His to Taste (4 page)

I nodded again, hoping to reassure him. “Just give me an hour, and you can decide if you think we’ll suit. Is there anything in particular that you’re craving, sir?” I knew I was craving for another peek of his chiseled abs, but I wisely kept my mouth shut.

He gave me a little half smile that sent my heartbeat racing. He stood up and made his way towards the hallway.

“I crave a lot of things, Lynn,” he said. “Why don’t you go ahead and surprise me? Get yourself situated with the kitchen. I’ll be in my office taking care of a few phone calls, but let me know if you have any questions.”

As soon as he left, I could feel myself start to breathe normally again. I caught my reflection in the shiny stainless steel door of the fridge, and smothered an embarrassed groan; my tight nipples had been poking out from beneath my thin blouse, effectively advertising my arousal while I stood there like a sex-starved nympho.

Way to go…now he’ll really take me seriously
. Shaking my head at myself and tying on my old apron, I started rummaging through his fridge and his pantry.

After a quick inventory, I found that he had a well-stocked kitchen for a bachelor. I started my prep work by marinating some fresh sliced strawberries in brown sugar and Grand Marnier. With a bit of extra sugar, my usual cream biscuits would make a great strawberry shortcake for dessert.

While that sat in the fridge, I surveyed the rest of my ingredients. The man was a fan of meat and potatoes, was he? Fried pork cutlets, roasted potatoes and onions, and a fresh green salad with a light vinaigrette should satisfy even the pickiest male appetite, right?

I coated the chopped potatoes and onions in olive oil, and tossed them with minced garlic, fresh rosemary, and plenty of kosher salt and freshly ground pepper. Those guys would need plenty of time to get nice and brown. Once they were settled in the oven, I prepped the greens, cucumbers, and cherry tomatoes, and whipped up a basic vinaigrette with some chopped shallots, a bit of Dijon mustard, fresh lemon juice, olive oil, and a couple pinches of salt and pepper.

After a time, I was finally getting into a good rhythm and felt more confident with every stir of my whisk and every taste test. Mr. Cochran’s kitchen was well-organized and offered an enviable array of gadgets and supplies. Nothing felt extraneous or frivolous, but I had never seen such a well-stocked home kitchen before. I cleaned up the kitchen as I cooked and made sure to keep everything in its correct place. When the roasted vegetables were halfway done, I set up my dredging stations for the pork. After pounding out a couple of cutlets until they were nice and thin, I dredged each piece in seasoned flour, then dunked them in an egg and milk mixture, rolled them a mix of crunchy panko breadcrumbs and regular breadcrumbs, and then fried them in hot oil. Once they were golden brown, I pulled them out to drain on some paper towels.

Satisfied, I plated the cutlets with a lemon wedge and some chopped parsley, added the roasted garlicky potatoes and onions, and finished it off with a large helping of lightly dressed salad. I poured him a glass of wine from a previously opened bottle on his counter and set up his plate on his main dining table.

I wandered down his hallway and hesitantly called his name. “Mr. Cochran,” I said. “Your meal is ready whenever you’re available, sir.”

His muffled answer came from behind a closed door. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll...um...get started on your dessert in the meantime.” I walked back into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for the sweet cream biscuits. As I was measuring the flour, I heard his heavy footsteps and watched him slide smoothly into his seat.

“Wow! This smells amazing.” He placed a linen napkin on his lap, and squeezed the lemon wedge over the cutlet.

I beamed at his praise, and said, “Thank you, sir!” I blew at a few stray strands of hair that had escaped my tight bun, and watched him cut into the crunchy pork. I held my breath in nervous anticipation of his reaction.
Please like it, please like it, please like it...

He slowly chewed his bite of food, took a sip of wine, and tasted the rest of my offerings. I wrung my floury hands and tried not to crush the biscuit dough. It was sheer torture waiting for him to say something to break the silence, but I still couldn’t help noticing his impeccable manners.

His bites were hearty, but he ate deliberately and neatly. It was almost mesmerizing watching his strong throat muscles work as he swallowed, and I wondered what he would taste like if I licked his neck.

My reverie was finally broken when he cleared his throat, and said, “I’d be a happy man if you made this every week for me. It’s delicious!” Grinning, he took another big bite of the cutlet, and toasted me with his wine glass.

I gratefully returned his smile and resumed cutting out my biscuit dough. “Consider it done, Mr. Cochran,” I said. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you like my food! I used to always beg my grandmother to make this for me as a kid. Now you keep enjoying your meal, and I’ll finish up with your dessert.”

He shot me another grin and resumed digging into his plate. I finally felt the tension fade from my shoulders and popped the tray of biscuits into the oven. I pulled out a chilled metal bowl and whipped up some heavy cream with a bit of powdered sugar and vanilla extract. Once the biscuits cooled, I sliced up a couple of them and layered in marinated strawberries and whipped cream. I topped off the sweet little towers with an extra drizzle of sauce and placed it next to his empty plate.

“I hope you like strawberry shortcake,” I said, clearing his used dishes. “I soaked the berries in brown sugar and Grand Marnier. Would you like any coffee, sir?”

He was too busy chewing a huge mouthful of shortcake to answer me. I turned toward the sink to hide my smile, and waited for him to swallow hastily. “This, Lynn...” he began. “This is all I need. Consider yourself hired as of today. I’ll probably have to add more mileage to my jogs, but I can tell that your food is going to be worth it.” He finished a whole shortcake before he finally focused his attention back on me.

“If you’re comfortable, why don’t we have a month long trial period? I’ll send you a copy of my contract. Look it over tonight and call me to confirm when you’d like to start. Don’t wait too long, though.” He slowly pushed his chair back, and rubbed his sated belly. My eyes followed his hands and I couldn’t tear them away even as I felt his gaze intensifying.

“I’m not a patient man,” he murmured. The sexy timbre in his voice made my knees grow a little weak, and I was grateful that my lower half was blocked by the island counter.

“Thank you, Mr. Cochran,” I said. “I’m sure your contract is fine—I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the opportunity! I’ve had a rough go of it these past several months since I graduated, and it’ll be such a relief to stop dipping into our savings. I’ll be happy to start right away and I promise that I won’t let you down, sir!”

“I know we’ll get along well,” he said. “Why don’t you go ahead and leave the rest of the dishes? You can use the rest of your time to go home and gather your things. We can officially start first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds great,” I said. “Thank you so much again!” I took off my apron, folded it haphazardly, and rushed over to grab my purse before he had a chance to change his mind. Of course, clumsy me, I managed to trip over the dangling apron strings, and plowed right into my new employer. His strong arms caught me before I landed headfirst into his shortcake, and I gasped at the feeling of his warm muscular body pressed up against me.

“Oh, my gosh!” I cried, mortified. “I’m so sorry, sir!” Cursing myself for being so ungainly, I tried to scramble back to my feet, but his grip tightened slightly. Shocked, I glanced up at him and parted my lips to protest, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the barest sound. My breasts were crushed against his broad chest, and my nipples tingled with each deep breath. His muscular thigh was wedged between my legs and I wondered if he could feel the heat of my aroused pussy through the thick fabric.

Oh, god, I could feel his rapidly hardening cock swelling against my hip. If I wiggled a little closer, would I be able to feel his entire length? Our faces were inches away from each other, and he was close enough for me to smell the sweet strawberries and heady Grand Marnier on his breath. I could hear Grandma’s voice in my head, chiding me to pull away from this seductive man, but I was powerless to resist his touch. He bent his head until our lips were almost brushing, and drawled, “Is this the second half of dessert? I already said you’re hired.”

With that, I lurched up, and yanked myself away from him, fuming at the implication. “Mr Cochran,” I said. “Thank you for breaking my fall, but I can assure you that this was not part of my application. If I said or did anything to give the wrong impression, then I apologize, and you are free to continue interviewing other applicants.” Each syllable was crisp with indignation. I swiped viciously at my hopelessly wrinkled blouse, grabbed my purse, and started for the door before his mocking laughter stopped me in my tracks.

He caught me at the threshold before I could open the door. “You’re right,” he said. “It was just a bit of harmless flirting. The last two applicants were especially...er...exuberant in displaying their other skills. Unfortunately, they couldn’t cook worth a damn between them. I apologize for teasing you. Can we resume tomorrow as planned?”

I felt my ire quickly fade as soon as he apologized. It also didn’t hurt that I had a few bills overdue already. “I appreciate that, Mr. Cochran,” I said, coolly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning with the signed contract in hand. Have a good evening, sir.” Somehow, I managed to briskly shake his hand, and maintain my composure until I was back inside my little sedan. As soon as I saw his front door close, I slumped back against my seat and heaved a huge sigh.

What had I gotten myself into this time?

CHAPTER THREE

After packing up a couple of suitcases with whatever vaguely professional clothing I could find, I was still trying to come up with a way to best break the news with Grandma. I knew she’d be safe at home, especially with Mrs. Rowland keeping an eye on her. Even with the desperately needed income, I knew she’d blow a gasket at the idea of me living in close quarters with a man, much less a devastatingly handsome man with broad shoulders and lean hips and a tight ass and a thick...oh, damn.

If I was being completely honest with myself, Grandma’s disapproval was seriously the least of my problems. How the hell could I maintain my job when my entire body was perpetually aroused by my boss? Mr. Cochran had emailed me the copy of the contract as promised, and the compensation was more than fair; it fact, even the month long trial period would tied Grandma and me over for at least a few months if I ended up having to leave to find a different job.

All I had to do was prepare meals in a timely manner and refrain from tackling my gorgeous boss and fucking him until we spontaneously combusted. There’s no way that I could jeopardize a good paycheck for a quick roll in the sheets, regardless of how much I desperately wanted to see him naked and horny for me. I groaned, and buried my face in my hands. It was just my luck that I would find the one guy who tempted me enough to lose my inhibitions and the sexy bastard was completely out of my reach.
Ugh
.

After dinner, Grandma and I settled into our customary spots on our well-worn tan sofa to watch our favorite evening programs. During a commercial, I figured that it was the best time as any to tell her about my new job, but with a few tiny omissions.

“Grandma,” I began. “I’ll be starting a new job as of tomorrow morning. It’s not what we were expecting, but the pay is good, and I’ll be able to take care of our bills.”

“Oh, honey,” she cried. “That’s wonderful! What’s the job? Why did you wait so long to tell me, dear?”

I pasted on a bright smile and said, “Oh, I just wanted to make sure that everything was confirmed before I told you! Everything is set—I’m going to be a live-in cook for an older gentleman. He has an odd sleep schedule so he needs me to be available at all times. I should be able to request some time off to check in on you, and I’m only a quick drive away.”

Mr. Cochran was technically older than me, wasn’t he? She didn’t necessarily need to know that he was only maybe a decade older than me, rather than several decades. I shut out the little voice in my head that I was a horrible granddaughter.

Grandma gave my hand a reassuring little pat and said, “Why, that sounds lovely! Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be just fine with my garden and Mrs. Rowland. It sounds like a few of your meals will do that poor man some good.”

I felt more and more like a lying jerk with every comforting pat of her hand. Deception was never one of my strong suits, especially when it came to my grandmother. God, this position had better be worth it. Still, even the barest hint of financial security was enough to help me justify my little white lie. As long as I could provide for us, her old-fashioned notions of propriety were simply luxuries that we couldn’t afford.

The next morning, I woke up extra early to prepare for my first official day of employment. Although I had stayed up late last night to put together several freezer casseroles for Grandma, my excitement at the prospect of seeing Mr. Cochran had me bouncing out of bed before my alarm rang. I pulled my hair back into the same serviceable bun and threw on a similar outfit, but made sure to wear a thicker blouse to prevent any further nipple-related mishaps.