Luck on the Line (18 page)

Riding on the back of a motorcycle would not have been on my list of things to do when in Boston. But as the great metallic monster that is James’s Harley Fatboy zooms down the streets, the cold air whipping my ponytail back, I let myself fall into the thrill of it.

I’m disappointed when we show up at The Star.

“Why are we at work?”

“Not telling.” James parks in the back alley, where the kitchen exit faces the brick wall of the building next door. It’s just us and two giant garbage bins, the kind where they always find the bodies at the beginning of Law & Order. This is where he met his brother earlier.

James turns his key in the kitchen door. He presses the security code and waits for me to follow him inside.

I make a face, but follow. My phone buzzes and Bradley’s name pops up on the screen.

Bradley: Only in town for a few days and you’re already stirring up trouble.

Me: It’s not a visit unless I leave a pile of broken glass on my way out of town.

Bradley: When do I get to see you? I’m not used to you having a job when you visit.

Me: Me neither. How about Wednesday or Thursday?

Bradley: Come on, Luck… I need my drinking partner.

“Everything okay?” James asks when I just stand at the entrance, texting.

“Yeah, I’m not used to having a regular phone
and
a company phone. I hate that people can reach me any time they want.” I step into the kitchen. James flicks on the white florescent lights.

“That’s why I leave my phone home when I go out,” he says. “I remember when my brother had a fucking
pager
. He’d check it every five seconds and would always get the codes for the girls messed up.”

I run my hand across the smooth metal of the counter tops. This is the biggest kitchen I’ve ever been in. Most are so cramped and the line cooks and chefs are sweating all over each other.

“At least now he can save their names properly,” I tease.

James shakes his head. “Nah, he’s a one-woman guy now. My niece Dee.”

“No mom?”

“She’s not in the picture. Thank God.”
Gahd.
James’s features go dark. “But that’s not why we’re here.”

“Why are we here, Chef James?” I take off his jacket and hang it on a hook.

“We’re going to break in the ovens.” James starts taking things out of the pantry. Flour, baking soda, vanilla extract. “Can you get the milk, sugar, and sour cream?”

I’m a little confused, but I’ll roll with it.

“McKenna’s a great pastry chef,” James says. “But you have never had a cake until you try one of mine.”

There’s something playful in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Not when he kissed me the first time or I kissed him the second time. Or the third. It’s a different kind of pleasure that comes from doing the things that he loves. I completely underestimated Chef James.

He preheats the oven. I stand back and enjoy the way he moves around the room. This is his space and he knows it. He grabs mixing bowls and lifts the head of the giant stand mixer. He winks at me and that shining green eye pulls on the chords of my heart. “Can you hand me some eggs?”

I go to the fridge. When I bring it back the carton he’s just watching me. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me right now. Like my every movement should be remembered, etched into his subconscious. This isn’t my typical one-night stand. Granted we haven’t actually had sex, but the way that he kissed me yesterday—that kiss was more intimate and passionate than any kiss I’ve ever had. The memory of it has me tripping and nearly breaking a dozen eggs.

“Thanks.”

James Hughes is fast. His hands crack the eggs on the silver edge of the mixing bowl. He eyeballs sugar and flour and oil. He runs off to the pantry and grabs an orange to zest. When all that’s left is the white rind, he slices it in half and squeezes the sweet juice into the batter. I love watching him. The way he moves his arms is sure and confident, but delicate. I can tell that this is what he loves to do. Even during the tasting the other day, the food was mouthwatering delicious. He’s creating something that’ll make someone happy. That someone is me…

He pours the batter into a brand new pan lined with generous amounts of butter. Then it goes into the over and he returns to me. I watch as he moves slowly. His shoulders slightly hunched, predatory. His eyes are radiant and green and I take a step back, but there’s a long metal table in the way. He stops just a foot away from me, eyes trailing my face, my neck, and my bare shoulders.

“I thought you’re a savory guy all the way,” I say.

“I can be sweet.”

“Sweet like a lemon, maybe.”

He smiles, and my stomach fills with butterflies because I put that smile there. “Any chef worth his salt knows how to bake a little. I’m not saying I can beat Mckenna’s éclairs, but I think this cake is going to change your life.”

“That’s a pretty big statement, Mr. Hughes.”

It’s the slightest shift in his mood, a shadow that comes out of nowhere and is gone just the same. Does he not like being called Mr. Hughes? Maybe it reminds him too much of his dad.

“I would like to wager,” I say, “that my buttercream frosting is going to change
your
life.”

The smile returns and he takes a step closer. I can feel the heat from his body radiating. Or maybe it’s the oven.

Sure, I haven’t baked or cooked a single thing in months, living mostly on take-out. But I dropped out of culinary school because I couldn’t handle the pressure, not because I don’t know how to cook.

I press my hands against James’s chest. “Don’t try to distract me.”

He shrugs innocently. It’s strange watching this side of him. The sweetness that is buried beneath tattoos and a head-chef scowl. It’s discombobulating. But I want to show him that this is something I can do. My dad used to say that the way to his heart was through his stomach, but since my mom didn’t know how to cook back then, he would settle for her wonderful smile.

I know this recipe like the back of my hand. It’s the most basic thing ever, but it tastes so good. I cream the butter, add the heaps of powdered sugar and vanilla extract. I can feel his eyes watching my every move. I’ve never been this self-conscious about my body. I have a small waist like my mom, but the women on my dad’s side of the family have healthy derrières. I glance at him over my shoulder. My insides are like a champagne bottle ready to pop, the way his eyes appreciate my back, my waist, my ass. Then I get an idea.

I run out of the kitchen and into the bar, grabbing a chilled bottle from the fridge, and returning with my heart jackhammering in my chest.

He raises a curious eyebrow and I put my finger to my lips.

With the mixer on low speed I add the bubbly to my batter. There’s an initial fizz and then it blends perfectly.

“Mmm,” I say, licking the icing off my finger.

He moans a curse. He turns from where he’s checking the oven. It’s like his body is stuck between motions. He glances at the door leading to the alley behind, then at me, like he considers making a run for it. Then he looks at me, really looks at me with eyes sparkling like New Year’s Eve, his body wading across the room to get to me.

James stops inches from me. “Lucky—”

“Yes?” I swallow the nervous ball lodged in my throat.

His hands grab my waist, hard and sure, squeezing a gasp from my lips. He picks me up like I’m light as a feather, and sits me on the long metal table. We’re eye to eye. I pull at his shirt because he’s too far away and I welcome him between my legs, squeezing his hips with my knees. He nuzzles my neck with his warm lips, trailing them up and down. I rake my nails across his chest, his shoulders, then let my hand wander down.

I bite his ear playfully. “Hello there,” I say, cupping his hard bulge straining through his jeans. I rub it slowly until he moans into my neck.

“Lucky.”

I don’t answer. He reaches over to the whipped batter of buttercream and scoops it with his index finger, then holds it up to my lips. I lick a tiny bit. Shut my eyes at the pleasure of decadent sugar melting on my tongue. He presses into my center and the friction of our clothes sends sparks through my body. I take his finger into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the icing. I keep my eyes on his face, holding his wrist, leaving his finger clean.

I don’t have time to catch my breath as his lips find mine. I bite his juicy bottom lip and playfully lick. Our teeth bump against each other and we laugh, but keep kissing. It’s like last night’s kiss, but better. He twists my ponytail around his hand and tugs on it to give him access to my neck. The surprise of it makes me moan and he presses harder into my soaked panties. He nibbles on the tender skin of my throat, trailing his tongue on my shoulder. He pulls my tank top to the side.

“This has to go,” he groans into me.

I automatically lift my hands up and he pulls my tank over my head and throws it to the side.

“You’re so beautiful.” He rubs my arms. Despite the friction, the warm cake-scented air, goosebumps prickle my flesh.

I don’t know what to say to him. No one has told me that. Not like this—raw and real and honest.

“So are you.” I grab his face and kiss him. I can taste the frosting on my lips. I want to taste him forever. My skin feels lighter when I realize he snapped my bra off. I hold my hands over my chest protectively. Now, I’m not exactly the shyest thing when it comes to sex. But if I think about it too long, most of the sex I’ve had has been in the dark. Here, James can see all of me. The light is unforgiving, but he looks anyway. My breasts are small and my nipples are rock hard at his touch. He takes my wrists gently and guides them away from my chest and around his neck. I press my hand to the back of his head to keep his lips pressed to mine. His hands trace my arms, my chest, my waist, warming parts of me that I thought couldn’t be this excited from just kissing.

“No fair,” I say, pulling back. “I’m topless and you’re still all dressed.”

He bites my cheek. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

I grab his shirt and pull it up, letting my hands slide against his muscular body. When I get to his chest I find a scar, marked like an X. He’s just as surprised as I am when I trace my fingers on the pearly skin. I kiss it. He exhales impatiently, and because I’m taking my time undressing him, he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it. I fumble with his belt buckle. What is it with guys and big buckles? The metal clanks in the quiet of the kitchen, the only other sound besides our heavy breathing. I have to see him. Touch him. Feel him. I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw him, even when he infuriated me. I think that just made me want him more. The way he pulls on my arms to pin me down on the cold metal table makes me shudders with delight.

“Hey, give it,” I tease him.

He presses into my jeans and I gasp. I wrap my legs around his waist to keep him pressed against me. James leans down, pressing his large rough hand over my chest. He licks my neck in tiny circles that makes me we wriggle faster, my insides ready to burst. I reach for his boxers, but his mischievous smile returns. He catches my lips with his, squeezing my breasts as he moves his kisses along my belly. I gasp when he unzips my jeans and pulls them down in one swift movement. The boy has skills.

He bites my thong and slides it down to my knees. I’m so exposed. More exposed than I’ve ever been, and I love the sureness of his kisses, the tenderness of his touch, the strength in his fingers as they trace my wetness. I lean on my elbows to watch him go down on me.

I can feel him moan when he places his mouth on me, parts me with his tongue and traces circles that build a pressure in my core. I raise my hips at the sensory overload of his thick fingers sliding inside me. His tongue licks me faster and faster until the pressure is too much and I tug on his hair and I can feel wave after wave of pleasure flood my entire body.

When he feels me unclench, James pulls his fingers out. He kisses the inside of my thighs, biting me playfully.

I giggle. I, Lucky Pierce, actually fucking giggle as I watch James Hughes climb over me and nip at my shoulder. He buries his face into my neck. I pull off my hairband and let my hair spill over my shoulder.

“You taste
delicious,
” he growls.

That is the strongest orgasm I’ve ever had. But like with how good I found his cooking, I’d never admit that to him right away. Instead, I want to show him. I hop off the table and pull my thong up.

“Where you going?” His eyes sparkle with lust. He knows exactly where I’m going. He props himself on his elbows and watches me unzip his jeans and pull them down. His bulge is straining against the thin cloth of his boxers. I bite my lip as I reach in and pull him out. His dick jerks when I squeeze at the base. James is huge. I watch his sea-green eyes bright with expectation as I lower my lips to the tip. There’s something so raw about having another person in your mouth, tasting them, really feeling a part of them that is so sensitive. I lick his head and feel him tense when I repeat it, dragging my tongue along his frenulum. I cover his tip with my lips and suck it like a creamsicle on a hot summer day. He leans his head back and swears. It encourages me to explore farther down. I keep him pressed between the roof of my mouth and my tongue. His hand falls on top of my head and bounces up with me until I feel him shudder.

“Lucky, I’m going to—” he warns.

But I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to know what James tastes like. I press my hand on his abs, feel them constrict, and then him, all of him fills my mouth, salty and all James. He swears like a sailor and yanks on my hair a little too hard.

When he’s done, I climb up on top of him, heat radiating from both our centers. He presses me against his chest. We’re both sticky and wet and in the warmth of the kitchen I feel my body relax, truly relax in a comfort I never thought could be this easy.

“Damn, girl,” James says. I can measure the beats of his heart. I lift up my head and kiss him.

For long, wonderful minutes, James holds me with his strong hands, until a loud ringing makes us both jump. I start falling back but James just laughs and pulls me back to his chest.