Page 18 of Say Yes to the Chef

When I’m finished, she pulls back and licks her lips, smiling up at me as she rises to her feet.

That had to have been hard as hell on her knees, even with the towel. I reach for her and lift her to her feet, pressing her naked body against mine and turning so we’re both under the cascade of warm water.

“Thank you.” I kiss her forehead and tighten my arms around her. “I owe you a massage.”

She giggles and it vibrates against my chest. “I think we both know where that ends up.”

My cock twitches between us like it didn’t just unload in this beautiful woman’s perfect mouth. “We’re going to run out of condoms.”

She laughs, eyes dancing with amusement as she looks up at me, one eyebrow raised playfully. “Just how long do you plan on staying?”

“Until you tell me to leave.” I lean down and kiss the corner of her mouth. “Or until my shift starts.” I smile and shrug. “Whichever comes first.”

Adrienne smiles sweetly, nodding in approval of my plan, then tucks her face against my chest.“I’m not going to tell you to leave,” she murmurs, so softly I barely hear it above the rush of the shower.

I reach behind her and rub my hands down her back, massaging her muscles, which works well for both of us because standing so close like this, each stroke of my hands brings her naked body flusher against mine.

“I’d like to try more of your cooking.” She tilts her head to look up at me.

She can try all of my cooking. Anytime she wants. “I’d like that.”

“Tell me about yourself.”She tucks her head back against my chest and adds, “Why did you become a chef?”

I chuckle because there’s no short story there, but I start at the beginning while I massage her shoulders and back, reaching down to squeeze her ass as often as possible.

It’s an incredible, full ass, and my time with it is limited.

She’ll return home to wherever she’s from, and I’ll continue building my career.

But I’ll never forget her, never forget this night with the captivating Mrs. Rhone in Suite 101.

I turn her away from me and reach for the shampoo, squirting some into my hand and then massaging it into her hair. I start at the top, kneading the soap into a thick lather on her scalp.

“God, that smell.” She shakes her head. “I’m obsessed.”

“Because it smells like me?”

She looks back at me over her shoulder, rolling her eyes playfully. “Maybe I just like coconut.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Before she can say anything else, I turn her around and position her under the stream of water. Then I take her chin in my hand and tilt her head back, kissing her while the shampoo rinses from her hair.

Adrienne

I’ll never be able to look at coconut the same way again. Won’t be able to smell it in the air or taste it in a dish without thinking of this man and the surprising, wonderful night I spent with him.

I can’t say I didn’t imagine how last night might go. Of course I did. During those hours between dinner and midnight, I had nothing but time to consider a million different outcomes.

The most likely scenario? A case of mistaken identity. I’d show up on the beach at midnight, then Chef Marco would apologize for the confusion, we’d share an awkward moment and maybe a laugh, then go our separate ways.

But if I was wrong, if it turned out that hedidwantme, that no mistake was made…I imagined a wild night I’d never forget.

But now, with midday sunlight streaming in through sheer curtains, after hours of sleep and sex, I think this was so much more than even my wildest imaginings.

We’ve had breakfast in bed. Mimosas and coffee. And now the handsome young chef is creating new uses for the coconut cream that accompanies the Belgian waffles. Marco paints my body with it, sucks it from my nipples, my toes. There’s a playful sparkle in his eyes as he trails shapes with his fingers across the cream spread over my abdomen or paints my lips with cream just to promptly lick them clean.

I have this unfamiliar sense of weightlessness in my chest.

I have nowhere to go for the next six days. No responsibilities or expectations. Just this hotel room, endless white sand, and a man who looks at me—and touches me—like I ameverything.

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