A Taste Of Pleasure. Chloe Blake
one of the perfectly two-inch cake slices in half.
“Sorry.” Toni shrugged an apology and slipped his hands in his pockets. His sleeves were rolled and a glint was in his eye, making him look undeniably masculine.
Dani set the knife down and rose to her full five-foot-eight-inch height. She quickly dabbed at the sweat on her brow with a towel. And if Toni hadn’t been standing there, she would have dabbed at her cleavage, as well. The bridesmaid dress her friend chose hugged her full frame nicely, but the open neckline showed a bit too much cleavage for Dani’s taste.
“Nice ink.” His gaze ran over the colorful swirls of flowers and symbols on the tan skin of her left forearm. Dani studied his expression; some people had a thing against tattoos, but Dani saw no signs of aversion. Still, she was certain that a woman like her was definitely not what he was used to.
Dani pulled her shoulder-length hair into a bun on her head, the shaved undercut of her hairstyle letting in more cool air. Screw decorum, she wiped at her cleavage, then tossed the towel on the table. She lifted a brow when she caught his gaze rising from her breasts. Men.
“What can I do for you, Toni?”
“You looked like you needed help.”
“A finger in my food is not help.”
He smirked. “I mean, where is the champagne for the dessert?” She looked around. Good question.
“I thought Anton was rounding it up with the catering staff.”
Toni frowned and leaned closer, swiping his pointer finger through the icing of the broken cake by Dani’s side.
“You’re lucky I don’t cut that finger off.”
“Bella, you won’t serve that piece.” His lips attacked said finger. “The icing is subtle, to complement the sweetness of the cake I assume? Lovely. You need the Clos d’Ambonnay for this.”
“No, I asked for the Lambrusco.”
“Absolutely not. That will be too sweet.”
Dani fought the urge to stab him.
His Italian arrogance aside, she remembered Destin introducing Toni to her as a fine wine merchant, and currently working to distribute Deschamps, Destin and Nicole’s award-winning wines. His family had been restaurateurs in Italy for generations. Apparently, he knew wine and food.
But so did Dani. She’d been cooking with one of Milan’s premier chef’s since she was a teenager, but she wasn’t going to throw her experience, her schooling in France or her current two-star Michelin restaurant in New York in his face.
What she was going to do was try to respect the groom by not killing his friend.
“Look, Toni, we’ve already had our tastings and this is the wine Nicole prefers with the cake. You know how sensitive her palate is. So thank you for the suggestion but I’ve got it under control. And I don’t think we ordered any Clos so—”
“I brought some with me. Just in case you ran out. Six cases of Lambrusco seemed low to me, but then again Italians are prone to excess.”
Dani’s hands flew to her hips.
“And how would you know how much I ordered?”
Toni rocked on his heels. “You ordered it from me.”
Dani blinked. “We ordered from a Brazilian warehouse.”
“My warehouse.”
Dani looked him up and down. No wonder he was so arrogant; he didn’t work for the distributor, he owned it.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, I gave them a discount.”
Yep. Money was no object. She should have known by that close-cut beard, which was perfectly trimmed to look like five o’clock shadow.
The catering staff appeared with wine bottles and began filling the idle flutes with bubbly—some red, the Lambrusco, and some mysterious white, which Dani assumed was the Clos. Dani slid her gaze to Toni, who was averting his eyes toward the guests.
“Well, looks like someone found your Clos.”
Toni’s apologetic smile was the perfect match of sheepish and wicked.
The staff took the plated desserts to the tables and left fresh dishes for her use. Dani bit her tongue and took up her knife again, unwilling to tell him that having red and white bubbly for the dessert was a good idea.
Ignoring him, she grabbed another layer of cake and prepped it for cutting.
“What restaurant did you say you worked in again?”
“Via L’Italy,” she said over her shoulder, surprised he was still standing there. Her knife made quick work of the cake.
“The one on Bond street? Isn’t that Andre Pierre’s restaurant?”
Dani’s knife faulted again and a fruit-filled slice crumbled.
Biting her cheek, she slowly lowered the knife to the table and faced him.
“It’s my kitchen.”
He frowned. “So are you a sous-chef?”
“I’m head chef.”
His frown got deeper. “Alongside Andre?”
Yeah, it sounded ridiculous. Dani took a deep breath, unable to bring herself to say the term ghost chef. But that’s what she was. She was the blood sweat and tears behind Andre, the famous chef who conceptualized the restaurant. A YouTube phenomenon turned celebrity chef, Andre opened several restaurants in the world under his name, but never stepped one foot inside the kitchens.
She had taken the job years ago thinking she would be working directly with a master. She found out quickly that he was limited in his skills. Proper editing and a ghost chef equaled smoke and mirrors. Many times she’d thought of leaving, but once the restaurant began earning Michelin stars, Andre made it worth her while to stay.
They had even begun sleeping together.
The kitchen was hers, the menu was hers and the Michelin stars...they were because of her.
But to the outside world, it was all Andre.
Dani let her gaze fall, unable to meet his bright blue questioning look. She arranged the broken slice on a small plate with a fork and handed it to him.
“Yes, Andre and I collaborate quite well.”
Toni took a bite and uttered a low groan of pleasure. She hated that his reaction made her proud...and a little aroused.
They’d been at the same table for dinner. He ate like a bear, dipping into everything, taking his time with the dishes he liked, eating seconds and sometimes thirds. She’d always liked a healthy appetite in a man.
Not that she was watching, or wondering if he made love the same way.
He slid the fork from his lips.
“That cake is art. Maybe you’ll cook for me one day?”
Her eyes snapped to his clear gaze. Was he flirting?
“I mean, I could come to your restaurant.”
Of course, he wasn’t attracted to her. He liked superthin arm candy that ate salads and wore tons of makeup. She pressed her lips together. Her lipstick had melted off hours ago.
“Sure. Stop by next time you’re in New York,” she said politely.
“Erm...you have—” He stepped closer and reached for her.
“What?” She looked down her body.
He swiped a finger across her upper breast and a jolt tore through her. Shocked, she followed his hand, which pulled away with a small dollop of icing on his finger.
She