinea pig. You’re not a picky eater are you?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied and took a sip of my vodka tonic. Then wondered how I was going to swallow one of those slimy snot balls, otherwise known as oysters, which Frank had set before us. Marco pushed the platter toward me, offering me first choice. I couldn’t do it, even for a multi-million dollar possible client.

“Sorry, Marco. I can’t eat oysters.” I hoped he would infer that I had an allergy. No such luck.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He lifted an eyebrow. That’s probably how he kept control in the kitchen—all he had to do was lift that eyebrow. But I wasn’t backing down.

“Sorry. Won’t. Bad experience when I was young.”

“Too bad. You know they are considered the classic aphrodisiac.”

“Chocolate is more my speed.”

He smiled and slid the oyster into his mouth, swallowing it whole, the brine washing down his chin. Now that part I liked, imagining him licking me with a salt water tongue. He must have seen the lust in my eyes. He wiped his mouth and leaned close, his arm encircling my shoulders this time instead of the chair. “You watch me eat oysters and I’ll watch you eat chocolate.”

“Deal,” I said, looking into his bright green eyes. Flecked with blue and gray they reminded me of my favorite moss agate fertility stone that Claire had bought me for my birthday the year Alex and I decided to have a baby. The problem was whenever Alex saw that hard stone he went limp. It made an excellent dildo after he left.

The vodka was making my head fuzzy, so I broke my cardinal rule and took a roll from the napkin-covered bread basket. It was rich brown pumpernickel, still warm. I smeared it with some butter from the provided ramekin. Ah, what bliss. I closed my eyes savoring the sweet chewy ecstasy of buttered carbs.

“Honey, you really need to get out more,” Marco whispered in my ear making my arms goosebump as I swallowed. I opened my eyes and he was still close enough to kiss. I resisted and leaned back in my chair, lifting my glass so there would be some solid object between us.

“If I got out much more I’d be big as a house.” The minute it was out I could have smacked myself up against the head. Never talk fat with a chef. One thing I learned from Alex. The other was never get married again, but that didn’t apply here. Frank saved me by bringing an appetizer of grilled shrimp with a mango dipping sauce. I promptly pulled a curled pink morsel off the skewer and dunked it into the sauce, licking my fingers afterward.

“That’s better,” said Marco. Apparently I’d been putting on a show and didn’t realize it. The show was interrupted by a tall heavy man who had the jowls of a bulldog. He reached a meaty paw across the table as Marco stood up. Marco was a big man, but he looked like a beanpole next to this guy.

“Chef.” The big man nodded in greeting.

“Don. So glad you could come. Have you met Christine Monford? She’s my real estate agent.” Marco turned to me and winked. The Jowl man shook my hand and I swear it disappeared in his sweaty one. I wiped my palm against my skirt under the table. “Christine, this is Don Franco, he’s my banker.” Marco motioned to one of the staff to bring Don a chair. “Christine’s somebody you need on your contact list, Don. She could bring you lots of customers.” Don grunted my way and I wondered what kind of banking he handled. I’d been in this town a long time and knew almost all the mortgage people. He didn’t look familiar and he was somebody I wouldn’t forget meeting. While Don hadn’t impressed me, Marco had. He was continually combining business and pleasure. A man after my own heart.

I pushed my feet back into my pumps and stood up to go. The party was over as far as I was concerned. Marco jumped up beside me. Don just looked at me with sad eyes that literally perked up when Frank placed a beer in front of him.

I put my jacket back on watching Marco watch me. His eyes seemed to caress the skin under my jacket leaving me much too warm.

“I’ll see you out,” he said.

“That’s not necessary,” I said. It was about high time I hotfooted it home before I got myself in trouble and started playing footsie. I picked up my briefcase and purse. “Nice meeting you Don.” We nodded our heads at each other since his hands were busy with a beer in one hand and fried calamari in the other. Marco took my elbow and held it gently all the way through the restaurant and hotel lobby. I turned to him at the foyer doors to thank him and remind him of our meeting the next day. His hand was still possessively on my elbow when Alex walked through the lobby. He stopped right in front of us.

“Chef, we’ve got a problem with the customer at table five. Says he talked to you about a special case of wine for his party tonight.” Alex shifted from one foot to the other as Marco eyed him.

Marco sighed and ran his hand up and down the back of my arm, an automatic caress. I smiled brightly at Alex just for the sheer evil fun of it.

“Tell him I’ll be right there,” Marco said to Alex, effectively shooing him away. Marco turned to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, then held his face against mine for just a moment. “Umm, you smell good, but duty calls. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He gave me a salute then he was gone.

Alex appeared again. What did he do, just go around the revolving door?

“What do you think you’re doing?” He practically hissed at me.

“Waiting for my car. Is there a problem?” I gripped the handle of my briefcase in case I had to throw it at him. Here was the man who always lectured me on networking but once I had started networking for my own career instead of his, suddenly it was considering bothering people.