Red Hot Obsessions (105 page)

CHAPTER 22

Emma kept her promise and didn’t breathe a word of our secret. Now it was up to me to spill the news to Tristan. It had been three weeks now since the shooting. I was released from the hospital two days before, and until then Tristan had visited me every day, caring for every single one of my needs. Thankfully I had one of those pregnancies without morning sickness, and Tristan was clueless I was carrying his child. The doctors did a lot of blood work on me to ensure the drugs Martinez gave me wouldn’t affect the baby. They said they’d need to do more tests as the baby developed, but given my health history, the prognosis was positive.

Needless to say, I had to call Emma to help with the medical records a few more times. And by now I owed her naming my next two children after this one. What can I say, she drove a hard bargain.

Now back at my apartment, I pinned my hair up. A few loose strands fell to the sides. Mrs. Cross had removed my extensions and dyed it back to my natural auburn tone, for which I was grateful.

I examined myself in the mirror. The hospital stay had taken its toll on my body mass. My cheeks were sunk lower than usual. The waist band of my suit could slip over my hips without zipping, although I was sure that area would fill up pretty soon. My muscles were non-existent; it was as if they’d disintegrated. I’d been told it would take another month at least before I could get back to my normal exercise routine, one appropriate for a pregnant woman, and up to a year to get back in shape. Yes, like that was going to happen. Field work was definitely out of the question before I gave birth, so I was curious what my first day on the job in an actual office of Cross Enterprises would be like.

After driving me home from the hospital and insisting I stay at his apartment, Tristan hadn’t been here. I wasn’t sure I could stand being around Tristan at his home and keeping this big a secret from him so I insisted at moving back in with Laura. He’d texted that things came up at work and that he’d see me at the office on my first day.

Kendra was at a private clinic. Julian took care of her stay there, which made me happy and Tristan confused a little. At least that’s what it looked like to me. He’d been acting strange and distant the past week. I wondered whether his feelings for Kendra had begun to surface. I knew he’d been visiting her every day; he’d told me so. I wasn’t the jealous type, and after all, I owed Kendra my life.

Our lives,
I said to my baby in my mind.

Perhaps now that Kendra had been saved, his priorities had shifted? As much as I didn’t like the idea, it was still a possibility. Everything inside me twisted at the thought, and I pushed it back.

“You look sexy,” Laura said from the couch. She had taken a day off just for me, helping me get ready. “Skinny, but sexy.”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” I asked wondering whether I should have bought jewellery to go with the outfit.

“What’s not to like? Are you going to be okay working a desk job?”

“I don’t have much choice.”
For more than one reason,
I said in my mind again. I’d been doing that a lot ever since I found out about the baby. It killed me I couldn’t share the news with my best friend. I wanted to, but having Emma find out before Tristan was bad enough. I really wanted him to be the first one I’d shared the news with, so unfortunately Laura had to wait until I told him. Revealing my pregnancy to Tristan took a bit of planning, and I’d finally worked up the courage to do it today. I’d been a chicken up until this point, trying to figure so many things out in my life, hoping for the best, but as always, expecting the worst. My mother had finally moved to an apartment nearby. Tristan said Wright would never come near her again, which to me was the second best news in over a decade. The first one was, of course, finding out I was pregnant, even if I didn’t realize it at first.

“Has he said what you’ll be doing?” she asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “He just wanted me to come to the office. My official return date is in two weeks, when the doctor clears me for work.”

“Then why get dressed up so fancy?” She looked at her watch. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

There was something odd about the way Laura was behaving today. As if she couldn’t wait for me to leave. Was she expecting a new boy toy on her day off while I was gone?

“I’m going into Cross Enterprises.” And that should have been enough of an explanation.

“Right. Well, you slept with the boss. That ought to get you to the top,” she winked. Laura seemed nervous this morning. Either she had a new fling she wanted to talk about or some other secret I wasn’t privy to just yet.

Before I got a chance to ask her, someone knocked on the door. Biting my lip, I opened it wide, expecting Tristan to greet me with his sexy dimple and that lopsided smile when his scar lifted. Instead, a middle-aged gentleman stood in the door wearing a suit. My phone buzzed. A text from Tristan flashed on the screen.

T. Cross:
Charlie works for me. He’ll take you to the office this morning.

I frowned. It wasn’t like Tristan to be so impersonal.

“Good morning, Ms. Green.”

“Charlie, I presume?” I shook his hand.

“Yes, ma’am. Are you ready?”

I turned to look back at Laura and mouthed, “‘Ma’am’?”

She giggled.

“Yes, thank you.”

After the formalities, it took thirty minutes to get to Tristan’s office. Charlie was an experienced driver, and the traffic world I lived in didn’t exist for him.

“Have a good day.” He held the car door open for me.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

The Cross Enterprises lobby reminded me more of a hotel than an investigations firm. White leather couches and tables filled with magazines were spread in between green plants and trees. The sleek-cut side-tables were suitable for a doctor’s office, yet fitted this room just as well. Soft music played overhead. It was as if the company wanted to camouflage its existence, and I had to say it accomplished the task. After registering downstairs, I took the elevator up to the thirty-third floor.

Upstairs, the single receptionist pointed down the hall. “Mr. Cross is waiting for you, Ms. Green,” she said to me as soon as I stepped off the elevator. “The double door at the end of the hall.”

I took a deep breath in, hugged my purse under my arm, and aimed a confident walk down the hall. Exactly how confident I felt was another question.

In my purse I had packed a small box with tiny white booties. I’d leave it on Tristan’s desk and let him figure it out. It’d probably be much easier than telling him because I was sure my voice would not cooperate today. It was now or never. I’d gotten myself ready for any reaction. I’d practiced my speech over and over again. Once he opened the package, I’d tell him I could do this on my own and understand if he wanted to wash his hands clean of any responsibility.

I was ready to raise this little bean that grew in my tummy on my own if I had to. My purse felt heavier and heavier as I approached his office. I stood in front of the frosted glass door for a few seconds before knocking quietly.

“Come in,” Tristan called out. He sat behind an oak desk, its dark stain glistening in the sunlight. Covering the receiver of the phone, he said, “I’ll be done in a minute,” and pointed to the cream leather couch.

Gosh, did he ever look sexy. I’d seen him every day yet each time he stilled my breath. Broad muscular shoulders and ripened arms stood out underneath his charcoal ensemble. Even if he didn’t like wearing suits, he sported them like a pro. I hoped this little baby would inherit the genes from his side of the family more than mine.

The moment I sat down I felt the nerve I’d worked up leave me. I was about to share with Tristan one of the biggest pieces of news of my lifetime. I wanted to turn around and dart out the door, yet if I didn’t do this now, I’d never be able to do it.

When he stood up and turned to face the window, I tiptoed to his desk and placed the square package wrapped in white paper on his desk. Then I went back to the couch. He turned just as I sat down and his gaze caught the little gift.

His brows rose and he smiled, finishing off the conversation. “Two minutes,” he said to the receiver.

Okay, this was good. He was interested.

“Hello, Allie,” he said, lowering the phone. The deep rumble in his voice just reminded me how much I’d missed being close to him. He hadn’t touched me since the shooting, and it had been almost a month since we’d been intimate. That was four weeks! Thirty days. No, seven hundred and twenty desperate hours.

I stood up.

“It should be me showering you with gifts. I can never thank you enough for saving Kendra.”

“This is something different. But maybe you can tell me first why you needed me here? I’ve pretty much recovered, so if there’s another job you need me for...”

“Allie,” he interrupted, “We both know you can’t work in the field for a while. Not after everything you’ve been through. The doctors were clear it will be months before you’re back to your physical strength. I can’t have you working on the cases I needed you for. For that reason, Allie, you’re fired.”

***

Dear Reader:

I’m sorry to leave you with this cliff-hanger but Tristan shocked me as well. I tried to bribe him with my God given talents but he wouldn’t budge. It took a while for the news to sink in. Tristan promised me he’ll redeem himself. I’ve been privileged to know what happens to Allie and Tristan before anyone, and I wish I could share their story with you here, but I signed an NDA. One thing they did allow me to tell you is that they are happy and together at the end of
book 2, Layers Peeled, now available.

Kindly,

Lacey Silks

Amazon
Author Page

Author of Erotic Romance, Lacey Silks writes her stories from life experiences, dreams and fantasies. She likes a pinkish shade on a woman’s cheeks, men with large feet, and sexy lingerie, especially when it’s torn off the body. Her favorite piece of clothing is a birthday suit.

When she’s not thinking about writing steamy stories, which is a rare occasion, Lacey enjoys camping and skiing with her family (not at the same time of course). She’s a happily married wife blessed with two kids who adore going to the library. She’s an early bird by nature, but loves the nightly adventures with her hubby which provide good content for her books.

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Back to Table of Contents

LEARNING CURVES © Olivia Rigal 2013

A simple plot is served delicious and hot (but not too spicy).

Voluptuous Ariane, owner of a cooking school in Paris, has organized an intensive weekend workshop that brings together a cast of intriguing characters including an author, a newlywed couple, a cute actor, and a middle aged woman and her younger brother.

The plot unfolds like a slow striptease as these people start to blend together.

The "sexy" is a silky soufflé and not a hot tamale.

BOOK I
French Cooking 101

Chapter 1
Ariane

ARIANE SLIPPED THE RED LOOP around her neck. The apron covered but couldn’t conceal her ample bust. She made sure none of her wild blond curls escaped her net-covered bun then tied the apron around her waist. She didn’t need a mirror to know the garment showed off her hourglass figure, but she had made her peace with that. After all, to most people, a skinny cook was a suspicious oddity.

She looked around one more time to make sure everything was in perfect order for the intensive weekend seminar. On six of the eight work stations located on the central island, she had placed the tools needed for the Friday evening introductory session, along with sturdy, off-white cotton aprons embroidered with her school’s logo. The handbooks included easy traditional French recipes they should be able to carry out after the weekend workshop. In the adjacent room, where they would sample their own cooking, she had set the table for seven.

Only American apprentices had registered for the special French Cooking 101 class, which she had announced on some popular foodie blogs and advertised in a Paris expat magazine. Her English wasn’t bad, and her teaching method was very hands-on. With ten years of experience, the first of which had been at a vocational school with very difficult kids, she was pretty sure that whatever she couldn’t explain with words, she could demonstrate.

Ariane secretly hoped that she would get at least one truly talented student, one who would leave her course feeling confident enough about the basics to become creative and really good. But a weekend was not much time, so if they were all capable of preparing a palatable meal by Monday, she would be happy.

The first two to register were Jena and Thomas, young newlyweds in Paris for their honeymoon. They had been gifted with her seminar as a wedding present from some friends.

Next were Mary Doyle and her brother, Peter. Ariane had exchanged a few emails with Mary, who had arranged the entire trip. She was in Paris for ten days to celebrate her fortieth birthday with her “kid” brother. Mary had explained that while she could find her way around a kitchen, her brother, the proverbial absent-minded professor, desperately needed to learn how to cook a decent meal for himself.

The fifth student was George Sweet, an American living in Paris. He was working on a historical novel about François Vatel, the superintendent of the kitchens of the Grand Condé and a famous French icon for all cooks. The man had become legendary after committing suicide over the late delivery of the fish he was to serve to Louis XIV. George had started his novel and realized that to write about life in a kitchen, he needed some basic training.

Ariane had done a Google search on George. After reading a few of his reviews, she discovered that he was indeed a famous author. He had written quite a few novels based on historical characters and was acclaimed for the thorough research he carried out to acquire knowledge of the periods and activities of his subjects. Ariane didn’t care for historical fiction, but fortunately, none of his books had been translated into French, so she had a perfectly acceptable reason for not having read any of them.

The last student was Charles—no last name given. She’d spoken to him briefly on the phone earlier in the week for a last-minute registration. He lived within walking distance of her school and had been told about the seminar by her friend, Jean-Michel, who was very active in the LGBT movement. Jean-Michel managed the butcher shop where Ariane purchased her meat on rue Saint Dominique. When she had thanked him for the referral, he hinted that Ariane should let Charles know that he was available to give a special course on the French choice pieces. Ariane was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about cuts of beef.

Charles had introduced himself as an actor who had just been hired to play the American cousin of the hero of a French soap opera. During his six-month contract, he looked forward to taking full advantage of his stay to try everything Paris had to offer. If Ariane’s gaydar was in working condition, he was not considering sampling the French women.

***

Ariane pulled up the curtains of her workshop windows to let in the last moments of daylight. Daylight Saving Time made for very late sunsets. She was happy to see that some of her students were already there. She unlocked the glass door and welcomed them in.

George Sweet came toward Ariane. He looked around forty. Square and sturdy were the two words that came to Ariane’s mind. He gave her a seriously strong handshake while he mumbled something that sounded like “nice to meet you.” Square jaw, square hands, square shoulders—a regular block of granite. He didn’t smile but just walked right in.
That will be one icy grouch to thaw
, thought Ariane, turning to two people holding hands. She assumed they were Jena and Thomas.

They made twenty-nine-year-old Ariane feel almost ancient. They couldn’t possibly be a day over twenty. Both were adorably cute in their identical jeans and white T-shirts, about the same height and the same build, Thomas as dark as Jena was blond. They looked blissfully happy. But then, what did they have to be unhappy about? They were young, madly in love, and honeymooning in an exotic city!

“Congratulations on your marriage,” said Ariane as she hugged Jena and gave her a kiss on each cheek according to the French fashion. She did the same with Thomas and walked with them to their workstation. “I usually separate people who come together to avoid distractions, but French tradition prohibits sitting couples apart for the first year of their marriage, so I have seated you together.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Jena. “I promise we’ll be good.”

“Or at least we’ll try,” continued Thomas with a wink.

They were interrupted by Martine, the teenage daughter of Patrick, the next-door baker with whom Ariane shared a special bond. Martine arrived with the lovely assortment of bread Ariane had ordered.

“Bonjour, Martine,” said Ariane. “Ça va?”

“Ça va, tu veux la même chose pour demain et dimanche?”

“Oui merci,” said Ariane, confirming her identical orders for Saturday and Sunday.

Before slipping away, Martine whispered in Ariane’s ear, “Beau cul le petit!”

Martine rushed out without waiting to see the effect of her “nice ass” bomb. Ariane laughed out loud. Without turning around, Martine waved good-bye. From the way her shoulders moved, Ariane could tell she was laughing as well. Ariane wondered when precisely the tomboy she had met five years ago had turned into a seventeen-year-old girl who looked at boys’ derrières. She wondered if Patrick knew how grown up his daughter had become.

Ariane put the bread basket away in the dining room and came back to the workroom. She looked at George Sweet, who was exploring her small universe. He was studying the diplomas and awards Ariane had framed and hung on her walls. Noticing that he started to smile as if he was suitably impressed, she made a mental note to thank Véronique, her friend and marketing mentor. She had instructed Ariane on making the best of all she had and forced her to toot her own horn.

“Mr. Sweet, you will be working next to Jena,” she told him.

“Please, call me George,” he answered, looking past Ariane through the window. “I think more of your students are here.”

Ariane looked out the window too. “That will be Peter and Mary Doyle.” She walked toward the door to greet the new pair.

They had a definite family resemblance. In addition to warm identical smiles, strong jaws, and a hawk-type nose, they both had piercing blue eyes and a head of black hair—curly for Mary and too short to know for Peter. He had the complexion of someone who lives outdoors. That seemed odd for a university professor. Both were tall and triangular. Peter’s triangle went from muscular shoulders to his narrow waist, and his sister’s triangle grew from a narrow bust to wide hips. Two pieces of a family puzzle.

She was not beautiful, nor was he drop-dead handsome, but there was something about them. As they walked around the room introducing themselves and shaking hands, Ariane felt it. They both had charisma. They were charming and magnetically attractive. Judging by the way George was looking at Mary, Ariane could see that he obviously shared her opinion—at least about Mary. Ariane had just assigned Mary and Peter to separate work stations when Charles burst in.

“I’m not late, am I?” he asked in a coquettish way.

Looking at him, Ariane couldn’t help smiling. Her gaydar was perfectly tuned. He was
the
poster boy for a gay caricature. Too cute, too groomed, too perfect, and way too dressed up for kitchen work. Through his clothes, she could see he had a perfect body. He had broad shoulders, long limbs, and lean muscles that made for a magnificent-looking male. At the same time, he had such an air of vulnerability about him that the main thing Ariane saw was an obvious need to be accepted and loved. She felt an overwhelming urge to reassure him.

“No, of course not. You’re not late. Everyone else was early.” Ariane pointed to the large clock adorning one of the walls above the ovens. “It’s just six, so we’ll start. We have two hours to get our dinner ready. For this weekend, you will take your dinner at eight p.m. as French people do. Well, unless you’re in grammar school and eight is your bedtime.”