Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance (16 page)

She ran her hands over his stomach, massaging his hips as she drew him deeper into her mouth. His hands threaded into her hair, not pulling or pushing, just holding. It was impossible to take him fully, so she brought one hand to help as she inched forward and back, sucking and licking.

Her hips worked in small circles and her pussy ached to be filled. She cupped his balls, rolling them in her palm. Her teeth nicked him, bumping along his shaft. Jackson tensed. Zoe moaned low in the back of her throat. Her head bobbed faster. Suddenly, the grip on her hair tightened and Jackson jerked her off of him. He turned, bracing his weight against the fireplace as he spurted onto the ground.

Zoe pushed up from the dirt floor, brushing the dust off
her
jeans. When he looked at her, his eyes were still hot with passion. The words a breathy growl, he said, ‘My turn.’

Zoe gasped as he grabbed her arms and spun her around so her back was pressed to the falling stone wall of the ruins. He gripped her ass before tugging on the pants. They fell without needing to be unbuttoned. Jackson was instantly on his knees before her, lifting her naked thighs up as he pushed at her T-shirt to slip his head beneath the material and get to her sex. He put one leg on his naked shoulder and grasped her hips. She panted at the wet, hot feeling of his probing tongue. With one hand she pinched her own nipples, running the other down to touch him where she could through the T-shirt. She wiggled and his grip tightened. He pulled her slit against his mouth, sucking her clit as his fingers parted the moist folds to probe the depths of her pussy.

It was all too much. Her body stiffened and her hips jerked. The muscles of her sex clamped down on his fingers, racking her with pleasure as she came against his hand. Jackson milked her body for all it would give. When she could take no more, he pulled away, coming from beneath her shirt to grin up at her. The intimate sight of her cream on his lips held her attention. He licked them slowly, standing before her. Jackson kissed her and she tasted herself on him.

‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘Let’s get dressed and go in. Rita normally brings me something for lunch. We can take it out on the stone porch.’

It didn’t take her long to pull up her pants and roll them to fit. ‘I can make us something if she hasn’t.’ Zoe still wanted to cook for him, especially since the first meal of burnt trout.

‘No, you’re off this weekend.’ He buttoned his pants and pulled the T-shirt over his head. The white cotton had dust on it and Zoe reached to brush it clean. Shaking out his long-sleeved shirt, he slipped it over his arms. ‘I have a couple more meetings this afternoon, but after that I’m all yours.’

Rita smiled knowingly as she set down a pitcher of iced tea on the wrought-iron table covered with a white tablecloth. The housekeeper had set out torn-leaf salads with grilled chicken, walnut and apple slices and thick wedges of white chocolate cake for two. Though the woman looked friendly, there was a slight standoffishness to her demeanor now as she served. Zoe wondered if it was because she now thought of Zoe as a guest and not an equal. Not liking the invisible barrier, she reached forward and took Rita’s hand. ‘Join us. You and Rachel. Please.’

Rita looked surprised and shook her head. She poured tea into the glasses.

‘I insist. You’ve been working all morning. Please, join us.’ Zoe smiled invitingly. Jackson appeared at the table, a newspaper in his hand. He’d changed his clothes, and was now wearing a black cotton dress shirt with sateen pinstripe and dark dress pants. Zoe tugged at her oversized T-shirt, wishing she had her own clothes with her. Jackson was acting like nothing had happened between them, but how could the maids not suspect? She was eating dinner with him, dressed in his shirt and ill-fitting pants. He sat down and nodded at Rita, not giving the woman much thought.

‘Another time,’ Rita said softly. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your business meeting.’

Jackson glanced up. The housekeeper walked away. ‘She keeps making me salads for lunch. I eat them, but would prefer a thick steak.’

‘Salad is healthier for you.’ Zoe picked up her iced tea and took a sip. She coughed in mild surprise at the flavor. Peaches and sugar sweetened the strong brew.

‘There is that.’ Jackson opened the newspaper. ‘Do you follow the market?’

‘Don’t own stock,’ Zoe answered. ‘Don’t trust the market.’ Silently, she added,
Don’t have money to invest
.

‘Do you understand the market?’

Zoe arched a brow, frowning. ‘Do you mean to be condescending?’

Jackson laughed. ‘No. Was I?’

Zoe spread her thumb and forefinger and lifted it to him to signify ‘a little.’

He leant across the table, taking her hand briefly. ‘I didn’t mean to be.’

‘It’s all right.’ She lifted her salad fork as Jackson went back to his paper. The vinaigrette dressing had a distinct garlic and herb flavour and she guessed it came out of a bottle. He didn’t speak to her and she found herself watching him eat, almost entranced by the movements of his hand, the slow chewing of his mouth.

Zoe wasn’t sure what she expected lunch to be, but this wasn’t it. Clearing her throat, she took a sip of tea. ‘I thought about trying Cajun salmon fillets this week or perhaps blackened sea bass with long-grain wild rice and pine nuts or an eggplant with penne and mint pesto.’

‘The salmon should go over well.’ Jackson glanced up briefly, but kept reading.

‘You don’t sound convinced. You think I should make something else?’ she asked.

‘Make what you like. That’s why I hired you.’ He finally set the paper down and studied her.

‘You’re testing me, aren’t you? My whole probationary
period
. But you haven’t told me what you’re looking for. I assume I’ll be judged on sales figures?’

He continued to study her. ‘Numbers can tell you some things, but the restaurant is established. So long as the numbers stay steady and don’t decline, I will call that a plus. There is only so much market in Dabery.’

‘Then, I’ll be judged on customer surveys?’

‘Are you worried?’

‘Have there been complaints?’ Zoe set down her fork.

‘Would you really like to know?’

Zoe bit her lip. No, she didn’t really want to know, not from him. But, if people were talking, she needed to know what they had said to him. ‘Yes.’

‘Roger Cumberland raves about your salsa. Sheryl has several complaints –’

‘Well, that’s not my fault. She’s …’ Zoe forced herself to take a breath. ‘She’s a complicated woman.’

Jackson laughed. ‘A diplomatic answer. I’m well aware of what Sheryl is.’

‘What other complaints?’

‘Jenny Stuart offered to come help you with the meatloaf because it was a little dry. Louise Baker said you didn’t return her smile.’ He fingered his glass. ‘And Fred Louis said his steak wasn’t pink enough –’

‘The guy who wanted it raw?’ Zoe shook her head. ‘I gave it to him medium rare. Any good chef will tell you that’s the perfect –’

Jackson held up his hand. ‘The point is he wanted it very rare.’

Zoe lowered her eyes to the plate. His tone made her feel like a scolded child. ‘So you’re saying the customer is always right, even if they want me to make something that is not to the best of my ability.’

‘I’m saying it’s your job to cook for the customer.’ Jackson sighed, as if considering his words. ‘Part of being a chef is giving the public what they want. When you’re a big name, cooking in New York or Paris, they want whatever you want to give them. When you’re in Dabery, working in a Southern diner, what do you think the customers want? Blackened sea bass with long-grain wild rice and pine nuts? Trout with hazelnut?’

‘I don’t think that just because these people are small-town Southerners they can’t enjoy finer foods than bacon and grits,’ Zoe defended herself, struck by the fact that she was also defending his family and friends.

‘I’m glad you see that.’ He nodded in approval. ‘And it is what you have to decide how to handle. I won’t tell you what to cook. It is up to you to predict and serve the people you are cooking for.’

Zoe frowned. His words made sense, but he wasn’t really helping her. Handing her a menu would have been better. But then, she wouldn’t really be a chef making her own decisions. She’d be a line cook. ‘I won’t let you down.’

He lifted his glass of sweet tea in the air, silently toasting her before taking a drink. Zoe hoped it wasn’t a lie.

Chapter Eight

‘THAT IS A
ridiculous sum,’ Jackson said, frowning at his computer screen. The image of Contiello’s agent stared back at him.

Mr Duncan, a thick man with a moustache that overgrew his upper lip, cleared his throat and pretended to study his blue silk tie before smoothing it down. ‘We both know my client is worth twice that.’

Jackson laughed. ‘A bold claim, especially since we both know that little Las Vegas scheme he had brewing is falling through and his current employer is speaking with a bankruptcy lawyer.’

The agent’s eyes shot up and his mouth worked before he caught himself and frowned. ‘I don’t know where you get your facts, Mr Levy, but I assure you my client has many options open to him.’

‘And I, Mr Duncan, am not interested in hearing about every two-bit franchise that will hire him after he manages to spell his name right on an application.’ Jackson knew he was being harsh, but he was tired of dealing with Contiello and his insufferably greedy agent. The chef was still one of the best options to fill his client’s needs. If he bided his time, Contiello and his agent could come around. ‘My assistant faxed you my offer. I suggest you take it to your client.’

‘It would help if you told me which American city it was in,’ Mr Duncan said.

‘And confidentiality with my client forbids it at these preliminary stages. You know how cutthroat business can be. Though, if it’s any consolation, my name is on the project.’ Jackson kept his smile slight and his eyes hard. He knew he didn’t need to say anything more. Mr Duncan knew what that meant.

‘I’ll speak to him,’ Mr Duncan said at length, ‘but we’re looking at many other options at this time.’

‘Naturally.’ Jackson lifted his hand, as if he expected no less and didn’t care. ‘But, I should remind you, this offer is not exclusive to your client. We do want him and his talents, but we will not wait forever.’

‘Good day, Mr Levy,’ the agent said, nodding once.

Jackson returned the gesture. ‘Mr Duncan.’

He turned off the webcam, glad the meeting was over. Looking down at the list in front of him, he sighed. Only five more conferences to go and then he could get back to Zoe. Jackson would much rather be with her than in his office taking meetings.

He looked at the door, as if feeling her near. Of course, it had to be his imagination. There was no logical reason to believe he could really sense her presence. Every part of him wanted to blow off his meetings and call her to him, though he was too responsible to do such a thing. His mind was only too happy to offer an alternative. What if she were there with him, under his desk as he did business? The men on the other end of the computer connection couldn’t see his legs. They would never know.

‘Except when I start grunting and thrusting into her mouth,’ he mumbled, adjusting his hips as his cock instantly lifted. ‘Shit!’

He wondered where she was, what she was doing, what she was thinking. So far, this weekend wasn’t going as
romantically
as he had planned. At lunch he hadn’t been able to think of what to say to her so he’d rudely buried his face in his newspaper, not really reading it. When she’d finally talked to him, he’d ended up lecturing her on her job.

His mood suddenly foul, he reached for a file and opened it, quickly reading over the personal details of the man he was about to talk to. Even as he committed the words to temporary memory, Zoe stayed on the edge of his thoughts.

Zoe wished she had her cell phone so she could call her sisters. She’d even settle for calling her eccentric mother. As far as she could tell, Jackson didn’t have a phone in his house, just the cell phone he carried. After dinner, Jackson had gone back into a meeting and left her alone in his house so there was no borrowing it from him – not that she would waste his minutes when it wasn’t an emergency.

Zoe spent the day avoiding the housekeepers, treating it almost like a game of hide and seek as they moved from room to room like efficient robots. She explored the library with its old bound books. There was a distinct musk to the room, the smell of old pages and dust, even though it looked spotless. Old painted portraits in oval frames hung from corded ropes on the wall, the faces dour in their turn-of-the-century clothing.

Jackson’s office door stayed closed and she didn’t wish to walk in on him during his meeting. She did tiptoe by a couple times, trying to eavesdrop. But the oak door was too thick and not a sound came from within.

Upstairs, the guest bedrooms were each decorated in distinctly different accent colours with a matching underlying style. She found the blue guest room right where he’d
said
it would be, far away from his own bedroom. It boasted a darker shade than Jackson’s room, with gold accents. The large bed had a scrolled wooden bed frame and a golden comforter with thin threads of blue running through it.

On top, she found a box with her name on it. She instantly recognized Kat’s artistically flowing handwriting. Next to the box was a floral suitcase she didn’t recognize. When she opened it, she saw a couple of her chef uniforms, a pair of jeans and one of her tank top undershirts. The floral suitcase must have belonged to Marta. Zoe made a face. She didn’t really appreciate the woman going through her things, not that she had anything to hide, and not that she hadn’t already suspected that Marta had gone through them the first moment she’d left the bed and breakfast.

The box was addressed to her via Marta’s. It must have come the day before, when she was at work. Mildly surprised not to find it already opened, Zoe pulled on the clear packing tape. It came up easily and she found older, cut tape beneath it. The box looked too new to be a reused one and her sister always taped packages like they carried gold bricks inside them.