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A Taste Of Pleasure
Chloe Blake
A Recipe for LoveDeliciously DechampsItaly is the perfect place for new career beginnings—at least that’s what chef Danica Nillson hopes. But one look at sexy single dad Antonio Dante Lorenzetti, and her plan to keep romance out of her kitchen goes up in flames. The millionaire restaurateur wants stability. Not unbridled passion that makes him lose his senses. Is this beautiful, talented and headstrong chef the one he’s been waiting for?


A Recipe for Love
Deliciously Dechamps
Italy is the perfect place for new career beginnings—at least that’s what chef Danica Nillson hopes. But one look at sexy single dad Antonio Dante Lorenzetti, and her plan to keep romance out of her kitchen goes up in flames. The millionaire restaurateur wants stability. Not unbridled passion that makes him lose his senses. Is this beautiful, talented and headstrong chef the one he’s been waiting for?
CHLOE BLAKE can be found dreaming up stories while she is traveling the world or just sitting on her couch in Brooklyn, New York. When she is not writing sexy novels, she is at the newest wine bar, taking random online classes, binge-watching Netflix or searching for her next adventure. Readers can find out more about Chloe and her books from her website at www.chloeblakebooks.com (http://www.chloeblakebooks.com).
Also By Chloe Blake (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
A Taste of Desire
A Taste of Pleasure
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A Taste of Pleasure
Chloe Blake


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08488-8
A Taste of Pleasure
© 2018 Tamara Lynch
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
He leaned closer and she moved backward until her back was against the wall. He placed one hand on the wall by her head and half caged her with his body.
“You look delicious.”
She made a dismissive noise. Knowing she wanted to test the kitchen, she’d thrown on a V-neck T-shirt and put her hair in a ponytail. “I look like a farmhand.”
His eyes dipped into the V of her shirt, making her breathing increase slightly. He hadn’t even touched her, yet her body was screaming for him. His knowing gaze came up to hers.
“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“I’d leave.”
He frowned. “Really? I don’t think so.”
“I thought we were going to cultivate our working relationship.”
“We are.” His lips moved closer and their breaths mingled.
“I thought we were going to forget what happened.”
His fingertip ran down her arm. “Can you forget, angel? Because I’m having a hard time.”
She shivered, not sure when the name had gone from an annoyance to an endearment she craved hearing.
Dear Reader (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7),
I hope you are ready to get swept away in gourmet dishes and sweet sips of wine. A Taste of Pleasure was a chance for me to indulge in a bit of Italian luxury. During my time in Italy, I was captivated by the food, the wine...and the men, which was why it was so easy to imagine a hero as sexy as Antonio Lorenzetti. With a divorce behind him and his family in trouble, the successful restaurateur gets help from an unexpected place.
When chef Danica Nilsson loses her boyfriend and her restaurant, her world falls apart, but Toni holds the key to a new opportunity and eventually her heart. Writing Toni and Dani was so much fun. This book is ultimately a romance, but it’s also about broken dreams, and how love and support is a gourmet recipe that can heal all.
Happy reading!
Chloe Blake
To Amy, who found a happily-ever-after of her own.
Acknowledgments (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
My heartfelt thanks to my agent, Christine Witthohn, and to the team at Harlequin Kimani Romance. My love and appreciation goes to my friends, who are my chosen family. And last, my biggest thanks to the readers who chose this book. Your support inspires me to keep writing.
Contents
Cover (#u0fdd5d45-7db4-5b96-a0d5-babe787265a0)
Back Cover Text (#uffe82f1f-38df-5a47-8057-c0f976b36a61)
About the Author (#uea5838c4-77d4-5d46-9adb-f873680fd9e8)
Booklist (#uc0bfe475-3a50-5ae6-82a3-d3c919a9b162)
Title Page (#u8233f98a-0ea3-5e5d-b1d3-c507dd151750)
Copyright (#ua911eb42-d469-55a4-8f05-00e5bb8d66b0)
Introduction (#uffe5a853-91c4-551b-8cb3-778a4d8860a2)
Dear Reader (#ue1ec55ee-d8c1-5c58-939b-83155ad2d603)
Dedication (#u23696b1e-39c0-59c4-80bb-19ed664e8ef0)
Acknowledgments (#ue96a73f8-3337-51e5-a649-7834da2277d6)
Chapter 1 (#u93fc1e66-c719-5193-b9c7-c125a9aa7bd8)
Chapter 2 (#ud1a61469-c413-5342-a207-1ad042029d46)
Chapter 3 (#u70d5e839-7073-55c7-97f4-13081a565beb)
Chapter 4 (#u77f0924d-2e03-59c1-a728-21035889724a)
Chapter 5 (#ua1506192-e55e-50e6-a4db-1c0ea4c9b4cc)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
Chef Danica Nilsson spread her knives on the long table and plucked the twelve-inch slicer from its pocket. With the bride and groom’s cake cutting ritual finished, it was time to serve the flowered and jeweled creation she had baked to the three hundred wedding guests that flew to Brazil to see her best friend Nicole get married.
“He’s looking at you again.” Liz, a longtime friend to her and the bride, leaned on the tabletop and crossed her arms.
Dani didn’t look up as she worked. “Maybe he’s crazy.”
“Crazy doesn’t look that good. That man is handsome.”
Dani half listened as she urged herself to hurry. The seven-layer masterpiece had been chilled to withstand the Brazilian heat, but even sitting under the shade of the tent, which had been spread across the entire vineyard, the icing was beginning to sheen.
“Maybe he wants some cake.”
“Oh, he definitely wants some cake.” Liz raised her brows and stared at Dani’s ass. Dani shook her head at her friend, thinking that she had enough “cake” to feed all of Brazil.
“Wasn’t he married to a model or something? He’s not trying for—” Dani looked down at her size-sixteen figure “—all of this.”
“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.
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 grabbed a towel and handed it to him, but he shook his head and placed the tip of his finger in his mouth.
“So good. I get another piece at the table, yes?”
She nodded absently as he walked away, blinking against the tingly sensations that lingered on her skin and swirled through her body.
* * *
Toni stood at the edge of the crowd and watched the throng of women in evening wear get ready to fight over the bouquet. The bride teased the group with a wave of her flowers, then turned her back.
Toni sighed and smoothed a hand over his brow.
I can’t do this anymore, Toni. I don’t want this life.
He downed the rest of his champagne and turned to go. He couldn’t watch anymore.
A large hand landed on his shoulder. “She’s hot for you, man. She’s been staring at you all night.”
Toni forced himself back around and smirked along with his fellow groomsman. Reluctantly he slid his gaze to the thin blonde in the red dress and sure enough, she was staring right at him.
She smiled. He forced a grin back in an effort to be polite, but he quickly looked away.
Virgin Mary help him.
She was beautiful...and way too reminiscent of his ex-wife. Being just out of a divorce, weddings were not high on his attendance list, but he couldn’t let Destin down. Nor did he want to bring his baggage to the happy day.
Toni turned his head to where the groom was staring lovingly at his bride. Toni supposed he’d done the same at his wedding.
This isn’t want I signed up for.
He tried to shake the angry voice of his ex-wife from his head. He lifted his glass to his lips. Empty. When the show was over he’d head to the bar, and then everything would be all right.
Fortified by his new plan he looked up and prayed the spectacle would soon be over. There was a shot of whiskey with his name on it. Toni focused on the bride, who had stopped midthrow and was waving at someone. His thoughts were wiped from his brain.
Danica let her curling hair fall around her shoulders and made her way from the cake station into the crowd of single ladies. He licked his lips, as if trying to taste the icing that had landed on her cleavage again. And what a stunning bosom it was. She was tall and hourglass shaped with full hips that he couldn’t take his eyes from as she walked in her heels.
“That’s too much woman for you, bro.”
Toni chuckled.
“There is no such thing as too much woman, Leo.”
Leo laughed in agreement and slapped him on the back.
“You can’t have all of ’em. Save some for the rest of us.”
“Don’t worry, brother. I only want one.” He was half kidding, thinking that a good night’s sleep didn’t sound so bad. But as Dani stood close to the back and slightly away from the women jostling for position, he couldn’t help but imagine her naked in his sheets.
The bride tossed the bouquet and he compared the scene before him to the game-winning goal in the World Cup. The girls moved as one toward the airborne flowers. The blonde in the red dress dove. Dani put her arms up for the block. The blonde grazed the bouquet and tipped it into Dani’s hands.
The crowd oohed.
But Dani swatted it into the hands of a young flower girl while the blonde lost her footing and hit the ground.
The crowd ahhed.
The blonde looked pissed. Dani sauntered away. And Toni headed for the bar.
* * *
Dani put the top layer of the wedding cake in the refrigerator for the newlyweds, closed the door and officially ended her maid of honor duties. Although the DJ was still playing, the party had thinned out once the bride and groom conspicuously disappeared. And it took Dani a minute to realize that her friend Liz had also left with one of the groomsmen, which meant the Dani would have to enjoy one last drink alone.
She found a seat at the bar, ordered a shot of whiskey, and paid no attention to the tall, broad-shouldered man with his back to her. Her thoughts drifted back to her encounter with the best man. Who did he think he was arguing with her over the wine? He looked damn good in a suit though. And those eyes, they glittered like a rainbow after a storm.
Dani cursed her weakness for tall, handsome and cocky.
As for Andre, when she got back to New York, she’d put an end to their sexual relationship.
If she could just find a sweet, humble, not shorter than herself man, then life would be perfect. Okay, maybe he could be a little shorter than her, but he’d have to have muscles to complement her figure.
And he’d have to be cool with her work schedule. Running a kitchen was a 24/7 job, which is why she had a penchant for sleeping with her coworkers. She sighed. This cycle had to stop.
Dani’s gaze darted back and forth, and then she pulled out her phone and opened up her dating app. Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left. Someone brushed by her back and she pulled her phone close. No one needed to know how pathetic she had gotten to be swiping at a wedding. When the coast was clear she made one more swipe.
“He’s cute,” said a deep accented voice behind her.
Mortified, Dani sat up and pulled her phone to her chest, ignoring the goose bumps his voice sent down her bare arms. Slipping her phone back in her purse, she slowly turned and met Toni’s amused steady gaze.
His hair was spiked like he’d been running his hand through it, but he still looked gorgeous.
“Stop sneaking up on me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said with a smirk. “Aren’t there enough eligible men here for you?”
They both turned when one of the more inebriated guests fell off his chair.
She chuckled and turned back to him, her gaze caught in the ripples of his chest as he too laughed.
“Um, No. And I’m not really looking for a guy, I was just having a drink before I went to bed.”
“What a coincidence. Me too.” He downed his whiskey and held up two fingers. “Bartender, two more.”
Dani held up her hands, then gestured toward the empty stool. “No, no, I’m not trying to be that guy.” But before she could slip away he leaned in so she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.
“Then how about we find more of that icing, and you can tell me which body parts you want me to lick it off of.”
Shock had her turning her head slowly, unsure if she had heard him correctly. His heavy-lidded gaze held hers and an explosion of sexual heat shot to the tips of her breasts, which were now diamond points, down to the V between her thighs, which felt on fire, and down her legs to the tips of her toes.
Time slowed and her heart pounded.
“It’s just one night,” he whispered, sensing her hesitation. “I’m going back to Milan tomorrow.”
“Milan? I didn’t know you were from Milan.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Without breaking eye contact, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed the warm skin, making every cell in her body shiver with unnamed desire. Suddenly nothing mattered but him.
“Let’s go,” she exhaled, hoping she had enough icing to cover him, as well.
Chapter 2 (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
They left the reception separately with a plan. Dani would grab the icing and meet Toni in his room, which sat ocean side on the ground floor of the resort.
Unfortunately Dani was out of icing, but they still had a case of Clos left and what better way to enjoy a $1700 bottle of champagne then before, during and after sex.
Dani was inside the walk-in pantry when two strong arms appeared by her temples.
“I got impatient.”
Toni was at her back, reaching over her to help keep the wine locker open and simultaneously kissing his way down the back of her neck.
“There is no more icing. I’m improvising.”
She pulled two bottles from the slats, and then backed into him to shut the door.
“I like how you think. Mmm, you smell like vanilla,” he said low against her nape. He was a solid wall of muscle and she shamelessly rubbed her body against him. His hands found their way over her hips and ran up her front to cup her breasts.
She struggled to keep hold of the bottles, feeling exposed to his roaming hands, and tightened her grip. Never would she waste such a beautiful bottle of wine, and never could she walk away from the pleasure this man was offering.
The briefest thought of Andre came and went, replaced by a sense of entitlement. She deserved to feel wanted and she was going to take what Toni was offering.
Toni spun her around and captured her mouth in a kiss so deep, so powerful, that Dani was instantly lost. She almost whimpered when he pulled back and took the bottles of champagne from her grip.
Her chest heaved as she leaned against the wine locker and watched him open one of the bottles with a loud pop. He held the bottle to his lips and exposed the strong column of his throat, and then he brought his mouth to hers.
The sweet wine trickled into her mouth as he nipped at her lips, biting softly at the sensitive flesh. He paused again, holding the opening to her lips. She closed her eyes and drank deeply, swallowing the fizzy elixir, thinking in some way she was taking him inside her.
When she opened her eyes, he was standing over her, his gaze fixed on the front of her dress. She arched her back in a sexy tease, and he groaned.
“Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno. You look beautiful in that dress, but it needs to come off.”
The pulsing between her legs got stronger at his words. His fingers traced the plunging U-shaped neckline of her dress, softly trailing the quivering flesh of her cleavage. He watched her face as he cupped her breast and ran a thumb over the small dots made by her straining nipples.
She ran a hand over his shoulder to cup the back of his head.
“We aren’t going to make it out of here, are we?”
He looked down at the front of his pants. Her mouth went dry at the straining outline of his erection. “I’m not sure I can walk.”
“Then do what you want to me, and the dress.”
His eyes flashed. Before she knew it, the bottles were discarded and he hiked her skirt up around her waist. Her breath left her body when Toni’s fingers ran up the back of her thighs to the naked flesh of her ass. He kneaded her backside with bold strokes, fingering her lacy panties, then pulled one of her legs up, pushing past the wisp of fabric.
Dani arched into his hand, grinding, wordlessly begging. The mound of his palm and his gentle kisses drove her into an insatiable frenzy.
Dani had always been conscious of her body when making love, but the way he was touching her, gazing at her, made her want to tear at her clothing until she was offered up to him naked and raw.
And she wanted him naked too.
She grabbed at his shirt and tore it open, soliciting a wicked smirk from him. Her fingers trailed over the crest-like tattoo on his left pectoral and found their way down his hard torso to cup the huge, hard shaft that was pressing against his tuxedo pants—she swallowed hard.
With her other hand, she forced his face to hers and plunged her tongue into his mouth. A collective moan came from beneath their kiss. He lifted his mouth from hers. “I want to see you,” he said in a low voice.
Dani turned around and felt Toni’s mouth on her nape as he slowly tugged down her zipper. He then took the opportunity to run his lips up and down her spine, causing her to lose her mind with need.
She slowly turned back around and let the dress slump down her shoulders and catch on the edge of her strapless bra. One small movement and the dress would hit the floor. He reached for the bunched up fabric, but she playfully slapped his hand away. He whimpered and she laughed. She liked teasing him. Liked being in control.
She reached for his open shirt and yanked it off his shoulders.
“I want to taste you,” she said, and then her lips and tongue found the strong pulse of his neck. He massaged her back, sending shock waves over her skin. In seconds, her strapless bra was on the floor, and his sure fingers wrenched at her dress, pulling it down over her hips in a flame-hot caress that ended with her lifted into his arms and her legs wrapped around him.
Wine bottles rattled as her back hit the wine locker. Toni widened his legs and wedged their bodies against the glass door. Dani reached for his belt as he brought his mouth to her breasts, licking and sucking at the sides of the soft, plump flesh.
Dani moaned, her hands full of Toni’s thick, sandy-colored hair, her head thrown back, her back arched. She pushed herself against him, unapologetic in her pursuit of pleasure, begging for the sweet agony of his onslaught.
“Patience,” he teased, taking her ample breasts into his hands. Reverently, he ran his thumbs lightly over the tight buds, then back again.
“Sei bella. You’re beautiful,” he said softly. His mouth found every square inch of her breasts, rising up from her rib cage to the sensitive tips of her nipples.
“Please,” she whimpered, her sounds of pleasure mingled with the jingle of the bottles. In answer, he carefully lowered her feet to the ground, and then he kissed his way down her body, taking her panties down her thighs and untangling them from her ankles.
He crumped the lace in his hand, looked into her eyes and brought the fabric to his nose.
“Vanilla and spice,” he groaned.
Suddenly, Toni’s head was between her legs, his hands on the back of her thighs and his tongue between her folds. “Yes,” she gasped, throwing her head back as pleasure so deep and raw sang through her body. She instinctively opened her legs up wider and pressed her hips up into his mouth. He held her firmly, laving her with long, slow strokes. She tangled her fingers into the hair on the top of his head and moved her hips in rhythm with his tongue.
Never had she been so hot for a man. Not even Andre had made her wild like this. She cupped her breasts and toyed with her nipples, enhancing what he was doing to her, unconcerned if someone discovered them.
“You taste better than the icing,” he said before he reached for her and brought her mouth to his. She tasted herself on his lips and felt her insides go liquid.
“Please, Toni,” she begged, her legs parting wider, her body searching for his. He ran his hands over her thighs and leaned just inches from her lips.
“Say it again.”
“Please.”
He licked his lips and shook his head. “No, my name.”
“Ton—” He took command of her lips before she finished. They were out of breath and trembling when he pulled back. “We’re going to finish this in my room. I want you in my bed. You have five minutes, or I come find you.” Dani blinked as he stepped back. Was he serious? His gaze roamed over her as he calmed his breath and righted himself, a hand forcefully adjusting the erection in his pants.
He swallowed hard. “Suite 102.” He took her panties from the floor and put them in his pocket. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, looking into her eyes.
The door closed behind him. She felt cold suddenly, and quickly put on her bra and her dress, zipping it up just enough to keep it on. Her heart still pounded as she slipped her shoes on, and when she walked out the door, a bottle of champagne in hand, she could feel the naked heat he’d left between her legs.
She stepped back into the kitchen and made her way past the bar where a few people still lingered. Her heels struck the walkway from the winery to the resort accommodations. She fingered the palm leaves that grew out into the pathway.
It wasn’t like her to sleep with someone she’d known for such a short time. She could go back to her room and avoid the morning after, she thought. But what fun would that be? She could still taste the whiskey that lingered on his kiss, and her nipples still ached against the satin of her dress. He’d started a fire within her, and she wanted him to put it out.
Room 102 marked a white door in gold letters. She raised her fist to lightly knock. Shirtless and eager, Toni ripped open the door and pulled her into his dimly lit room. She kept a tight grip on the bottle as he picked her up, to her delight, and plopped her on the bed.
Light music played and she caught a clean musky scent in the air. The room was similar to hers; king-size bed, large bay windows overlooking the ocean, and glass sliding doors.
He kissed her as he peeled her out of her dress and unsnapped her bra, his gaze flaring when her breasts tumbled out. In seconds she was naked and staring up at the angular planes of his handsome face.
Toni kissed her again, and then pulled back. “Now tell me what you want.”
She didn’t even have to think. Dani positioned her legs on either side of him. “I want you inside me.”
He thrust against her in answer. “I think I can handle that.”
Toni whipped his belt to the floor; at the same time Dani tore at his pant buttons. She ripped his pants down and she came out of her skin at the sight of him hard and throbbing in boxer briefs.
“Touch me,” he commanded low.
She cupped him, but it wasn’t enough. She reached inside the waistband and grasped him firmly, feeling how warm and ready he was to give her what she was almost begging for.
His head rolled back as she slowly stroked. “That’s good,” he breathed, his body a pillar of lean rigid muscle. Before he was too far gone, Toni gently cradled her face and pulled her up to meet his body. He nudged her knees apart and gazed down at her with heavy-lidded blue eyes. His fingertips ran down her slick folds, rubbing and sliding over her, making her moan and quiver.
“You are so beautiful. So sexy,” he breathed. Dani shuddered, her body ready for release.
“Now, Toni,” she panted. “Please.”
Toni reached past her and pulled a gold-foiled condom from atop the nightstand, quickly rolling the latex in place. Then all thoughts vanished when he palmed her thigh and slid deep inside her in one swift motion, thick, heavy and hard. Dani clawed at his shoulders as he pulled back slowly and drove home again, and again and again. She moaned as he continuously filled her, overwhelmed by his size and strength, but eager to take everything he was giving.
Dani undulated under him, coaxing rough grunts from him, nipping at his mouth with each thrust. Tremors wracked her, her legs falling open farther as he caged her with his body and slid in deeper. Dani felt her muscles clench around him and her heart started pounding out of her chest. She thrust up and held on to him as she came, vaguely aware of his lips on hers, and the sound of his rough cries against her mouth.
Chapter 3 (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
New York
One year later
“Service!” Dani screamed from behind the chef’s counter where she was meticulously preparing Andre’s special plate—veal shank with saffron infused risotto. The waitstaff within earshot paused at her shrill voice, then quickened their pace to grab the two entrées sitting idle under the heat lamp. She understood the confusion; technically she was “off,” allowing Michele, her sous-chef, a crucial step in his training—running a Friday night dinner service.
“Feel the rhythm of the kitchen, Michele. You’re behind, which makes them—” she pointed to the servers “—behind. Step it up.” The young man gave Dani a solemn nod and a “yes, Chef,” then barked his own orders.
Chef Andre Pierre may be the owner and famous face attached to the restaurant, but Dani had built the kitchen of Via L’Italy into a two-star Michelin rated powerhouse of culinary masterpieces, and wasn’t going to stop until she got a third star.
Of course, if she and Andre landed the TV show they pitched to the Food Network, she’d no longer be worrying about that star. The world would see her cooking beside Andre, instead of behind him. Ghost chef... Dani could barely stand the term. Andre was the great and powerful Oz of the culinary world, while she was the little guy behind the curtain making it all happen.
She had tried to leave and pursue her own restaurant once, but Andre increased her salary and made it worth her while to stay. When they got their first Michelin star, she got paid even more. On paper, she was successful. In real life, she felt like she was achieving none of her goals.
Dani no longer wanted to be a ghost chef in Andre’s kitchen, or in his bed. They’d become more public with their relationship, meaning some of the staff knew, but she still got the feeling Andre was fighting boyfriend status. Her schedule was more grueling than his and they never saw each other much outside of the restaurant. But they made sense together. Slowly but surely, Dani knew that Andre would one day see that they made a good team.
“Is that for Andre?” Michele said, his voice always turning a bit acid when he mentioned Andre’s name.
“Yes, I’m going to the office to cheer him up. He’s been sulking since he got back from the network. I’m nervous he got bad news.”
Dani slipped off her apron and ventured toward the dining room, skirting whizzing servers and bussers. All greeted her with a respectful “Chef.” Andre’s back office was empty. She passed by the storage alcove where the coats were lined and found a few had fallen from the rack. A muffled sound came from the closed storage door.
She moved forward, her hand on the knob when an audible moan was heard. He heart hammered, afraid to see what she knew was coming. Quietly she turned the knob. Andre was inside with Bette, their hostess. His back was to the door, pumping hard as she lay on the cluttered desk with her dress raised and her legs spread.
“You’re going to be a star, baby girl,” Andre gritted out in between thrusts.
The young hostess’s eyes were closed, and then they fluttered open and found Dani. The girl yelled in horror, which didn’t stop Andre’s furious thrusts until she hit at him and pushed away.
He was breathing heavily when he snapped his head around to gaze at Dani. The hostess shoved her dress down and scurried past Dani into the hallway. Andre’s shoulders slumped and he zipped up his pants. But what she saw in his eyes was not an apology. It was resignation. “I’m sorry you saw that. But what did you expect?”
Dani’s eyes narrowed. “I expected loyalty.”
“We never see each other. I can’t even remember when we kissed last.”
“We kissed this morning in bed.”
“That goodbye kiss you gave me at 4 a.m. when you went to the fish market?”
Dani took in a deep breath. “Your customers are loving the fish.”
“All you care about is the kitchen. Anywhere we go, anything we do, you end up at the kitchen.”
“This is a 24/7 job as you well know. And it’s not my kitchen, Andre, it’s your kitchen. I am doing this for us!”
“No, you’re not. Your focus, your drive...it’s for you, Dani. You have no insecurities in the kitchen.”
Insecurities? Dani’s hands perched on her full hips. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means all you think about is the kitchen. It’s where you have control.”
Dani rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to listen to psychobabble from a cheater and a liar. What she did need was to find out what happened at the network.
“And what about the show, Andre? Does that get thrown away along with our relationship too?”
“They want to do it—” he paused “—but they want someone else to cohost. Someone with a millennial appeal.” He had the decency to look apologetic.
“I’m thirty-three, Andre. I am a millennial.”
“They want someone...like...a model or something.”
“Ohhh, now I get it. I’m too fat to be on your show.”
He slowly shook his head. “It’s not my decision, Dani.”
She cut him off. “And who is going to cook for you? The model that... Wait a minute, is Bette going to be on the show?” If anyone wanted to be a star, it was that woman that ran out of the room with her skirt up.
Andre’s eyes hit the floor in answer.
“How long have you been screwing her?”
“Does it matter? We weren’t exclusive.”
She didn’t think her heart could sink any lower. She refused to cry, replacing the emotion with pure anger.
Andre’s voice turned to syrup. “Look, let’s be adults about this. The show still needs you. I still need you. She’ll be the face, but it will be your food. You’ll get paid more than her, I’ll see to that.”
Her gaze went hazy. He wanted her to be a ghost chef for his new girlfriend?
“Fuck you, Andre.” She threw the plate of food at his feet.
He jumped as it crashed and spilled, his gaze holding a challenge she wasn’t interested in meeting.
He was predictable. She mused that she had been waiting for this moment, and now that it had happened, she had a kitchen to run. She turned and let the door close behind her, muffling whatever rant he was shouting at her back. She no longer cared. Actually she felt relieved. Wondering when he would screw up was a drain.
Her mother had always told her she played the game of love wrong, that she loved the men more than they loved her. She had fallen in love with Andre, she thought.
Michele was waiting for her when she walked back into the kitchen. His eyes fixed on her face. Did he know? A quick glance around the room caught raised eyebrows and concerned gazes. Did everyone know?
“Everything all right, Chef?”
She nodded with a neutral expression, alluding to nothing. Images of Andre and the hostess flashed in her mind. The other woman stood at her post smiling, welcoming a couple and ushering them to their table. Her dress was in place and her makeup was flawless. The man checked out her size four frame as she walked.
Dani cringed, fighting the urge to pull Bette’s weave out in the dining room.
She decided to leave instead. Her presence was undermining Michele’s practice. This was his night, his initiation into the wonderful world of chefdom. Should she tell him he’ll never have a life? That his partner will get mad and leave him? Because running a kitchen was like being the head of a family, and you don’t abandon your family, not even for love.
Dani made busywork of tasting the sauces. She turned to find the pasta and almost walked straight into Andre.
Get out of my kitchen! She cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“Since my dinner is on the floor, I’d love a plate of...whatever.”
“Of course.” Dani loaded a plate with penne, then drizzled the garlic and oil. “I suggest a white wine with this.”
Andre looked at her for a long moment, and then scanned the room of staff that were working and simultaneously watching under their lids.
“Thank you.” He nodded, then jammed a fork into the pasta and into his mouth. “Mmm” came from his throat. Then his face scrunched. “That’s too much garlic.”
A tidal wave of anger hit her.
“How dare you come into my kitchen and insult this food! Do you have any idea what I have done for you? Do you think you could have made two stars with that bull you were serving three years ago? You would have been closed had it not been for me!” Her voice cracked. The staff stilled. She grabbed the plate from his hands and tossed it on the counter. “I hope she was worth it,” Dani spit.
Dani turned on her heel and found her bag under the counter. Then she stomped to the wall and grabbed her coat. She hugged Michele and held him at arm’s length. “Michele, you’re ready.” Dani had to look away when his face drained of all color. He’d be fine. They all would. She trained them well.
She stepped toward the door but stopped when she saw movement in the dining room. It was Bette, opening a bottle of wine, laughing with a young couple. Dani found herself next to the hostess, startling the girl midpour.
“Your pour should be just less than half the glass.” Dani grabbed the stem of the glass and tossed the ruby liquid in the girl’s face. Her squeal mingled with the collective gasp of the room. Rivulets of red dripped from her chin. “See, too much.” Dani set the glass down in front of the gawking couple and executed a perfect pour, then held it up. “Now, this is a glass of wine.” Dani splashed the second glass in Bette’s face, this time hitting the dinner guests.
“You fat bitch!” The girl’s tears were pink.
Dani shivered with rage at the word. “I’d rather be fat and smart, than skinny and stupid.”
Andre appeared, wrenching the wineglass from Dani’s hand and apologizing over and over to the couple.
“He’s all yours,” Dani said to the girl.
Dani felt the eyes of the room as she marched toward the front door. Skirting waiting couples, she pushed through the door and hailed a cab downtown, watching the city smear by.
She walked into her apartment like seeing it for the first time. It was a mess, like her life. She picked up her phone and dialed Nicole, but got no answer. Then Liz, again no answer, but a text came through saying she was on a date and would call later. Her father, a fashion photographer turned tattoo artist, was backpacking through Asia. She scrolled through her phone and stopped at Mom. Her thumb hesitated. It was almost ten at night in LA. She was sure her mother would be getting ready for bed, if not in bed already. The woman had a regimen stricter than a marine. Dani dialed, sure her mother wouldn’t pick up.
She’s not going to answer, Dani thought, debating if she should hang up. Maybe it was a sign, emotional conversations with her mother didn’t usually make her feel better. She’d thrown that tidbit in her mother’s face once during an argument, to which her mother had calmly replied, I’m not like other mothers.
The second her mother answered, the tears she was holding back slid down her face in hot streaks. “Mom,” she choked out.
“Danica, you know I’m about to go to bed. I need twelve hours or...” She paused. “What on earth—” A half sigh. “Are you crying?”
It was the exasperated sigh that pulled Dani from her fetal position on the couch. She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose with a tissue, then took a calming breath. Her mother never stood for such theatrics, even though she was still the most dramatic woman Dani had ever known.
“Yes.” Dani swallowed. “It’s been a rough night.” Dani heard rustling in the background and imagined her mother in a face mask and silk head wrap resting in her king-size bed.
Although her mother was still considered a supermodel, at fifty-five years old—sixty-five if you paid attention to birth certificates—Francesca Watts was rarely offered work anymore, but she still treated every night like she was waking for a photo shoot the next day.
“Well, do I have to guess what happened or are you going to tell me?”
“I quit the restaurant.”
“Good, now you can start your own. I’m sure Daddy would give you the money.” Dani noted that her mother didn’t offer. She also wasn’t sure either of them had that type of cash just lying around anymore.
Dani sniffed. “That’s not all.” Dani made it through the abbreviated story of her breakup with Andre without another wave of tears.
“He wasn’t strong enough for you, dear, I told you that. Not many men can handle women like us.”
It was the same thing she said to Dani after her father had left and moved back to Sweden. Dani began to think the call was a mistake.
“Mother, just once I’d appreciate a little sympathy. I just want a virtual hug and for you to tell me it’s going to be okay.”
“Well, if you had moved to California with me instead of choosing to be nearer to your father, then I’d be able to hug you in person and do all of that.”
“That is not the reason I stayed, Mother. I chose my career over the both of you—it just happened to be in New York.”
“And now you’re crying.”
“There is no correlation.” Dani quelled her rising voice and shook her head. “God, why can’t we have a conversation like normal people?”
“Normal people?” her mother sneered. “We are not normal. Normal people aren’t Michelin-starred chefs, Danica. I made love to David Bowie, for God’s sake.”
Dani chuckled as she cringed, feeling a little better. Her mother actually sounded proud of her. “Please, I can’t handle that story now.”
“Yes. Yes. Now stop this crying. Did you get the dress I sent you?”
“It’s too small.”
“Well, did you gain more weight?”
And that lovely feeling came crashing down. “I don’t know, Mother, I don’t weigh myself on a daily basis like you do.”
“Well, that designer runs a bit bigger, I thought it would fit.”
“I’m fat, Mother, get over it.”
“You’re not fat, you’re full figured. Lots of women would kill for your hourglass shape. Women are paying thousands of dollars to achieve your natural breast size, my dear. But now that you’re done with that backbreaking job you can go back to Pilates.”
Her mother’s personal trainer had almost killed her one summer. She’d only lost a pound.
“No, thanks.” Dani sipped a glass of wine, trying to ignore the fact that her mother still thought of her as someone who just needed to work out a little more and poof, she’d be a size four. “She called me fat.”
“Who did?”
“The hostess Andre is cheating with.”
“And did you tell that hood rat that she was just a sex toy?”
Dani laughed then. She knew her mother had issues about her weight, but she never allowed another person to say so.
“I’m glad you’re laughing. Now, pull yourself up and take one step forward. You’ll figure out what to do. I have to go.”
Dani frowned. “Early breakfast with that old Persian billionaire?”
“No, darling, that ended months ago. I’m on my way to Milan tomorrow.”
At the mention of Milan, Toni’s firm lips and lean body popped into her mind. She ran a hand over her hair and shook the vision away. “Oh. Why?”
“I’m in a campaign for Chanel. Ageless, timeless, something or other. It was a cat fight between Naomi and me, God forbid they have two African American models in the campaign, but they chose me.” She waited a beat. “I was the first black model to walk in Paris, you know.”
Dani knew. She’d heard all of her mother’s groundbreaking stories. Had seen all of the pictures of her slim, satin-skinned mother gracing magazine covers.
Her mother’s success had been a series of highs and lows, with more and more lows as the gracefully aging beauty got older.
“That’s great, Mom. Why didn’t you mention anything?”
“You know how this goes. I’ll get there and they may not even use me.”
“So it’s like a test thing?”
“Mmm...something like that.”
Dani couldn’t imagine the blow to her mother’s ego. It was a go-see. An audition.
“They’ll be idiots not to use you.”
“Yes. They would.” Her mother seemed to hesitate. “Would you like to come? It’s been a while since we were in Milan together. I can get us a suite at the Baglioni.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“Well...yes. Why not? You’re not working.” Dani blinked, intrigued, but unsure if that was a good idea. The last time Dani had been invited to one of her mother’s shows had been during Milan Fashion Week when she was eight. The nanny canceled and the hotel staff couldn’t watch her, so her mother had to take her along.
You do not make noise or speak, Francesca had insisted in the limo to the photo shoot. I’m going to put you in my dressing area. And if anyone asks you who you are, you do not say a word. You run and hide. They might think you’re a homeless Italian child and just leave you alone.
But I want to see the cameras.
No. Francesca had sent her a look that could melt steel.
Why?
Because your mother needs to protect her image. Dani hadn’t known what that meant, she’d just known Mom meant business.
As the pair ran unnoticed into the dressing room, Dani thought of the whole thing as a game. But when Dani had laughed a little too loud, she had seen that look on her mother’s face and shut it down. Dani didn’t know how long she had been in the dressing room by herself, but the thought of the cameras was too enticing. She’d tiptoed behind some tall equipment in her little Keds and ran into a king’s spread of food. Sandwiches, cheeses, grapes and...cookies!
Dani was stretched over the lip of the table when her mother’s makeup artist had found her with her fingers curled around a macaroon.
Bella? Dov’è tua madre? Dani had turned to run but she knocked over a microphone stand. Francesca, do you know this child? I asked her where is her mother, but I think she’s mute.
Heads swiveled between Dani and her mother. The little girl flinched when Francesca’s eyes sparked with split-second rage. Her mother turned to her makeup artist.
Robbie, do I look like I’ve had a child?
Roberto waved his brushes in the air. Of course not. I doubt your baby would be so...robust.
The room laughed.
That is just baby weight, her mother had quipped, but... I’m sure she must be with one of the production managers or something. She’d narrowed her eyes at Dani. Would you like an autograph, sweetie? How about you sit quietly in my chair over there and I’ll give you one when I’m done. Okay?
Roberto had left Dani by the table. You are so charitable, Francesca.
I try to give back whenever I can, Robbie.
Never would Dani forget that day, or ask to go to work with her mother again. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, maybe this time it would be fun.
“You’ll be able to see Marcello,” Francesca sighed. Dani heard the jealous sound of her mother’s voice. Not long after Dani’s first and last time going to a photo shoot, her mother again couldn’t find a sitter, and dropped Dani off in the hotel restaurant.
Chef Marcello Farina, her old mentor and owner of three-Michelin-star rated Via Carciofo where she trained, had found her in the corner, put her in a white coat and gave her odd jobs around the kitchen. She had loved it. Marcello was like a second father, and probably the reason she was a chef.
“Just say yes already. I have to sleep,” Dani’s mother said at the tail end of a yawn.
Maybe talking to Marcello would give her some perspective, Dani thought. What could it hurt? “Okay, I’ll go.”
Chapter 4 (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
New York
Toni sank into the back seat of the car service and watched out the window as they sped up the West Side Highway. The call he’d gotten from Louis, the manager of his Upper West Side warehouse, had been frantic, making it necessary for him to interrupt his trip to JFK Airport. He checked his Omega timepiece and estimated that he had a little over an hour to fly standby on the next flight.
Street vendors doled out coffee to groggy workers while children were dragged by the hand into prestigious-looking school buildings. It was a sharp contrast to the slick glittering nightlife where the drinks were just as cool as the people. He sighed, disappointed that he had to cut his trip short.
He’d called his daughter yesterday to wish her a good night and found that his ex-wife had left Sophia home alone again. Yes, at thirteen years old his daughter could take care of herself, but it was the way she was taking care of herself that worried him. A boy had answered Sophia’s phone when he’d called.
Since he’d moved out over a year ago, she stayed with him every other week, which gave him limited glimpses into her life. The weeks she was with him she was an angel—if teenagers could ever be angels. She was safe and out of trouble at least. But the weeks with her mother, like this week, had become increasingly problematic. He blamed it on Ava’s new boyfriend and her penchant for going out more than staying home.
The second the call picked up he’d heard a chorus of “shhhs” followed by the lowering of music. She had been having a party. Girlfriends doing makeup and watching movies, he presumed. Then a deep voice said her name. He recalled the conversation like it was happening all over again.
“Papà?” Her voice was apprehensive.
“Why is a boy answering your phone?”
“He was just being stupid, Papà. It’s not what you think.”
“It better not be what I think, Sophia. Where’s your mother?”
“Um—” giggles in the background “—upstairs in the bath?”
“Go get her.”
“She’ll be mad if I interrupt.”
“Stop lying to me. I’m calling her right now.”
“No, don’t! Okay, she’s not here. She’s out with Bruno. But she’ll be back later. I’m fine.”
“Who is there watching you?”
“I don’t need a chaperone, Papà. It’s just a few friends, we’re watching a scary movie.”
“You hate scary movies.”
“Not anymore.” He bet that boy just loved scary movies.
“I want everyone out of that house and I’m sending Nonna to check on you,” he said over her whining protests. “I’m coming home tomorrow and we are going to discuss this with your mother when I get back.”
After a quick call to his mother, she agreed to drive the twenty minutes from her country home into the city. He sent a scathing text to Ava and received no response. Yeah, the three of them were going to have a serious sit-down when he got home. Toni sighed his frustration just as the car pulled into the shipping lot behind the warehouse. He jumped out and quickly crossed to the large building.
Toni heard the echo of the argument the minute he walked through the freight entrance. Skirting trucks and small forklifts, he propped his bags on a tall stack of wine crates and shouted hello to the operations manager, who stopped his crate packing and jerked his head in the direction of the commotion. Toni quickened his pace to the front of the store.
Andrea Gomez of Star restaurant group had shown up expectantly without an appointment and, by the way her voice was rising, seemingly irate. Toni stopped just at the threshold to button his suit jacket, then realized with a sigh that he wasn’t wearing it, opting for only a navy T-shirt and trousers for his trip back to Milan.
He debated running back to the town car sitting idle in the shipping lot, then thought against it. There was no time. He needed to catch that earlier flight, needed to get home to his daughter. A shrill female voice pulled him over the threshold into their show and tasting room.
“Do you hear what I’m saying? I’ll pay retail if I have to, just get me something that won’t embarrass me!” Andrea’s hair was wild and she had both of her hands on the counter as if she was going to jump over it. The wineglasses lined up on the tasting bar trembled, as did Louis, who had taken a step back and was clutching the bottle in his hand like a life raft.
“Andrea,” Toni said, his arms wide and voice jubilant, making sure to pronounce her name with extra Italian flair. “On-drea-uh,” a sexier spin on the American “Ann-dree-uh.” He kissed her on both cheeks.
“Antonio! Oh, I had no idea you were in town.” Andrea immediately straightened and jammed her fingers through her hair.
Louis visibly relaxed.
“When I heard you were here, I had to come. You look ravishing.” Andrea’s lids fluttered and she shifted nervously in her big coat, sweatpants and Uggs. It was almost 10 a.m. and Toni could only assume Andrea was not having a good morning.
Toni took her shaky hand in his, steadying her erratic behavior and demonstrating that the drunken kiss she’d laid on him several months ago at a wine conference in Verona did nothing to harm their business relationship. Not that he would have minded a night with her, but he never mixed business with pleasure. “I was only here a few days. I’m on a flight back this morning. Now, bella, what has happened that has you in such a state?” He was laying it on thick, but if he was going to get this done in ten minutes, he needed her attention.
“I’m hosting a wedding tonight for the mayor’s daughter at John-Duc and those Figgertons sent me cases of spoiled wines. They are like vinegar! This is the mayor’s daughter—it could ruin me!” Andrea’s face reddened with every word.
Toni knew the Figgertons well. A distributor of self-proclaimed “elegant” wines from smaller less known vineyards. Which appealed to a hipster sensibility of indie winemaking, but Toni knew it really meant the wines were less traceable, amateur at best and definitely not worth the price he knew Andrea had paid.
“You know I would have come to you, Toni, but she’s a vegan hippie and insisted on small vineyards, as if this woman knows anything about wine, and—”
Toni stopped her and urged her to take a deep breath. His specialty was in fine wines from more established vineyards, vintners he knew personally. All had a reputation for the highest quality grapes, rich terroir, flawless production and generations of knowledge. It was a combination you could actually taste.
And as their distributor, he made sure they got the price they deserved. Discounts were for the Figgertons.
She was looking at him with doe eyes, as if she wanted to apologize for going somewhere else. It didn’t bother him that she didn’t come to him first. In fact, he was elated that he found an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Toni was personally representing his friend’s rebuilt winery in Brazil. Getting it in front of the mayor could be excellent for business.
“Louis, bring the Deschamps.”
“But, sir—”
“I know, Louis. Let’s have a taste.” Louis darted to the back and Toni watched Andrea’s gaze travel down his front. He inwardly urged Louis to hurry.
“So.” Andrea stepped forward, letting her coat fall open to reveal a white low-cut T-shirt, with a tiny coffee stain on the front. “How have you been?”
Louis had a new glass on the bar and a bottle of Deschamps Cab Franc open and poured in seconds. Andrea looked at the bottle, then at Antonio.
“This is a Deschamps. I can’t do a fine wine, the bride will never go for it.”
“This one is from the smaller biodynamic vineyard in Brazil.”
Andrea gasped. “Didn’t they have a fire?”
“Yes, but they have risen out of the ashes like a phoenix. Taste it.” Toni leaned in as she lifted the glass to her lips. “There is a story in that wine any hippie would love.”
Andrea swallowed and tried to hide her satisfaction, a tactic he knew she used for negotiation, but Toni had seen the pleasure in her eyes. She signaled for one more taste, which Toni approved by a slight nod.
“Hmm,” was all she said as she stared at the bottle. The forest green label etched in gold writing with trademarks and family seals meant...cha-ching.
Andrea was still trying to play it cool, but her Uggs were shifting. “Is this all you have to show me?”
“Of course not, but I think it’s what you need to make your bride happy.”
“How much is in the back?”
“Enough for a wedding of, say, four hundred.” Louis began to fidget, wide-eyed.
“Price?”
Toni stepped forward, his smile on full wattage. “Bella, for you? I’ll make you a deal.”
Minutes later Toni was in the back grabbing his bags. The pit stop ran later than expected, but he still might be able to just make his flight. He breezed by his operations manager. “Marco that entire palate goes to Jean-Duc on Park Avenue right now.” Marco and his staff stopped packing the crate and frowned.
Louis skidded to a halt. “But we are shipping this to Bagatelle Miami tonight! And we have none left in the other warehouses.”
“I’ll call Destin, Louis. We’ll ship straight from his cellar in Brazil. I’ll call you later.”
Toni climbed into the car and shut the door, nodding at Louis’s anxious wave. He’d just sold more than expected of his friend’s wines and made a fortune on the up-charge he slid by Andrea. He should be happy, but all he could think about was getting home.
With literally minutes to spare, Toni stepped onto the boarding dock and heard the doors close behind him. Someone upstairs was looking after him today. He found his seat in first class and then placed his laptop bag on the floor, along with the several gifts he bought for Sophia.
“Coffee?” He took the cup and thanked the stewardess, then settled into the leather seat. He was about to put in his earbuds when a gray sweatshirt landed in the empty seat and he heard a soft thank-you to his right. A woman was standing by the seat, her arms extended as she rummaged in the overhead compartment. Her generous breasts quivered under her V-neck T-shirt which was tucked into a pair of high-waisted jeans.
Toni unfolded himself carefully from his seat, about to offer his help, when the woman slammed the compartment shut. He dragged his gaze from the curve of her hips in anticipation of seeing her face. He was met with large black sunglasses and a waterfall of dark hair that fell into her face and past her shoulders.
He folded himself back into his seat, still on alert if she needed anything. He decided to mind his own business, when a light pleasant fragrance teased his nose. From the corner of his eye he could see her twisting her hair into a ponytail, lifting her torso and chest up and out, and he found himself captivated. What was it about the way a woman moved?
Feeling like a pervert, he grabbed his coffee, only to glance back when he noticed her looking his way. She smiled. He smiled back, and then the pilot began to speak and the cabin readied for takeoff. The woman was lovely, but his thoughts had traveled to mocha-colored skin and floral tattoos. An occurrence that happened randomly and more frequently as the months went by. He assumed it was because his personal life had become a source of frustration. Dating wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. He mused that he was no longer just looking for love; he was looking for a life partner. Stability. One who could also love his daughter and deal with his ex. It raised the stakes, and kind of killed the romance of it all.
When had love gotten so complicated? And when had he become so jaded? The old him would be flirting with his flight companion, instead he was avoiding her eyes.
The small cries of Dani’s orgasm rang in his ear and he downed another sip of his coffee He wished he could have seen her during this trip to New York City. He’d gotten in three days of work and a few visits to his favorite haunts, but today had been the day he looking forward to the most. He’d made his reservation at Via L’Italy months ago. Yes, it was one of the best restaurants in the city, but he was more interested in seeing Danica again and that was where she worked. He smiled as his thoughts drifted to their delicious night of champagne and sex almost a year ago. Waking up alone the next morning had been a jolt to his ego, but he wouldn’t change a thing about that night.
There’d been no rhyme or reason for his planned visit. He understood that she could be seeing someone, hell, he’d been dating quite a bit, but his intentions were not to have another one-night stand. He just wanted to see her.
Unfortunately he had to skip that reservation.
Toni began to feel very tired then. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Ava when he got home, not that she’d listen, but he had hours to figure it out.
Toni fished his phone from his pocket to turn it off and found three messages from his mother. Each was an update on their new restaurant project Via Olivia, a farm-to-table dining experience just outside of Milan, along with a list of things he needed to accomplish when he got back.
For generations, his family has been in the wine and restaurant business. There were no titles or job descriptions, just his mother, the matriarch of their large family, telling everyone what to do. If you were in the family, you worked for the family. Strangely enough it was successful. Lorenzetti restaurant group owned several restaurants throughout Italy, including a three-Michelin-starred restaurant in the center of Milan run by his uncle.
Although Toni had his wine business, he was also an active partner in the restaurant group. While he had a small stake in all of the restaurants, this new venture had been his idea. Five years of landscaping, gardening, designing the perfect villa, he had invested a lot of time and money into making it a success. And with his uncle overseeing the menu, Toni knew it would be fantastico. Just a week or two now and they would be open.
He quickly texted his mother back, then balked at the last text that came through.
Ava still hadn’t arrived home.
Toni turned off his phone and pinched his nose, praying the plane could make warp speed.
Chapter 5 (#u80bdb5eb-d2e3-5c2e-b5c4-843c38fad8c7)
Milan
Dani arrived at the Baglioni Hotel Carlton in the early morning but her mother had already left for work. A little jet-lagged, she ordered up a sizable pot of coffee and some pastries to the two-bedroom suite, then unpacked her toiletries and an outfit for the day. After some digging in her bursting bag, she hung up a dress in the closet for later, then decided that unpacking the rest of her bag could wait.
The rainfall shower in the black marble spa bathroom made her seven-hour red-eye worth it. She began to feel like a human again as the water slid over her skin. Milan. She hadn’t been back in years, not because she didn’t want to, but because running a kitchen in New York had proven as consuming as Chef Marcello had promised. Knowing Marcello was working, she planned to surprise him later that night and maybe get some life advice too.
Dani toweled off and let the high-thread-count towels caress her skin, lingering over her sensitive breasts as images of Toni Lorenzetti naked and thrusting into her took over her thoughts. Even as she and Andre had committed to each other—she’d thought—flashbacks of Toni were a spontaneous occurrence that she couldn’t help. Someone would smile and she’d see Toni. A tall man would walk through the door at the restaurant, she’d see Toni. She’d hear an accent, any accent. Toni. She chalked it up to the great sex because what other explanation could there possibly be?
He was here in Milan, she thought. She exited the bathroom and sat on the bed, running complimentary lotion over her legs. The soft duvet reminded her of the duvet they’d had no use for in Brazil. She’d woken up groggy from the champagne, her body aching from the high-octane sex, and warm from the humidity of the air and the heat of his body. She had slid from underneath his heavy arm, almost tripped over the pile of sheets on the floor, found her clothes and tiptoed out the door, and back to reality.
You could call it a walk of shame, but she hadn’t been ashamed. It had been a perfect night and she didn’t want the memories ruined by an awkward morning after. So she had left without saying goodbye to Toni Lorenzetti.
Which was why now, even in his gorgeous city, she wouldn’t be saying hello.
Dani put on her robe and strolled out onto the terrace overlooking Via della Spiga, one of the best shopping streets in the city. Designer logos on the buildings glittered and beckoned while severely fashionable men and women were already on the streets. A woman in camel-colored leather pants strolled by. Dani felt envy prickle her chest; they probably didn’t even make those in her size.
She hugged her robe closer, remembering that everyone in Milan looked and dressed like a supermodel. She recalled the suits hanging in Toni’s room—Cavalli, Brioni, Armani, all custom. She shook her head at the obsessive thoughts of a man she hadn’t seen in almost a year. She could see him with the girl wearing the leather pants, not with her. She was not fashionable, nor was she a supermodel. She was just a chef.
Or at least she used to be.
After a light lunch in the lobby, Dani strolled the marble streets, visited the La Scala theater, awed at the sidewalks filled with busy café seating and strolled by the cathedral—which always took her breath away.
Dani texted her mother to join her at Via Carciofo, but her mother was already on her way to dinner with Chanel’s people. That was a good sign. So Dani put on her black lace dress and her heels and ordered a car to the restaurant.
It had been almost eight years since Dani had worked as a sous-chef at Via Carciofo. It was still the most beautiful restaurant she had ever seen. Tucked away in a secluded courtyard of one of Milan’s oldest hotels, vine-covered stone columns hid the small stairs that led to the mezzanine patio where twenty tables were perfectly staged with tea lights, white roses and fine china.
Back there time didn’t exist, hence the ambiguous hours of operation—open at dusk. The lack of time limits only enhanced the romance. Reservations were recommended and hard to come by. Once you booked a table, it was yours for the night, no matter what time you got there. And the kicker? There was no menu.
Upon securing a reservation the hostess noted any allergies or preferences. Once recorded, Chef designed a seven-course prix fixe menu of his choosing paired perfectly with two to three wine recommendations. She had never seen one dish come back to the kitchen. In this space, eating was purely for pleasure.
Dani’s heels clicked up the stone steps and she breathed in the fragrant pastel-colored lilies that lined the entrance. Easter was in a couple weeks and she made a mental joke that what she gave up for lent was her job. She slowed, wondering what to say to Marcello. How do you tell your mentor that you’ve given up on life?
The hostess was gracious when Dani told her she was just visiting Marcello and turned down her offer to be announced. Dani wanted her visit to be a surprise. She walked past the tables, glancing around to see if she recognized any of the servers. She didn’t. Then she looked for Wendall, the maître d’hôtel of almost forty years, but he was nowhere to be found. Strange. He never left the dining floor.
Reaching the bar, she ordered a drink and asked the bartender to tell Marcello someone had a complaint. Game for a prank, the bartender went to the back. She smiled, anticipating Marcello’s blustering red face. She heard a muffled crash of pots and pans and envisioned Marcello yelling at his staff. She smirked. She’d felt that rage and had given it to her own staff many times.
She turned to the packed tables to see if anyone else had heard. She saw only smiles and laughter while a bar back went table-to-table lighting the tea candles.
An audible shout came from behind the bar. Dani put down her drink and leaned over the bar. She spied someone sprint past the windows in the double doors. Something was wrong.
Dani pushed through the double doors. The wall of heat that assaulted her was forgotten when she saw the kitchen staff gathered around Marcello, who was laying supine on the floor in the bartender’s arms. His right hand held his left arm close to him and his face was scrunched with pain.
Wendall stood to the side with a phone to his ear speaking in urgent Italian. Dani’s Italian was rusty but she recognized the word for hospital.
“Signora, please. You cannot be in here.” One of the staff came forward. Dani ignored him, trying to get her head around the fact that the man that had once been like a father to her was having a heart attack.
Amid quizzical looks, she dropped her clutch and dropped to her knees, taking Marcello’s free hand.
“Marcello. It’s Dani,” she whispered through budding tears. He’d aged the superficial way men do. His hair was thinner and had turned white, but his face held few wrinkles.
Marcello pried his eyes open and they widened in recognition. His mouth hung slack with breaths and grunts. Dani could see him straining to speak, but he couldn’t form the words. Medics burst through the back door.
Dani backed away as they huddled around Marcello armed with medical supplies. In seconds his black chef’s coat was ripped open and monitors were attached to his chest. Dani feared the worst and wrung her hands as she prayed a silent prayer.
Servers came through the kitchen doors and stalled. No one moved as Marcello was strapped to a gurney and hooked to an oxygen tank. His eyes drifting open then closed. Dani watched the deep movement of his chest as they began to wheel him away.
As they passed by her, his arm shot out and swung at the air between them. She stepped forward, grasping his hand. His other pulled at the face mask.
“Per favore, I think he wants to say something,” Dani shouted.
“Cuh...Cuh...” Marcello stuttered.
“Chef, stay calm. I’m coming to the hospital.”
“Nuh.” Marcello shook his head. “Kit-en.”
Dani frowned. Kittens? “Marcello, put your mask back on. We can talk later at the hospital.”
Marcello rapidly shook his head and a medic stepped forward.
“Step back, signora. We must get him to the hospital.”
She did as she was told, watching the pointed look in Marcello’s eyes. The medics were quick to restrain him and the mask was placed back on his face, but not before she heard him speak one last time.
“Kitchen.”
The man was staring death in the face and he was concerned about the kitchen?
Wendall did a double take as he followed the gurney out the back door. “Danica? Oh, Dani! My God, it’s so good to see you.” He ran over and gave her a quick hug. When he pulled back, tears sprang to his eyes. “They are taking him to Milan General. I must go with him. Please, find Gianni, the sous-chef. Please!”
“Go. I’ll find him.”
Just as quickly as they arrived, the medics and Wendall departed, leaving Dani and the staff bereft in their wake.
No one moved. The hostess cried. The line cooks blinked. The waitstaff were gaping from inside the double doors.
A burnt smell filled the room. Dani looked around and saw filets burning. Pots boiled over. A steak was sitting idle on a plate under the heat lamps. Vegetables lay midchop.
Kitchen.
Dani looked around the room for the sous-chef, who would be attired in black just as Marcello was, but she only saw white coats.
“Which one of you is the sous-chef?”
Heads swiveled, but no one came forward. She asked again, this time in her choppy Italian. “And get those fillets off the burners. Now.” A line cook jumped.
The hostess came out of her stupor and raised her voice.
“Start shutting down. There will be no more service tonight. I’ll inform our guests that we will be closed for the unforeseeable future and—”
“You will do no such thing,” Dani interrupted.
“Signora, it seems you are a friend of the chef, but—”
“But nothing. Chef wants this kitchen open. And it will stay open. You have a room full of people out there expecting a Marcello Farina dining experience. Chef put his blood, sweat and tears into this restaurant. I’m not going to let you ruin that. I practically grew up in this kitchen, and I’m happy to stay and help. Now, where is your sous-chef?”
“Yes, where is Gianni?” the hostess asked the room.
“He’s on break in the cellar,” someone shouted.
“I’ll get him,” the hostess said, turning to leave. Dani stopped her.
“No, I’ll get him. I know where it is.” Dani had taken many breaks herself in the basement pantry. “You go out there and keep our guests happy.”
The hostess gave Dani a wary look, then walked through the double doors.
“Start two new fillets and put a steak on the fly. I’ll be right back.”
Dani marched down the short hallway to the fridge, her mind racing with how to explain who she was and what happened to Marcello. She hoped the sous-chef could handle taking over the kitchen for a night. Or several nights if needed.
The cool air of the cellar was like a balm on her skin and she surveyed the frigid cuts of meat as she found her way around the shelving to the back.
“Ciao? Hello?” she called out. “Gianni? Oh, scusa,” she apologized; startled when she found him bent over a rack. At first she thought he was gathering food, and then she saw the thin white line spread on the shelf and noticed the same powder dusted on his black coat.
He pinched his nose and looked at her quizzically. “Scusami. Are you lost?”
Dani blinked, trying to keep a lid on her emotions. If this were her kitchen, he’d be fired. And she doubted Marcello knew about this man’s habits or he wouldn’t be wearing that coke-dusted jacket.
But she didn’t have time for morals and ethics. What she needed was a chef. Quickly she explained who she was and what happened, with Gianni seeming genuinely concerned. Yet he balked when she asked him to run the kitchen, but then reluctantly agreed.
Gianni sweat bullets as he looked at the backup of orders. An erratic waitress burst into the kitchen needing her meals, her table was becoming belligerent. Then the hostess followed, with more problems.
“The key to the wine cellar is missing. I think Wendall had it.” Dani knew that was where they kept the most expensive wines. What a disaster.

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