Chloe Blake - A Taste Of Pleasure

“You never know. Sometimes people go for the complete opposite of what they’ve had before.” Dani heard Liz take her therapy tone, something the good doctor did unconsciously when she was trying to make a point.

“I’m not trying to find a man here, Liz.”

“I just want you to have a little fun...and to forget about Andre.”

With just the sound of his name, Dani felt her guard go up. She’d been trying to forget, but the more she tried, the more she thought about him. Andre had refused to attend the wedding with her and had made it clear he didn’t harbor the same feelings for her that she had for him.

Andre loved running the New York restaurant together—translation: he loved that she did all the work running the kitchen, but anything more than sex was out of the question.

Dani picked up her knife and squeezed.

“Look, you go for him. I’m gonna cut this cake.”

The guests drank and danced as Dani took apart the layers and began plating slices of each. At first each cut made her feel more single, but as she worked she began to feel better.

The cake was her gift to the couple, a chef’s gift, and each layer was infused with different ingredients that told the story of their love—the bold New Yorker and the brooding Frenchman finding each other on a vineyard in Brazil.

A Brazilian chocolate sponge foundation, Nicole’s favorite, with a second layer of lavender French vanilla, Destin’s favorite. A third layer of traditional Brazilian fruitcake and a fourth layer of New York cheesecake. The last three layers she was most proud of, a Cab Franc–infused red velvet. All topped with wine-infused icing and candy jewels.

“ Dio mio ...is that wine? Brava! You’re an artist,” said a deep accented voice. Dani pulled her focus from slicing the cake to find Antonio Dante Lorenzetti, Destin’s best man, licking his finger.

“Did you just stick your finger in my cake?” The grip on her knife tightened.

Toni licked his lips and flashed a boyish smile. Sweat darkened his honey-colored hair around the temples, and his shirt was open to reveal a slightly damp chest. She briefly craned her neck to take in all six feet and three inches of him.

Liz was right, he was handsome. He was the type of guy that could have any girl he wanted. She wondered which one he’d choose to take back to his room.

Shit! Her cut faltered, breaking 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.