Undercover Lovers

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 ppleasure, 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
took 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.