Tori Carrington - Flavor of the Month

She ran her wrist across her forehead and looked at him sheepishly. “I have another cart on order,” she told him, gesturing off to the side to where two ten-tray carts were full, “but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

“You may want to go for two or three more.”

“I’m afraid you may be right. I had no idea when I opened this place that business would be so good.” She stared at him openly, licked her bottom lip, then gestured toward the island.

Ben made a ceremony out of pulling out a free stool for her, then helping her to climb on top of it, guessing his assistance hindered rather than helped the process but up for any excuse to touch her. She gracefully accepted the offer, then waited as he sat next to her and began pulling items out of the bags. Even as he did so, he wondered what they would be having for dessert. And éclairs, as good as they may be, were definitely not at the top of his list.

REILLY COULDN’T quite bring herself to believe that she was sitting in the middle of her shop kitchen in the dead of night watching yummy Ben Kane serve her up dinner from a restaurant that boasted a three-month waiting list for a table.

No, she had never been to Benardo’s Hideaway. Oh, sure, she knew where it was. Situated north of Santa Monica, on a jagged outcropping overlooking the Pacific Ocean, everyone agreed that the view was phenomenal, especially at sunset. And with the ocean-side floor-to-ceiling windows, all diners were guaranteed one hell of a show.

But Reilly understood that even the fantastic view ranked a far second to the number one reason the restaurant was so popular: the famous cuisine Benardo’s offered. And as Ben took fine china plates out, she began to see what sort of standards the owner upheld.

No foam cartons for Benardo’s. Everything was in rubber-topped glass containers and separate from the foods they would be served with. She swallowed hard as she watched Ben’s long, thick-fingered hands lay out a navy blue and gold tapestry placemat, two crystal candle holders complete with candles, linen-wrapped silverware, a gold charger plate, then cobalt blue plates that were edged with a gold Greek key design.

“And here I would have settled for a burger on a paper plate,” she murmured.

Ben handed her a crystal glass then poured in a finger of red wine. Which type, she couldn’t be sure because the letters on the label of the bottle were covered by the white linen napkin he’d wrapped around it. “Shh,” he ordered.

She suppressed a giggle then sipped at the wine. Merlot. A good one at that.

She tried to get a peek inside the dish he was opening, but he held it where she couldn’t see.

“Close your eyes.”

She widened them instead. “What?”

He grinned at her, making her stomach pitch to her feet. “You heard me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t get any food.”

She made a face. Five minutes ago she probably would have pointed him toward the door and sent him on his merry way if he’d told her she’d have to close her eyes. But now that she’d been treated to the full presentation, her curiosity had been ignited and she really wanted to see what he had in store for her.

The key word being see.

She shifted on her stool then closed her eyes. What could he do, really, if she peeked?

She felt cloth settle over her eyelids. She immediately reached for it. “Um, you didn’t say anything about a blindfold.”

She felt as well as heard him say “trust me” very near her ear. She fought a shiver, but was helpless to prevent it from sliding up her arms then down her back to settle finally between her tightly clenched thighs. He took her silence as acquiescence and continued tying the material around the back of her head, careful not to get her hair caught in the knot.

Oh, boy.

While Reilly knew her kitchen better than she did her upstairs apartment, she felt decidedly strange sitting there, being able to touch everything, smell everything, but not see it. Beyond the scent of the éclairs, the hint of cinnamon that still lingered and the honey syrup she’d used on the sticky buns that morning, she became aware of another pungent food scent and salivated.

“Open your mouth,” Ben requested next to her ear.

Reilly’s throat closed so tightly she could barely breathe but she somehow managed to part her lips, foggily trying to remember the last time she’d brushed her teeth.

Something rested against her tongue. She was vividly aware of the burst of flavor. Of something cheesy and tangy and spicy. Spots of yellow, orange and red exploded behind her closed eyelids as she closed her lips so Ben could extract the fork.

“Mmm.” She’d never connected food to colors before. But without the aid of sight, her mind seemed to compensate in other ways.

“That’s my own recipe for brie.”

Brie. She’d never had brie before, so had no way to connect it to a different type of cheese. She did, however, decide that she’d been missing out.

“More?” Ben’s breath disturbed the hair over her left ear, making her nipples harden and her thighs clench more tightly.

“Definitely…more,” she whispered.

There was a heartbeat of a pause, then she heard him moving again, and within moments another bite of the delicious brie was resting against her tongue along with something crunchy and tasting of wheat germ. A cracker? Whatever it was, paired with the brie, it was pure heaven.

“Take a sip of wine.” He took her hand and placed the wineglass in her fingers. She slowly drank, then he took the glass back. “Open.”

She swallowed hard, her heart beginning to pound at the easy cadence of his words. His voice was deep and more intoxicating than the fine wine. His closeness did strange things to her, making her feel as if she stood in the beam of an electrical current. Her skin felt alive and tingly, her toes were curled up in her tennis shoes, and it seemed to take all of her concentration to keep her breathing from becoming a rasp.

Seafood.

Shrimp.

No, a prawn.

Cooked in a sweet coconut mixture that set her mouth to watering and her throat to humming.

While she’d always been a great lover of food, sweets had always been more her thing. The more sugar the better, was her motto. And her mother had come from a sturdy meat-and-potatoes background, with lots of cabbage stuck in for flavor. Having Ben introduce her to a whole new spectrum of culinary delicacies and tastes made her shiver in anticipation.

She slowly chewed the food. “So, um, how did the desserts go over at the restaurant? I hope there weren’t too many complaints?”

“Shh. It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”

She giggled then caught herself. “Who died and made you the manners police?”

He slid the fork inside her mouth again, filling it with a mixture that would take her a half hour to try to identify. Then she felt his breath against her other ear, indicating he was no longer sitting but was moving behind her. “No, I’m just a man hoping you’ll let him sample some of your…desserts when I’m done.”

Oh, boy…

“In fact, do you mind if I take a little taste now?”

Reilly gasped when she felt his tongue against the right side of her neck. A long, probing lick that nearly melted her into a puddle at his feet. The sensation was doubly powerful because she hadn’t known it was coming.

“Mmm. Just as I thought.”

What? she wanted to ask, but found that she couldn’t. Did you pick up baking grit?

“You taste as good as you look.”

She somehow managed to swallow the bite in her mouth and crossed her arms over her breasts in case he could see how very powerfully his attentions were affecting her—that is, making her nipples fully erect. “Sorry to disappoint you.”