Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance (9 page)

Jackson pulled her before him, walking her back so she leant against a tree. The rough bark bit into her tender flesh. He kissed her, his hands working to put on the condom without looking. Once more his hands were on her, and he explored every inch of her body with his fingers and mouth. The virile scent of him filled her,
carrying
on the fresh air. His intense eyes bored into hers, the look saying unmistakably that he wanted her and he was going to have her. She didn’t have the willpower to resist.

Jackson watched her face as he tugged the underwear from her hips. Primitive noises escaped him as he frantically worked his hand to feel the wetness of her pussy. She started to shake, her body tightening as she nearly came from the stimulation against her clit. He boldly grabbed her by the hips, pressing his cock tightly against her moist slit. Sliding in her cream, he wet his length. She gasped and arched her back, trembling violently with each pass.

‘Mm, you feel like heaven,’ he groaned.

The cool brush of the condom bumped against her inner thigh. Zoe ran her fingers into his silky locks. If merely rubbing against his tight body was heaven, what would it be like to have him deep inside her? Every fiber of her being wanted him.

Her skin tingled. They didn’t speak, conversing only in a series of light moans and gasps. Jackson gripped her thigh, pulling it up and to the side. She rubbed her body against him, her breasts caressing his chest. He guided his cock to her slit. Jackson lifted her up, holding her against the tree as he thrust. It had been a while and the almost painful glide as he stretched her made her cry out in surprise.

He eased her toward him, keeping his thrusts shallow and easy. His dark eyes locked on hers, forcing her to look at him, to know who it was she was with – not that she could forget. She held on tightly to his neck. Jackson grunted, plunging deep and sure, pushing himself to the brink.

Zoe reached between their bodies, finding the hard pearl
of
her clit. Bark scratched her back. He pounded his hips, fucking her hard as he held her legs tight. Each push seemed to build momentum. The heat of his gaze slipped from hers as he leant forward, his face in her hair.

Zoe cried out as she came. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, trying to hold onto something solid as her world spun out of control. The muscles of her pussy clamped down. Jackson made an animalistic sound as he jerked, joining in her climax.

He held her for a long time, panting for breath. His hot body glistened with sweat. Very slowly, he lowered her to the ground. Her weak knees wobbled before she caught herself. When she stood on her own, she couldn’t look at him. A whirling array of emotions assaulted her – pleasure, confusion, fear. What had she done? Sleeping with her boss like some tramp? She never had casual sex. Never. What would Jackson think of her? Could he ever take her seriously as a chef?

Zoe reached for her clothes, somehow managing to get mostly dressed. Her shoe snagged on the pants, but she forced it through the pant legs. She stuffed her bra in the arm of her jacket to hide it before fastening the buttons despite her flushed skin and high temperature.

‘Mm,’ Jackson moaned lightly. His hand tried to slide over her hip from behind, but she pulled away from him. ‘Zoe?’

Wide-eyed, she turned to him. Her thoughts raced as she tried to grab onto the right words to say. She wasn’t any good at situations like this. ‘I’m not your whore.’

Jackson blinked, his eyes rounding in shock. ‘What?’

Instantly, she wished she could suck the words back in and make them disappear. ‘I really need this chance and I won’t be your whore.’ She groaned inwardly. That didn’t
come
out right. She wanted to say she hoped her actions didn’t influence her job. She wanted to say she liked him, that she didn’t want to like him. Instead, she sounded like a psychotic idiot. Groaning weakly in embarrassment, she shook her head slightly and turned to go.

‘Zoe, wait.’ Jackson again grabbed her arm, keeping her from going. The softness of the words made her pause and she finally turned to look at him. ‘Someone’s on the path.’

She could feel the colour draining from her features. Very quietly, she answered, ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Shh.’ He motioned for quiet, not moving.

Zoe bit her lip, using the silence to compose herself. What on earth had she done?

Jackson took a deep breath, trying to make sense of her reaction after sex. He thought it had gone pretty damn well. When she came, he had felt her pleasure, seen it on her gorgeous face. Now, she barely looked at him as she blurted something about not being a whore. Was that her way of saying she didn’t want to do it again? Was this some type of manipulation to drive him crazy? He had never had complaints when it came to sex.

Jackson studied her wide dark-blue eyes, trying to read what she was thinking. He’d lied to get her to stay. No one was in the forest – not this time of day on a Sunday, not when the Thompsons had a new horse out in the north fields. The truth was he didn’t know her well enough to read her moods or to understand her responses. It was strange, considering that in business he had an almost surreal sense of the other person. He could read the man across the boardroom table, anticipate the clients’ needs before they knew them themselves and could even
give
the public what they wanted in fine dining. But give him a pretty woman who he seemed inexplicitly drawn to and he was as bad as an untried boy trying to understand the female psyche. All his usual charm failed him.

‘I don’t hear anything,’ she insisted.

‘You’re not used to the forest,’ he continued to lie, not liking the manipulation. Zoe appeared to believe him, holding her body stiff. His mind raced for what to say, how to handle this situation, and came up with nothing. They stood in silence for what had to be ten minutes before Jackson finally gave up. ‘They’re gone. Come on.’

Jackson held a branch aside and let her walk first onto the path. He’d planned on taking her to the small pond, where soft grasses lined the edge, but when he looked at her mouth as they entered the woods, he couldn’t stop from kissing her.

‘I did have a question for you.’ Zoe ducked under his arm and waited for him to join her on the path. She looked around, searching for anyone nearby.

Jackson wasn’t sure why, but it bothered him that she seemed so worried about other people knowing – not that he wanted his hometown finding out about this, but why did she care? She didn’t live in Dabery.

‘During my interview,’ she continued, ‘you asked me what the difference was between Cajun and Creole. I could tell by your expression that my answer was wrong. What is the right answer?’

Jackson chuckled, surprised by the unexpected question.

‘Please, it’s been driving me crazy.’ She lightly touched his arm before tossing her hands to the side. ‘I’d look it up, but I don’t own a computer any more.’

‘Don’t feel bad, it was a hard question. Many people confuse the two and they are fairly similar.’

‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

‘Cajuns are descendants of French Acadians. They were forced from their homeland by the British in the late 1700s. Creole is harder to define, but commonly refers to people born in the New World, whose parents came from Africa or Europe.’ Jackson glanced down at Zoe’s hand, thinking he might take it in his. He stretched his fingers, but didn’t make a move. Somehow, even after sex, the gesture seemed too intimate. Holding hands was one of those things that said more than a romp in the woods ever could. It was a way to lay claim and show the world that he liked her. But he wasn’t any good at that part. He could charm women into his bed, but a real relationship with a real connection eluded him. ‘Both are Louisiana, but Acadiana is Cajun country and Creole is more what you’d find in New Orleans.’

Zoe laughed, a pretty, sweet sound that held his attention. ‘I meant the cooking, not the cultural background. I mean, I could tell you the difference between almost every pasta known to man. I can tell you the noodle originally came from China before the Italians made it their own, but you threw me for a loop when you asked about Cajun and Creole. What is it? Is Cajun spicier? I know it has a French influence, and I have studied some French cuisine, but it’s not the same.’

Jackson liked the way her eyes lit up when she talked about food. There was an innocence to her expression, a wide-eyed curiosity he found endearing. ‘Both use a lot of celery, onions, peppers, beans, tomatoes, filé powder and seafoods. They also use reptiles like alligator and turtles, pork, frogs, turkey, pecans, brandy – anyway, you get the
general
idea.’ He again glanced down at her hand, wondering why his mind was suddenly fixated on taking it in his. Zoe nodded thoughtfully, taking in all he was saying. He found he liked having her undivided attention. ‘Creole uses more butter and cream whereas Cajun uses more spices, pork or animal fat and a dark roux. Since Creoles historically came from richer plantations, they developed their recipes from those they brought over from Spain and France and modified them to include the local foods, thus giving birth to what we now know as Creole cuisine.’

‘Interesting.’ She nodded. They came out of the forest and Jackson knew he’d missed any chance of discussing what had happened between them.

Concentrating, he tried to remember what he’d been saying. ‘Ah, Cajuns were just the opposite. Their foods came from poorer communities and many of the dishes developed out of practicality. They also used local foods, naturally, but they normally cooked them as a single dish – like jambalaya and gumbo.’

‘You know a lot about this.’ She gave him a slight smile, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

‘It’s my business to know. Several years ago I helped create a restaurant in New Orleans. Unfortunately, it was wiped out by the hurricane, but until then it was doing fairly well. I spent a lot of time with the owners sampling the local foods. Everyone down there has a different recipe for what is essentially gumbo. We had to find one that worked for the new restaurant and then modify it to be original.’

‘And what kind of restaurant are you working on now?’ She paused. They’d made it to the side of the bed and breakfast and now stood in its shadow.

‘A place in Houston for a big hotel that’s being built there.
It’s
not my favourite project because many of the factors are preset, but it’s one of those rotating, on-top-of-the-hotel-type places that overlook the city.’

Her eyes fell. ‘Is that, um, what you’re interviewing Contiello for?’

‘No. It was for a different project.’ Jackson didn’t want to discuss Contiello with her and it wasn’t just because he knew they had history. He didn’t like the way her expression faded and her eyes dulled at the mention of the man’s name.

‘Well, I’m tired.’ She motioned toward the house. ‘It’s been a long day and I have to get up early tomorrow for your customers.’

‘Zoe, wait.’ Jackson grabbed her hand, stopping her from leaving. ‘I don’t think you’re a whore. That’s not what …’ Her suddenly mortified look stopped him from finishing his sentence. He felt her closing off to him.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She tugged her hand and he let go. ‘Good night, Mr Levy.’

Jackson watched her walk away before shaking his head. With an exasperated sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘But it’s still the afternoon.’

What in the world was happening? He’d never met a woman like Zoe. One second she was cold, the next warm. She was passionate, then distant – but always sexy. When they talked about food her eyes lit up, but at a mere hint of something intimate she became strangely reserved, if not a little aloof. Laughing wryly at himself for caring, he rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Jackson Levy, you are a world-class fool. What in the hell do you think you’re doing with this woman? You should have left her in New York where she belongs.’

Chapter Five

‘WHAT THE HELL
is gaz-pay-cho?’ Sheryl frowned, looking at the cold soup Zoe had made for her first official day as
Renée
’s new head chef. Quartz-studded barrettes held the sides of her black hair away from her face and matched the tiny gemstones on her round glasses. The cat-eyed trendy look was gone, replaced with a full black apron over light denim jeans and a floral shirt. Apparently,
Renée
was lax on dress codes. She wished she’d known before packing mainly fancy chef uniforms and hardly anything else. Thankfully she had Kat, who insisted she’d send a care package.

Her late-night phone call to her sister had made her feel a lot better. She’d told Kat everything, knowing that in a small town that seemed to regard Jackson as a local hero, she wouldn’t find an unprejudiced ear to tell her troubles to. After Kat had gotten over the shock of Zoe’s little tryst in the woods, she’d be calling back with advice. Zoe only hoped it wasn’t months from now.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Sheryl demanded. ‘I can’t serve this. It’s cold.’

‘It’s called gazpacho. It’s supposed to be cold,’ Zoe explained. ‘It’s very good. I promise the customers won’t be disappointed. It has tomatoes, peppers, vinegar, olive oil, onions, garlic –’

‘Hmm.’ Sheryl shook her head, lifting the ladle to let the diced bits of vegetable plop into the large, black soup
kettle
. ‘I’ll call it “vegetable” and heat it up in the microwave if anyone orders it.’

‘What?’ Zoe gasped, appalled. ‘It’s supposed to be served cold. It won’t taste right if –’

‘Bob would never have served cold soup,’ Sheryl interrupted. She dipped her finger into it and licked the tip. ‘It needs hot sauce and some dried onion. I’ll get it.’

‘No.’ Zoe held out her hands to stop the woman. ‘Don’t touch the soup.’

‘Fine.’ Sheryl’s darkly lined brows arched in defiance. ‘But I’m telling everyone you’re responsible for this.’

‘Fine by me,’ Zoe said, biting off her words and fighting the temptation to wring the woman’s neck.

‘And don’t you expect any orders for that trout-with-hazelnut-sauce business you call a special. Hazelnut is for those fancy coffees you grind in the grocery store, not fish.’ Sheryl sniffed. ‘Now, I need five orders of pancakes with bacon, three with scrambled eggs, one with poached, one over-easy.’