His Just Desserts (6 page)

He groaned, his entire being sparking at the dominant tone. His need to blurt out the truth overwhelmed him. Then the loud clearing of a throat interrupted the moment.

Isaiah sighed roughly. “Saved by the bell.” He stepped back as a disgruntled man brushed by them to enter the restaurant.

“Perhaps groping me in front of your place of employment isn’t a good idea.” Sean pressed a kiss to Isaiah’s brow and allowed the backs of his fingers to rub over the prominent bulge in the front of his chef’s pants. He groaned when another couple pushed them apart in their attempt to enter the building. “And I have a roast to…rub.” He almost felt bad about it until his baby’s eyes narrowed. Then he was glad a group of patrons followed the couple who’d just wanted by them. Using it to his advantage, he stepped back and mouthed the words “I’ll text you later.” The look on Isaiah’s face was priceless, but when the black man crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his brow, Sean knew he’d pushed too far. He would pay later for his little stunt.

***

Ready to go off and not in a good way, Isaiah glared at the man in an outdated suit paced who back and forth, wearing a path in the lush carpet in front of the reservations podium.

“I still don’t see why you can’t honor my request.”

“I’ve already told you, sir. We don’t have any
brambora
č
ka
on hand. It’s not on the menu today.” Nonlia’s famous potato soup took time to prepare. Something he was sure the idiot in front of him didn’t care about. Striving for patience, he tried again. “Look, Mr. Zylka, I understand you’re a loyal customer, but there is no way I can sell you any more. It takes hours to prepare.”

The slender man glared at him. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a single bowl of potato soup in the restaurant? I only need eight servings, not five gallons of it.” He raked a hand through his rumpled hair. “I need it!”

Counting mentally to ten, Isaiah prayed for someone to save him. “I’m sorry but we don’t have any. You got the last we had yesterday, when you picked up your order. I can offer you some
kulajda
, in its place. It is a different type of potato soup…well, it’s a thick stew. But Laco made it fresh this morning with mushrooms, eggs, and dill. It is not quite the same consistency as the
brambora
č
ka
, but it is a suitable replacement.”

“Unbelievable! I planned this meal out perfectly. If my stupid wife hadn’t burnt it when she reheated it, I wouldn’t be in this position.” He slapped his fist on the counter. “Fine. I have to have a side. Box up enough to feed eight people. My dinner guests will be arriving in less than thirty minutes.”

Isaiah sighed with relief. “Of course, sir.” He hurried away as the man continued to mutter about his wife. Entering his domain, he called out to Laco. “I need enough for eight portions of
kulajda
to go. ASAP. We have a customer having a meltdown in the front of the house.”

“Yes, Chef. Eight soups coming up.” Laco filled a large Styrofoam bowl with practiced ease. Sealing the lid tight, he slid it into a brown paper sack. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Folding down the top of the sack, Isaiah stapled it shut. Then he headed back out to the front. He set the bag on the counter and waited for the customer to finish a phone call.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry, sweetheart. This promotion is important to us. If that ass Whitcomb gets it, my days at the firm are numbered. We have to impress the board or that fag lover Nico will have pretty boy on the board with him, and both Uncle Tlotzin and I will be out on our proverbial asses.” The man paused, a scowl crossing his face. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ll be home shortly.” He shut the phone without saying good-bye. His eyes lit up. “That my replacement?”

A sinking feeling in the pit of Isaiah’s stomach coupled with the need to take the bag and run.
This is the guy Sean mentioned when he spilled the reason for tomorrow’s dinner? The one who’s after his promotion?
Though Laco made a fabulous
kulajda
, Isaiah knew with no false modesty his roast was a better dish. So why did it feel like he was aiding and abetting the enemy by simply doing his job?
An enemy who’s cheating because the meal is supposed to be homemade and not catered
.

“Chef, you’re needed in the kitchen. I’ll take care of Mr. Zylka.” Kaeli gave him a wink when the man’s phone rang again. Isaiah stepped away from the counter, happy he didn’t have to deal with him any longer. Kaeli would take care of it. He mouthed “thank you” and headed back to the kitchen. He made a mental note to warn Sean about Donnie’s duplicity.

I’ve got two bananas and a toy for you if you have the potatoes scrubbed and peeled when I get there—Isaiah

A text guaranteed to keep him on edge, and one Sean had been unable to resist. He’d read it over at least a dozen times while waiting for Isaiah.

Sean wiped his hands on the towel around his waist when the doorbell rang. Leaving the kitchen to answer the front door, he rolled his shoulders. He’d just finished peeling the last potato and managed to not slice his finger off, but if his sexy chef kept his end of the bargain, it would be worth the effort. It had been several years since he’d done the requested task, but at least he’d had plenty of experience with it. Mrs. G. hadn’t allowed any slackers in her kitchen, and potato peeling had become the chore of choice when she’d realized his lack of cooking skills. “Coming,” he called as the bell rang again. He jerked the door open. Isaiah stepped into the hallway, a black backpack over one shoulder, his arms laden with two paper sacks.

“I thought we did all the shopping yesterday.” Sean took one from him.

Isaiah wrapped his free arm around him, sealing their mouths together in a quick kiss. Sean was breathing faster when the other man finally lifted his head. “I know, but along with a batch of Ros’s dinner rolls he managed to squeeze in, I had to pick up the dark rum for the Bananas Foster. Also I made a stop at the Gallery.”

A low groan escaped him at the mention of one of the premier adult stores in the Greater Des Moines area. “Dare I ask how picking up rum led to a trip there?”

Isaiah chuckled and nipped his ear. “Let’s just say I have my own fantasies, so after I stopped at the liquor store, I made a pit stop to pick you up…that.” He gestured to the small bag in Sean’s hands.

Opening it, he peeked inside. In its shrink-wrapped package, the bright purple toy matched what he’d imagined during yesterday’s fantasy. He fumbled the sack, crinkling the brown paper between his fingers.

Isaiah chuckled, stepping back. “Now why don’t you go put that in your room, unless you want to greet your guests with your ass full?”

His cock stirred behind his zipper. He closed the bag. Even though he’d never been on the receiving end of anal sex, the idea of greeting his bosses with a plug up his ass stroked his libido. Perhaps if this weekend went well, Isaiah might slip Sean’s plug inside him Monday morning. The idea of sitting behind his desk, waiting for Isaiah’s call, teased him. It would have to be between clients, but he could see himself jerking off on command. His baby would be talking dirty to him, calling him a pleasure slut, and telling him he had to hold off until he gave him permission. Was Isaiah evil enough to draw it out until mere minutes before his next client showed up, then order him to come all over the desk calendar?

“Earth to Sean. Earth to Sean.”

He snapped out of his erotic musings. Opening his eyes to stare down at the man wanting his attention, he took a deep breath.

A smirk crossed Isaiah’s face. “I don’t want to know what just crossed your mind. Something hot, if I had to guess, and if you tell me, I’ll end up bending you over the table to fuck you senseless.” Isaiah shifted, breaking the sensual tension. Then he turned and walked down the short hall to the kitchen.

After stashing the bag in the bedroom, Sean returned. At the island, his chef was inspecting the potatoes. “Tucked away safe and sound?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ’cause we don’t have time to indulge right now. Didn’t you say the partners will arrive in less than two hours?”

Sean nodded. “Yeah, seven o’clock sharp.”

Isaiah rolled up his sleeves. “Well then we need to get started. We have to have this roast in the oven in the next thirty minutes to give it proper resting time after it comes out.”

“We?” Panic filled him. “But I…. Come on, man, you know peeling potatoes is the extent of my culinary repertoire.”

“Well, you’re not going to get disqualified because I cooked the entire meal. Didn’t you say something along the lines of there being a stipulation no outside caterer is brought in?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’m cheating.”

The other man raised his brow. “Not really. I haven’t taken any money. The only thing you’ve paid for is the food, unlike your competitor who came into Nonlia’s last night in a panic because his wife burnt the soup he’d bought earlier.”

Anger swept through Sean. “That son of a bitch. I can’t believe Donnie would stoop to such lows. Well, yeah I can.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But I can’t very well go whining to the board about him cheating when I have a three-star chef cooking for me tonight.”

Isaiah glared at him. “While I do cook for a living, we’re making this meal together. Don’t worry about Donnie right now. There’s nothing we can do at this moment. You should be more concerned about helping me with our dinner.” Isaiah washed his hands at the sink and dried them. Winding the towel up, he snapped Sean on the butt with it. “So get your ass in gear, Counselor. We have a meal to make, and food waits for no one.”

“All right, all right!” He backed out of reach. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“That’s my man, and since you’ve already peeled those, you think you can handle cutting them into half-inch medallions?

He took a deep breath and reached for the chef’s knife. “Yeah, besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? I’ll get them all different widths?”

Isaiah glowered at him. “And I’ll warm your butt for each slice that’s not uniform. Don’t give me this crap you don’t know how to do prep. I taught you myself before you ran off to college—and you are one of the best preppers I’ve ever had.”

Sean carried the potatoes to the island. “Being able to slice and dice does no good if you burn the food once it’s in the pan, baby.”

His lover flashed him a smile. “Which is why I’m cooking and your slicing. Now, hop to it.”

“Yes, Chef,” Sean taunted, loving the flare of desire filling Isaiah’s gaze.

***

At the head of Sean’s dining room table, Dhanajit actually moaned. He sopped up the last bit of gravy with his roll. From his seat next to Sean, Isaiah wanted to give a whoop. The meal had turned out exceptionally well. Once they had pushed their mutual attraction to the back burner, they’d managed to work together like no time had passed. By the time Sean’s guests arrived, Isaiah had found his groove. None of the nerves he normally experienced when serving such an intimate party were present. Although the slacks, silk shirt, and jacket Sean requested he wear felt unfamiliar to him.
The things I do to get laid
. He had plans for his naughty counselor. Which included vast amounts of the sticky sweet but intoxicating sauce he would prepare for their dessert course. He planned on licking it off a certain man’s body.

“That was the best damned roast I’ve ever had, Isaiah.” Nico’s partner, Kell, tossed his napkin on his empty plate, turning Isaiah’s thoughts away from Sean being spread out across the table, his body decorated with ice cream and caramelized bananas.

“Thank you.” He sliced a piece of meat and popped it into his mouth, where the burst of flavorful caraway seeds tantalized his taste buds. After taking a sip of the spicy merlot, to cleanse his palate, he added, “But I don’t deserve all the recognition. Sean helped me prepare this evening’s meal.”

Across the table, one of the partners, a heavyset man named Filback or something, snorted, his jowls flapping as he shoved the tender dumplings into his mouth. Smacking his lips, he pointed his fork at Isaiah. “Didn’t you say that you were a chef by trade, Mr. Waterston?”

“Yes, sir. I am—”

The man crossed his arms, and glared at Sean. “So you hired a professional chef to prepare your meal. Didn’t we tell you no outside help was allowed? I don’t know about the other partners, but as far as I’m concerned this disqualifies Whitcomb from the running.”

Nico drummed his fingers on the table from the other side of Sean. “Excuse me, Filbeck, but I don’t think for a moment that he cheated.” He stared at Sean. “Did you help with the meal?”

His lawyer colored. “I went shopping with Isaiah yesterday, and did the prep last night on the roast. I followed Isaiah’s instructions….and then today I helped him get it ready for tonight.”

“Hogwash!” Filbeck hit the table with his fist. “My nephew told me he saw you at Nonlia’s yesterday, Sean.”

Isaiah sighed, already sick of the man’s attitude, but not wanting to ruin Sean’s chances by accusing Donnie of cheating without proof. He would allow Sean to decide when and if to reveal the information. “Which is where I work.” He tossed the napkin onto the table. “And I have accepted nothing of monetary value for fixing this meal, sir. Other than Sean picking up the cost of the food itself, which I’m sure does not disqualify him, the only thing I’m going to get out of this is a weekend with an old friend.” He shoved away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to put the finishing touches on dessert.”

Sean stopped him with a hand on his thigh. “Please sit.”

He met his eyes, saw the plea in them. Covering his lover’s hand, Isaiah settled back into his seat. His anger deserted him.
It isn’t his fault that the man’s a total asshole
. He would play. For tonight. If he saw him in public, all bets were off. “Fine.”

Sean turned to Filbeck. “I know you don’t care for me, sir, although I don’t understand why. But I will not allow you to spill filth toward Isaiah. He is a great chef, along with being one of my oldest friends. You don’t know this, but we were raised together in a foster home in a little hick town so small you probably don’t even know where it is. That kind of upbringing forms a bond that’s deeper than some familial ones.” Sean’s voice hardened. “So don’t for a moment think he’s some person I hired off the street to cover up my lack of cooking skills. Since we all know I burn anything that comes close to flame, Isaiah went to a lot of trouble for us. He didn’t have to cook for a group of people he could care less about. He did it because I asked him to. So I don’t appreciate you treating him like crap because he was doing an old friend a favor.”