Ashley Lister - A Taste of Passion

After the easy way in which he had dealt with everyone else in the marketplace, she thought his stilted interaction with the woman seemed singular. She frowned, trying to work out what could possibly have made things so uncomfortable between Hart and the woman behind the counter.

‘I’d like to speak with Finlay West, please.’

‘I didn’t think you were here to speak with me,’ Imogen returned stiffly. There was the cry of a baby from the back of the room and Imogen rushed away, blushing with her gaze lowered.

Hart gave Trudy an uneasy glance. He looked as though he was going to make a joke about Imogen’s reaction when the proprietor, Finlay West appeared.

West was elderly and bearded. He ignored Hart at first and spoke only with Trudy. He asked her about her degree and, when he learnt she’d done a module on the medicinal qualities of certain foods, West discussed her opinion on the health benefits of ginger and turmeric.

Trudy was happy to argue her opinions and, because West knew his subject, the conversation flowed easily. At one point West interrupted, asking Trudy if he could get Imogen to make them beverages whilst they continued.

Hart shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. He shook his head as if telling Trudy that he saw no reason to prolong the conversation with Finlay.

Suppressing a grin, Trudy thanked Finlay and declined. She could hear the sounds of a baby sobbing in the backroom and figured Imogen had enough work looking after a child and working in a shop without having to cater to the tea-drinking demands of West’s customers.

‘Mr Hart has been kind enough to show me one or two things in his kitchen,’ she explained. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose further on his time than I already have.’

West shrugged. ‘I’m sure Mr Hart can tolerate impositions from someone as pretty as you.’ Cryptically, he added, ‘Just make sure he doesn’t impose on you beyond what you want from him.’

Before Trudy could ask what the comment meant, West had turned to Hart and asked, ‘So, what is it I can do for you this morning?’

‘Sri Lankan cinnamon.’

West raised an eyebrow and smirked. ‘No banter? No chitchat? No discussion on the finer points of –’

‘Sri Lankan cinnamon.’

Untroubled by the apparent rudeness, Finlay shrugged and went into the backroom. He returned a moment later with a sealed, airtight box. The label on the side said C. zeylanicum . Trudy could see through the clear sides of the box. It was filled with golden rolls of cinnamon quills, harvested from the inner bark of the tree she guessed. They were identical to the ones she had used in the muffins she baked with Hart the previous evening.

When Finlay opened the box the air that was released was the smell of Christmas indulgence. It was a mouth-watering aroma that reminded her of so many things she had enjoyed the previous evening. The fragrance stopped her from fretting about the mysterious comments West had made before asking Hart for his order.

‘We’ll take a dozen quills each,’ Hart decided.

Finlay nodded. ‘Trust this man’s judgement on cinnamon,’ he told Trudy. ‘He knows his spices.’ He started away from the counter and paused before adding, ‘You can probably trust him with some other things too. He’s not as bad as rumours suggest. His only real fault is his stubbornness.’

‘I couldn’t be as bad as most rumours suggest,’ Hart grumbled. ‘If I were I’d be in prison.’

Finlay chuckled at that as he wrapped the cinnamon quills carefully in plain brown paper. When Trudy attempted to pay for hers Hart shook his head and pushed the package firmly into her hand.

‘It’s a gift from me,’ he said as he then opened the door and ushered Trudy out of the shop.

She smiled and thanked him.

‘No need to thank me,’ he assured her. He moved his face close to her ear. ‘There’s a favour I’m wanting from you.’

He spoke in a low, confidential tone. He pressed his lips close to the nape of her neck when he spoke. The tickle of each word inspired a delicious memory of the previous evening. His words had tickled with this level of intimacy when he had been pushing his length deep into her sex.

‘I need to get a couple of steaks for tonight. It’s for a special meal. You can repay me by giving me your advice. What would you recommend?’

‘Steaks?’ She responded without hesitation. ‘Sirloin. Boned and rolled. You can’t go wrong with a good sirloin.’

‘You don’t think a couple of fillet mignon cuts would be better?’

It was not said as a challenge, or as though he doubted her ideas. She could tell he was just positing alternative opinions in the same way Finlay West had been testing alternative ideas when they had been discussing the anti-inflammatory properties of ginger.

‘It’s for someone very special,’ he added.

She scowled and attempted an indifferent shrug. ‘If you want to work with fillet mignon I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I heard someone say you work in a restaurant with a reasonable reputation. But I’ve never yet tasted a fillet mignon better than one of my sirloins.’

He nodded solemnly. ‘A confident and skilful chef. Are you free to cook it?’

‘What? When?’

‘On our date tonight, after Boui-Boui ’s closed.’

Date? This evening? William Hart was asking her on a date? She pulled herself from his arm and turned to look at him to see if he was being serious. Did this mean that he thought she was more than an overly easy blonde that he’d managed to screw on first meeting? Or did he think that she would cook him a dinner and then fuck him for dessert?

‘We’re having a date?’

‘If you don’t mind being in the company of an old man.’

She didn’t mind being in his company. His age wasn’t even a consideration. He was attractive, successful and fun. He had also proven himself to be a surprisingly efficient lover, as the aching muscles in her groin could testify. Simply listening to his voice inspired electric tingles of longing to pulse through her loins and rekindle the ache in those muscles. But she didn’t want him to think that she could be summoned to Boui-Boui as some combination of competent cook and booty-call. Common sense told her that she should refuse the date and make it known that she wasn’t just there for his pleasure.

‘I have to tell you,’ she began. ‘About last night …’

He laughed.

She supposed she could forgive his mirth. Her words had sounded like an old line. She blushed and struggled to continue. ‘I don’t usually …’ She stopped herself. That wasn’t what she wanted to say. ‘I mean I haven’t ever done that before. Not on first meeting someone. Not ever. And it’s not that it wasn’t nice. Actually it was more than nice. But –’

His smile was not unkind. He held her by the upper arms and pulled her close. When his lips met hers Trudy couldn’t think of anything better than to have her embarrassed excuses kissed away by William Hart.

‘I’m aware that was something unusual and special for both of us last night,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t usually do that sort of thing on a first meeting either. That’s one of the many reasons why I want to see you again tonight.’

Her heartbeat raced. She pressed more firmly into the kiss, savouring the way he continued to hold her upper arms. Her nipples had hardened in response to him and she found herself excited by his nearness. The wetness in her loins was humid and insistent. Her need for him was as sudden now as it had been the previous evening. When she pressed close to him she could feel the thrust of his thinly concealed erection straining for her.

If they hadn’t been in such a public place, or if the market had been some other place where she and Hart were not both known as regulars, Trudy realised she could have easily and publically succumbed to the passion he aroused.