Undercover Lovers Read online

  Undercover Lovers

  Dee Carney

  Chloe Cole

  Cari Quinn

  Dee Tenorio

  Copyrights

  eBooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of these works.

  This book is an original publication of the four authors who authored the stories herein contained.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  “Undercover Lovers” Published by Christine Bell at Smashwords.

  “Consumed” by Dee Carney copyright © 2011 by Dee Carney.

  “Conned” by Chloe Cole copyright © 2011 by Christine Bell.

  “Conquered” by Cari Quinn copyright © 2011 by Carolynn Harrigan.

  “Convicted” by Dee Tenorio copyright © 2011 by Darlene Tenorio.

  Cover Art by Laideebug Digital

  www.laideebugdigital.com

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Table of Contents

  Consumed by Dee Carney

  Conned by Chloe Cole

  Conquered by Cari Quinn

  Convicted by Dee Tenorio

  Consumed

  By

  Dee Carney

  Dedication

  To Christine, Cari and Dee T. Twitter has never been livelier than during the creation of this project. You ladies are awesome.

  Chapter One

  For the first time in almost fourteen years as a chef, August Jaeger forgot the name of the dish he was serving. Christ, it was his design, his creation, yet the honey brown eyes staring up at him seized the words right off the tip of his tongue. “F-for your p-pleasure, Madame,” he stuttered instead.

  With practiced elegance, he deposited the tray on the intimate table set for two and designed for close conversation. On any other night he despised the forced duty of making rounds among the patrons, but tonight he’d stopped next to heaven in heels.

  He studied her face, amazed at his immediate reaction to her. In a crowd, she might not have stood out, especially if she’d worn a t-shirt and jeans. But tonight, she’d come attired in a black wrap dress that clung to every curve of her ample body.

  August loved curves on a woman.

  And he’d noticed hers.

  “Oh! You’re…”

  “August Jaeger at your service, Madame.” He tilted his chin toward the tray. “A complimentary amouse-bouche?”

  Even in the dim candlelight, he saw the deep flush on rounded cheeks. “Thank you, Aug…mist…Chef. I would have never expected this at all. You. At my table! I mean, you’re like a rock star and really good looking and wow, I cannot believe I just said that out loud and somebody shut me up now, please.” Surprisingly slender fingers reached for nearby stemware. “I need a drink,” she mumbled.

  August found himself enthralled and a rush of boldness traveled through him. Someone had removed the other place setting, so it looked like she was dining alone. “Would it be impolite to ask if I may join you?”

  “Now?” she squeaked.

  While biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, he raised his hand, two fingers extended, not bothering to check if anyone noticed his summons. Every server on duty and every person at the hostess station followed his movement when he came into the dining room. He wasn’t the only one who despised his presence there.

  “If you wouldn’t mind the company.” She’d better not mind. He wanted to drink her in with his eyes until full. “Madame,” he added after a pause.

  “Saffron.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My name is Saffron Burton. So, Saffron, please.”

  He gave her an indulgent incline of his head. “Saffron…so unusual. So pretty.” The way the word rolled off his tongue made his mouth water. “You must call me August.”

  Please. He wanted to hear her say his name. Not just as part of everyday conversation, but in a throaty, breathy, on the verge of an orgasmic scream kind of way.

  Why the hell he felt like this for a woman he’d only first seen minutes ago, he couldn’t say, but he had no plans on pursuing the question.

  “Chef?” Vicky, one of his best servers—and one of the more tolerable ones—sidled up to the table, pen and pad in hand. He actually liked her.

  “Please bring the bottle of whatever Miss Burton is drinking to the table. Also, ask Edmond to prepare two servings of the artichoke and arugula salad. He’ll also want to prepare the zuppa di fungi selvaggia.” He did a quick assessment of Saffron’s eyes, noticing the keen interest. “Followed by the duck and fig risotto.”

  “But Chef—”

  He didn’t break stride in his speech, not caring in the least whether or not she took notes. She’d get it right, he had no doubts. His sous chef, second in command of the kitchen, would work as hard to make certain August’s needs were met. “Lastly, the Meyer lemon, three ways, for dessert. And make sure Allen matches each course with an appropriate vintage. Thank you, Vicky.” The sommelier hadn’t had a chance to taste most of what August had just ordered, but he’d get his job right or lose it.

  “Chef.” He couldn’t mistake the warning note in her voice. “If I may have a word with you, please. Madame, if you would please excuse the chef?”

  Close to grinding his teeth in frustration, August waited for Saffron’s wide-eyed nod before sliding out of the booth. He and Vicky hadn’t taken more than four steps before he directed her into a corner. “Make it fast.” His gaze remained on the seated woman. If she left for any reason, it wouldn’t happen without him interrupting her for at least a phone number.

  “Do you know who that is?”

  For a split second he allowed his gaze to drop to the server, but he couldn’t help looking toward the woman who waited for him. The step he took toward Vicky wasn’t meant to be threatening, but it certainly went well into invading her personal space. “The woman? No. Do you?”

  Vicky folded her arms over her chest, putting a little distance between them. “Well, we’re not for sure, for sure, but a couple of the girls think she might be from Brun’s place.”

  He whipped his head toward her. “Motherfucker,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

  Vicky snorted. “More like spy. Like I said, we don’t know for certain, but it kind of fits. You know he’s supposed to be sending someone over here to check out what you’re serving for Restaurant Week.”

  There were a few dishes he’d created specifically for Denver’s most popular food event, happening only a few weeks away. It had become well known that his restaurant often served the dishes as a surprise one unannounced night each week leading up to the event.

  Tonight happened to be one of those nights.

  Just because he didn’t formally announce the news, however, didn’t mean someone from the staff might not have let it slip. There were supply orders to be placed, instructions to be given to the line staff and myriad other reasons why the news might get out. It was a recipe, not U.S. nuclear missile launch codes.

  If his biggest rival, Francis Brun, wanted to know what August was serving in order to create something similar or in direct competition to the dish, it wouldn’t be beneath him to send someone to scope out the key ingredients. Everyone in this town to
ok their food very, very seriously.

  “So what do you want to do?” Vicky inquired.

  He took a minute to think it over. “Place the order I requested.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Wow. Really? Even as packed as we are?”

  “Tell Edmond he has seven minutes for the salads to be sitting on that table.” Now that he knew who he was dealing with, this wouldn’t be difficult at all to manage. He’d bag one restaurant spy without breaking stride. “Thank you, Vicky.”

  “It’s your ass,” she muttered as she walked away.

  Returning to the table, he changed his mind, figuring Vicky had to be wrong. Shit. He hoped she was wrong. Look at those pretty brown eyes watching his approach. They didn’t belong to someone who’d sneak secrets back to Brun.

  Saffron smiled as he sat. “I’ll admit the last thing I expected was to be dining with you.”

  “It’s not an experience I provide often,” August replied. Ever was more like it. “But in this case, I felt an exception was warranted.” He pushed forward the tray, which held four Japanese spoons of delicacies. “I only ask that you indulge me a bit.”

  “Indulge you?” Her gaze snapped up from the appetizer tray to meet his.

  “If you would, please. Allow me the honor of feeding you.”

  That blush. So damned sexy.

  August leaned forward and picked up one of the spoons. The shaved slices of scallop intermingled with his own blend of roasted peppers and then topped with savory and papaya had been stacked with painstaking care. “A sip of your wine and then open.”

  His mouth didn’t know how to behave. One minute it watered, but now, watching her swallow Chardonnay, it went dry. August licked his lips, trying to help it out and then offered Saffron the spoon. “Now open,” he said gently.

  He couldn’t stop himself from drooling when her plump lips opened. Couldn’t shake the hardening of his cock when a pink tongue extended. Blood pounded in his ears as she closed her mouth around the ceramic. And fuck, when she made that little delightful sound in the back of her throat, he almost ground his teeth into powder.

  Eyes closed, Saffron chewed slowly. Her eyebrows drew together in concentration and August found himself imagining the explosion of tastes greeting her. “Oh my, that’s good,” she said after a pause.

  “Sip the wine again.” Why did he sound almost breathless?

  A quick sip and she made that noise again. The one that made every muscle in his body tighten with anticipation.

  “August, I’m about to embarrass myself with pleasure here. That is a true masterpiece. And it’s just the amouse-bouche? I cannot wait to see what’s next on the menu.”

  “Good.” A smile curved his lips before he realized what in hell he was doing.

  She was the enemy. A spy. Sent here to make his world-class cuisine as commonplace as one of the fast food places down the road. Maybe. Time would only tell. In the meanwhile, he’d remain cautious.

  If he wanted to remain a few steps ahead of Francis, his biggest rival, instead of showing off with some of the dishes he’d been working on during his day off, he needed to send her packing. Oh, but damn, why did she have to pick up a second spoon and take another delicate bite?

  He had to see her expression brighten with unadulterated joy again. Had to. He even found himself leaning forward just to catch even the softest purr of approval. Breath held, he waited until he heard it before exhaling again.

  Occupational hazard, he reassured himself while also straightening. The need to know every diner left satisfied. Nothing else.

  “Tell me, August, are the upcoming dishes also handled with such care? These scallops reflect a lot of personality.” She looked at him beneath partially hooded lids. “I really liked that.”

  There was probably something very wrong with knowing he’d be in her bed before the end of the night, but damn if he was going to figure out what. Lowering his voice, he said, “This amouse-bouche is nothing but a tease to go with the wine you’ve selected. If you’ll continue to indulge me, I’m sure I could make this night an experience you’ll never forget.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly amused my mouth,” she said with a smile. A coy play on the translated words.

  She sat back, arms folded across her chest. A long pause passed and he hoped what happened during the break—the dilation of her pupils, the flush of her cheeks, the parting of her lips—meant what he thought it did.

  Arousal.

  “Alright, you’ve convinced me and I’m totally game. Show me what you’ve got, Chef. Show me something that’ll make my toes curl.”

  Oh, but the things he could do with that mouth if given a chance. And the many, many ways he could make her toes curl…

  Spy, August reminded himself. She was probably doing her best to weasel her way next to him, just for the purpose of pulling a few culinary secrets out of him.

  Better people had tried and failed.

  “Sit right there while I go check on how things are proceeding. But I will be back.” August waited for her nod before exiting the nook to head for the line. A quick double-check that the kitchen wouldn’t miss him if he left.

  Brooding over whether his business mind or his cock’s eagerness ruled him, he steadied his resolve on what to do with her.

  He’d show her something to take back to Francis. However, by the time Saffron left, there’d be no doubt in her mind that August was the best chef in Denver. No one—not even someone who resorted to thievery—would take that title from him.

  If, along the way, he happened to prove to her he was the best lover she’d ever had, so much the better.

  Chapter Two

  It figured.

  One of the few moments in life when Saffron wanted to cut loose and actually flirt a little, she couldn’t even enjoy it.

  Four months of waiting and she’d finally made it to the top of the reservation’s list. Four months of her editor breathing down her neck about reviewing August’s restaurant and the cuisine everyone else already raved about.

  Quite frankly, she didn’t see the point in reviewing a restaurant already lauded as one of the country’s best, but hey, that’s what she got paid for. Reviewing Denver food.

  With all the competition from online food bloggers, it was getting harder to make her reviews stand out in the newspaper. Here was her chance to do something no one else could, namely review food pre-event, but her libido decided to take notice instead of her taste buds.

  She’d done good so far, she figured. Only one or two other reviewers could claim they had met the star chef in his element. His disdain for journalists preceded him by a country mile. By some miracle, divine intervention or sheer good luck, he’d stopped to talk to her. Not just talk. Now he wanted to dine with her. Insert squee here!

  Who knew August would be as good looking in person as the photos she’d seen of him in culinary magazines? She’d been sure a little Photoshop magic made his blue eyes appear like something straight from a Bahamian beach. Even the gelled blond hair, teased in sixty different directions, seemed too coifed for a temperamental chef. But how many times had he run his fingers through the strands in the few minutes they’d been together, unintentionally styling it even further?

  It was kind of hot.

  Correction.

  August was definitely hot.

  Saffron drummed her fingers against the stark white tablecloth, blowing out a sigh at the same time. Regardless of his yeah-I’d-do-him-factor, she had a journalistic obligation to remain unbiased when it came to critiquing his food.

  Nothing had prepared her for the little taste of heaven he’d presented. The scallops intrigued her taste buds. They weren’t off the regular menu, so what were they? Perhaps one of the Restaurant Week choices? Her heart started doing back flips.

  She lifted one of the spoons, intent on discovering what ingredients comprised the little dish. Certainly there were peppers, but she couldn’t identify the green herb.

  She felt his presence
without having to see him. The man wielded confidence and command like a sword.

  “Chef?” she asked, still studying the spoon’s contents. “I recognize the pepper, but is there more than one kind on here? And what’s this herb?”

  “Trying to figure out my secret recipe?” It was said with a light laugh, but the slight undertone of something she couldn’t name made Saffron look up.

  And boy, did her heart pick up speed.

  August eased into the opposite booth, seeming to draw all the light into his starched chef’s jacket. Arms folded across his chest, he watched her with a wariness she didn’t know how to process. His blue eyes somehow managed to appear smoky and the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw made him look severe. There was a man used to being obeyed when he barked an order.

  “What?” she asked softly.

  “I’m watching you.”

  “I see that.” There was heat between them. She couldn’t be imagining it. “The question is, why?”

  A pause.

  “You have a way of enjoying your food that makes me want to feed you more,” he said with a shrug.

  “Nah, it’s the name that’s getting to you. Face it, someone named Saffron was destined to be either a chef or a gourmand of some type.” Life had a way of throwing curve balls and the dishes she imagined in her mind never tasted quite right when cooked. So, as her exasperated cooking instructor grumbled, those who couldn’t cook, critiqued.

  “It’s one of my favorite spices. Expensive as all hell, but worth every blessed cent,” August said. He nodded at the spoon in her hand. “That may or may not have saffron in it, in fact.”

  Saffron frowned. Were her taste buds that muted? She should have surely tasted her namesake. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “no…there’s no saffron in here. There’s papaya and roasted peppers…”

  August lifted a brow. “Go on.”

  “It’s the herb I can’t name.” It bugged the snot out of her not to know. She’d had it before, but the distinct flavor escaped her recollection. “It’s not one of the common ones…something a little more exotic. Not thyme, although close, or marjoram. Damn. Give me a hint.”