Authors: The Sextet
so...swanlike. You know we’re partners in the restaurant, right?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. That stupid nickname.
Grr. Since
when is being smart a bad thing?
And
twin
implied a relationship she and Jay did
not
have. He’d instigated the whole damn birdbrain idea.
Ignoring her old insecurities, she nodded and gestured him into
the kitchen. “I prefer Wren. Familiarize yourself with the setup. No
looking inside the refrigerator or the cabinets until I say so.”
“Sure thing, Wren.” He ambled to the cook station on the far left,
leaving her to stare at his broad shoulders and tight, muscular ass.
Mm-mm.
Beefcake, it’s what’s for dinner.
“Nice setup.”
Of course it was. She worked in the space every day, had designed
it herself. No respectable food chemist would settle for less.
“Thanks.”
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A metallic knock brought her attention back to the door.
Spencer
Andrews, Dane’s partner in crime, if not in business.
She turned toward the man she fantasized about every other time she pulled out
Reliable Richard. Storm-gray eyes met hers. Her lungs seized again,
and her nipples tightened against the fabric of her bra, sending a
spasm of anticipation between her legs. She suppressed a moan.
Damn, but she’d have a vision of sexiness with Dick tonight. Maybe
two if she felt adventurous.
“Hi, I’m Spence Andr—”
“Desiree couldn’t be here. I’m the—”
“Wren McCoskey. Wow. I’d know those pretty green eyes
anywhere. What happened to the long red hair? Not that I don’t love
the multicolored spiky look.” He smiled and toyed with one of her
spikes, sending a shiver down her spine.
Be still my heart. And could I please not spontaneously combust?
“—maid of honor. You’re at the station on the far right.”
He tilted his head to one side. “You do realize this presentation is
unnecessary, don’t you? Dane specializes in pompous in that
pretentious restaurant he runs with your brother. If you want an
enjoyable meal, I’m your guy.”
I don’t doubt you taste delicious.
“Desi said head-to-head
competition.”
Shall I smack myself now?
What a choice of words.
Why did she torture herself?
His mouth formed a grim line. “I don’t like being forced to sell
myself, but if that’s what it takes to convince you, then I guess I have
no choice.”
Brooding looked good on him. Not pouty or whiny. Too damn
sexy. And she was buying, for herself, if not Desi’s reception.
She strode to her test kitchen area, sensing Spencer’s presence
behind her. “Gentlemen, you have four hours to create two appetizers,
a salad course, one bread, a soup course, and two entrees—one meat
and one vegetarian. Both stations have been stocked with the same
supplies and tools. Read and sign the agreement on the center island,
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stating you will follow my rules and abide by my decision. Refuse to
sign and you’re disqualified. Sabotage will
not
be tolerated. Any questions?”
“Yeah, I have a question. Are you dessert?”
The words must’ve come from Spencer since she stood facing
Dane, and his lickable lips hadn’t moved, except to grin at the man
behind her.
Hmm
. Maybe Desiree’s request had some benefits besides gourmet cuisine and great scenery after all. “That depends on who
wins.”
Let them stew over that.
I win either way.
Spencer rounded the center island of station two. “The bride
didn’t say what we’ll be making. Do you have the menu, Wren?”
She smirked at him, then at Dane.
With pen poised above the contract, Dane froze. “Okay, what’s
the catch?”
“No menu. Use whatever you have in the kitchen to make your
own.” She grinned.
Fletcher frowned at her. “That twist was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Got it in one.” She shrugged. “Be creative. Isn’t that every chef’s
desire?”
Spencer’s laugh tickled her insides. “Or we’re put on the chopping
block?”
“Yeah. So chop, chop. The clock is ticking.” Tapping her finger
against the face of her watch, Wren raised her eyebrows. “Six o’clock
deadline. I’ll make my decision at six-thirty.”
Then we’ll see about dessert. Eenie, meenie, mine-ee, mo.
Was
she in the mood for a Dane-ish or a Spencer Cocktail? Maybe her
Magic 8-Ball could help with the answer.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Putting an extra wiggle in her hips, she
walked to her office, closing the door behind her. She picked up the
black ball from her desk. “Okay, great and powerful Eight, do I
choose Dane?”
She flipped the ball over to peer at the answer. “Better not tell you
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now.”
“Should I choose Spencer?”
She flipped the ball again. “Ask again later.”
Damned thing was as indecisive as she was.
* * * *
Eyeing the contract, Spence had to give Wren credit. She wasn’t
going to put up with any bullshit. Play by the rules or lose a golden
opportunity. She could make or break his shift to catering. The same
for Fletch—and her cocky son of a bitch brother—since they’d
decided to go into catering the same week. Both of them needed this
first prestigious contract.
Dane clearly had his sights on their judge, too. Not that Wren
wasn’t worthy of the hard-on she inspired. Her low-cut tank top and
tight blue jeans outlined an amazing body. Did she have a seductively
hidden tattoo to go with the pierced belly button? Maybe a red heart
on her perfect ass? He’d conduct a thorough search when they burned
up the sheets. And she might have a mix of purple, blue, and green on
her pixie head, but he looked forward to finding that natural red in her
panties. That she’d been the inspiration for more than one wet dream
back in high school was incentive enough to make a play for her. Her
enticing curves were a bonus, and the interest in her eyes only
encouraged him.
After dinner.
He picked up the pen, signing by the X. Time to get down to
business. He turned to pull open the refrigerator door and study the
contents. Yeast. Fresh basil, thyme, oregano, dill, mint, parsley,
and...cilantro. Hmm. Raspberries, strawberries, lemons, limes. And an
eclectic assortment of vegetables, meats, cheeses, and...edible
flowers? Interesting. He moved to the counter, lifting lids on the
canisters. Granulated sugar, cane sugar, unbleached all-purpose flour,
graham flour. A fully stocked spice rack.
His imagination buzzed with excitement over the foods he could
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create. A pallet-pleasing combination of flavors and textures designed
to catch the eye with a unique blend of colors and shapes. His feast
would easily win the contract.
And then dessert. Wren
à la mode
. God, he’d waited a long time
for the real thing.
* * * *
Dane scribbled notes as he checked out the available ingredients
in his station. Herb-stuffed veal cutlets with steamed asparagus and
pearl onions. A bed of spaghetti squash topped with grilled
portabellas and cannellini in a Roma tomato-Marsala sauce. Leek and
carrot bisque. Crusty basil-pecorino focaccia. Roasted red pepper-
eggplant wontons and sesame wafers with pesto. Spinach salad with
lemon vinaigrette.
Let Andrews come up with courses as fucking
creative as those.
He would go crawling back to his trendy bistro after dinner, and Wren would provide the evening’s best course. Rack of
swan and pussy
au jus
—the perfect complement to his perfect meal.
But first, the business of securing this catering gig, not that he minded a little competition among friends.
He concentrated on chopping basil and some well-disguised
cilantro for the pesto, wielding a duplicate of his favorite knife over
the pungent leaves. Wren knew the importance of good tools. His
cock twitched.
Click, click, click
. He looked up at the sound of heels on the tile floor.
Ah. The woman with superb knowledge of tools is back.
Mixing the herbs into the bowl of olive oil, garlic, toasted chopped pistachios, and sea salt, he grinned. “Want a taste, sweetheart?”
He held out the spoon.
She pursed her full red lips, narrowing her eyes at him. “Trying to
influence the judge?”
“Not at all.” At least not the way she thought. “I’m curious
whether or not you can identify my secret ingredient.”
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She relaxed slightly and stepped toward him.
Holding the spoon beyond her reach, he waited.
One more step
.
He raised the spoon. When she parted her lips, he slipped the tip
inside, far enough for the dab of pesto to disappear.
She closed her mouth over it.
Pulling the spoon away, he touched a finger to the corner of her
lips, then licked his finger. “Mmm. Don’t want to waste any.”
Her irises darkened from sage to thyme, and her throat undulated
as she swallowed.
Effective first move.
He’d spend the next three and a half hours bringing her sexual appetite to a simmer. By the time she
finished dinner, she would be ready to come to a rolling boil.
Sneaking a covert glance at his competition, he almost laughed.
Spence could use his jaw for a fucking can opener. It clenched and
unclenched as his gaze followed Wren’s every move. Damn if the guy
wasn’t pissed about the taste testing. Or maybe the not-so-subtle
come-on? Did Andrews have plans of his own for the swan? Dane
didn’t mind competing in that arena as well. May the best man get
laid.
* * * *
Spencer punched his fist into the bread dough.
Fletcher had hit on Wren, changing the rules of play. His
competition had balls, but they weren’t seeing any action tonight. Not
with her anyway, friendly rival or not.
Turn, punch, turn, punch. He needed a plan, one involving enough
innuendo she couldn’t possibly misread his sexual interest. Dane had
gone for feeding her.
Maybe take that an intimate step further.
Turn, punch. He absently plucked a pinch of dough for a taste. With his
hand halfway to his mouth, he stopped.
“How about a taste of mine, Wren?” His erection grew, imagining
her tasting him. He shrugged at Dane. “Fair play.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, one corner of her mouth lifting.
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Damned if she wasn’t enjoying this battle for her attention. She strode
to his station, opening her mouth as she stopped in front of him.
Who the hell needs a spoon?
His finger and thumb passed her lips to deposit the dough in her mouth. She stroked the pads of both digits
with her tongue.
He struggled to breathe. If she wasn’t interested, she had the cock-
tease routine down pat. Damn, he didn’t want to wait until after
dinner for dessert.
“Mmm. Secret ingredient, too?”
He nodded, pinched another dab of dough, and held it out for her
to take.
She grinned. No need to hint at his expectations. She tucked the
morsel between his lips.
Wrapping his tongue around her finger, he gently sucked the way
he planned to suck her swollen clit later, the way she would suck his
cock.
Her cheeks flushed, and her pupils dilated then vanished behind
heavy eyelids.
He sucked again, gently pulling her hand away against the
suction. “I love secret ingredients. Yours is cayenne. Hot and spicy.”
Sneaking a glance at Dane, Spencer almost laughed out loud at the
eye roll and silent mocking of his words. He didn’t need to read lips
to know Fletch wasn’t thrilled about him flirting with Wren. Their
friendly competition had reached a new level. They’d never let a
woman come between them before. Would they now?
“Does it feel warm in here to you?” Wren fanned her face with her
hand.
Yeah, she’d jacked up the heat all right. A bead of sweat trickled
down his back as Dane swiped his sleeve across his forehead.
“I’m going to change clothes. No cheating or arguing while I’m
gone.” She clicked across the room to grab a suitcase with an airline
tag attached to the handle.
“I don’t cheat.” Spencer didn’t mention arguing, because he
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couldn’t promise they wouldn’t.
“I don’t
need
to cheat.” Dane evidently saw a disagreement
coming, too.
A minute later she closed the door of what he assumed must be a
bathroom.
“What the hell are you doing, Spence?” Dane’s raspy whisper cut
through the sexual haze. Why the hell didn’t the guy go lock himself
in the freezer? “You couldn’t back off, could you?”
Dane’s question didn’t bother Spencer—not with that teasing grin.
Surely she would choose him over Fletch. He’d do a little more
convincing when she returned. “Why should I when I’m interested?
Flirting hardly justifies exclusivity. To be honest, I think she’s
enjoying the game.”
Setting the dough in the greased bowl, he flipped it over to coat