Love Will Always Remember, page 19
He grabbed her ankle and tugged her to the edge of the mattress. Hooking her knees over the crook of his elbows, he pulled her to him and slammed into her with one powerful thrust.
“Yes!” she screamed.
He almost lost his shit.
Their joining ripped the breath from his body. But he couldn’t take the moment to savor the experience of being inside of her. Longing had him driving in and out of her, quakes from her orgasm trumpeting up and down his dick.
Her hands grabbed his hips before sliding around to cup his ass. Her nails raked across his cheeks causing a stinging pressure. He threw his head back, not sure it was possible to feel so much and still live. At one point, she held him in her and rotated her hips, grinding on him.
His head snapped forward and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“So good,” she moaned.
“You like that?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
Her words stoked him higher. He sank into her over and over, watching her breasts bounce, and her hips move. When the titillation became too great, he would close his eyes, thinking that had to be the best way to savor the feelings. It didn’t take long before he realized he was being denied the satisfaction of the view so he’d force them open and the delicious torment would begin anew.
He didn’t know how long they remained in the wonder drenched experience but as the pleasure increased he knew he’d be unable to last much longer. He leaned down and tangled his tongue with hers. The feel of her bare softness against him was all he could take. He pressed his head in the crook of her neck, inhaled her scent and lost himself in the sensation that rocketed up his spine and sent stars to blind his vision.
“Wow,” she breathed several minutes later, as they lay together on the bed.
Wow was right. Fuck. He had never experienced an orgasm that intense before in his life.
He didn’t care how this had started, Leighton was his. He loved her. And there was no way in hell he would step aside when his brother returned. Thomas had given up being worthy of her the moment he’d left her in the hospital to pursue his career in London.
While his actions had been just as bad, Jonathan had been here with her, taking care of her, building something with her. That had to have value. Even when she got her memory back.
“It was my fault.” The words were out before he could recall them. The moment, following an almost religious experience, needed some confession, though it wasn’t the one he should have given.
Her cheek rose but she settled and combed her fingers through the hair on his chest. “I don’t know if fault is the right word. You’re definitely the cause of those orgasms . . .”
He stilled her hand. “Your accident. It was my fault.”
Her warm, languorous body tensed against his side. She yanked her hand from beneath his and sat up. “I thought the doctors said some piping fell on my head.”
“It did.”
“Then I don’t understand. Did you throw it on me?”
He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Of course not.”
“So how was my accident your fault?” she asked, her earlier gratification replaced with spine stiffening anxiety.
He fell back onto the pillow and raked both hands through his hair. “We’d had a disagreement and you were upset. You ran from the restaurant, you didn’t see the scaffolding and . . .”
He shook his head, tears scalding his eyes as the same feeling of helplessness that had inundated him that night.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Because I’m a fucking idiot. Already well-established.
“I thought you would hate me. That you’d decide you wouldn’t want to see me and I needed to be there for you.”
It was a small slice of the truth. He was still keeping a majority of the cake from her.
She sat for a long moment, staring straight ahead. Then she scooped her hair over her shoulders, smoothed the ends. “Did you mean to hurt me?”
He scrambled to sit up, placing his palms on her cheeks. He stared into her eyes. “I would hurt myself before I’d ever hurt you. I love you.”
Though he’d answered her question in the affirmative when she’d asked him earlier, this was the first time he’d uttered those words to a woman, and meant it.
Please believe me. Please believe me. Please believe me.
Karma could be a bitch right now and it’d serve him right.
But Leighton nodded. “I know.”
And he thanked the heavens, the moons and the stars for her partial absolution. He pressed kisses to her forehead, eyelids and nose before brushing one across her lips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair.
He’d chickened out, but Adam was right, the longer he waited, the worse it was going to get. This weekend the restaurant would open. And then he would tell Leighton the truth. He’d deal with the fallout, whatever it was and prayed it didn’t cost him her.
Chapter Eighteen
If it had been up to Leighton, she and Jonathan would’ve spent the days following their romantic dinner the same way they’d spent that night: making love until all they had the strength to do was sleep. But with the opening now only two days away, their sexual sabbatical was placed on hold.
That’s why she found herself in Sedici later that afternoon. She adjusted the bow on the server’s waist apron then shifted her weight onto her back foot and eyed her handiwork.
Perfect. The butter yellow popped against the black, adding a bit of elegant whimsy to the severity of the uniform.
“Robby, how is this?”
The Front of the House manager strode over, shoving the digital tablet he was carrying under his arm. His blue eyes raked the server’s attire.
“That looks great, Leighton. Thank you.” Robby turned and yelled at the assembled waitstaff. “The way Jenny is wearing the uniform is the prototype of how we want you to look. Take pictures if necessary. If you have any questions of how to achieve this style, ask Leighton.”
Between one blink and the next, a line of servers had formed in front of her, their uniforms in various stages of disarray. She directed a wry smile at Robby, motioned the first one forward and set to work.
Bedlam reigned all around her. Bodies circulated as servers gathered the components of their uniforms and either figured it out themselves or joined her ever-increasing line; bar staff wiped down everything from the countertops to the blenders to the soda gun holders; and handymen put the finishing touches on last minute projects. It was all hands on deck as everyone pulled together to get Sedici ready.
She was happy to help and content to be in the same space with Jonathan, even if they weren’t in the same room. He’d been working nonstop in the couple of days since he’d confessed his role in her accident. In fact, she could’ve convinced herself she’d imagined their romantic evening together if not for the fact that he crawled into bed with her each night when he finally made it home. She was becoming accustomed to waking up to the distinctive weight of some part of him wrapped around her.
But she’d made good use of her time alone, continuing with her required therapies. The doctors had been encouraged by the spontaneous recovery of some of her memories, but they couldn’t offer her any guarantees. The rest would either return or they wouldn’t.
She’d thought she’d been living her life, but she’d only been existing, like a hamster running on a wheel—active, but never moving forward. She decided the time had come for her to assert some control. She scheduled time next week to meet with her bosses at Faulkner. She intended to apprise them of her situation and get briefed on her employment history with them and her current assignments. With that missing piece of information, she’d be able to explore all of her employment options.
As for Jonathan, just because she didn’t remember how their relationship began didn’t mean she had no say in how it progressed. She’d made her needs known—and they’d been ably fulfilled!—but what about what he wanted, beyond the physical? If her memories never came back would he still want to be with her? The thought of that conversation twisted her stomach into a tight knot, but it was necessary and she intended to have it.
But first, they needed to get through the opening.
“Run it again. Repetition yields consistency and builds muscle memory. What’s going to happen when we’re totally slammed with over 120 covers? I won’t tolerate a station running short or food dying on the pass because someone wasted seconds figuring out something that should be second nature. Run it until they get it right!”
She’d know that commanding voice anywhere.
“Look at me, sweetheart. I want to see your beautiful face when your pussy tightens around my cock and you come.”
She shivered.
Focus, Leighton. Now isn’t the time.
She inspected the length of a bistro apron then nodded at the tall, young server wearing it. “You’re fine.”
“So. Are. You.”
She’d already switched her scrutiny to the next person in line, but his amorous tone recalled her attention. “Excuse me?”
Dimples made their appearance. “I said, you’re fine, too. How about drinks later?”
Her lips quirked and she clamped them together to repress her emerging smile. He was good-looking and she was flattered, but there was no need to encourage him.
“How about drinks never?” Jonathan interrupted them, sliding an arm around her waist.
The young man’s complexion turned ashen, quite a feat considering his warm brown coloring.
“Sorry, Chef,” he murmured, slinking away.
“That wasn’t nice,” she said, despite the old-fashioned thrill that zipped through her.
“Good. Then I achieved my goal.” In one controlled, deft motion, Jonathan curled his arm and brought her body flush with his.
The genetic lottery could be so unfair. He’d been at the restaurant all day but his tousled hair and scruffy jaw didn’t cast him in a messy or unkempt light. Instead, he came off looking like a sexy, naughty bad boy on the prowl.
“No one told me you were here,” he said, nuzzling her neck, his hands locked at the small of her back.
She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and snuggled into his embrace. “There was no need to bother you.”
“You are never a bother.” He sighed and placed his forehead against hers. “I’ve hated leaving you home by yourself these past couple of days, but it can’t be helped.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m getting better every day. I can take care of myself.”
“I know. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” He straightened and raised a concerned brow. “And you’re okay? I wanted to be with you your first time back here after the accident.”
“I did worry how I would react—that’s why I came before Saturday. The last thing either of us would want is a meltdown during the opening.”
The anxiety hadn’t been necessary. She’d taken a deep breath, opened the door . . . and been so taken aback by the beauty of the place that she had no apprehension about what might have happened before. And as a bonus, no disturbing memories came surging forth. She’d grabbed the first person she saw who appeared to be in charge—that turned out to be Robby—and introduced herself. He’d put her to work immediately.
Jonathan stroked her hair. “And?”
“Nothing.” She turned her shrug into a hip-shaking dance of joy. “But, babe, it looks amazing. You did it!”
“We did.” He slid a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re here. Seeing you is the pick-me-up I needed.”
Their lips met in a kiss that began casually and quickly shifted gears into something fierce and arousing. The hard muscles beneath her palm, his scent that drove her wild, the skillful way his tongue invaded her mouth with purpose and tangled with hers. She shivered again. She’d never get enough of him.
“Umm, excuse me . . . Chef, it’s—oh, hell!”
They broke apart, both breathing heavily. A man in a stained white t-shirt and khaki-colored tool belt grabbed the rim of his baseball cap, pulled it off his head and with that same hand, scratched his hair, his gaze glued to the stunning Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors.
“No problem.” Jonathan gave her one last lingering kiss then transformed back into his all-business persona. “What do you need?”
The handyman jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The signage is up.”
“It’s about time!” Jonathan clasped his hands together. “Let’s go see this fucker.”
Grabbing her elbow and bellowing to anyone within hearing distance to follow, he pushed through the front door. Outside, a worker was descending a ladder. Jonathan shifted to shield her with his body, hurrying her out to the street—and away from the possibility of any falling debris.
Not by hesitating or speaking or glancing at her did he convey his awareness that he’d sheltered her. But she’d noticed. That had to mean something, right? Everything he’d done proved how much he cared for her, even if he hadn’t yet said the words. Inside her, an inferno blazed bright.
The custom ironwork sign was impressive and eye-catching with spotlights strategically placed to emphasize the gold-plated script. Wolf whistles and claps filled the air. Drivers who figured out the reason behind the commotion honked their horns, adding to the moment.
Jonathan released her arm and executed a courtly bow with a double-handed flourish. “Thank you. Thank you.”
The restaurant’s door opened and a striking woman, with large light-colored eyes and a mop of jet black curls, poked her head out. “They’re plated, Chef.”
“Come see the sign, Gib.”
She jammed her hands on her hips. “Later. Go.”
“Jeez, so pushy.” He winked at Leighton. “Duty calls.”
“No worries. I’ll continue to pitch in where I can.”
He shuffled backward, pointing his finger at her. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
His responding broad smile stoked her inner inferno.
Everyone followed him back inside Sedici everyone followed him, like a foodie pied piper. She took one last look at the eye-catching sign and then she joined the captivated masses, bringing up the rear.
“How are you feeling?”
Leighton stalled mid-stride at the husky, honeyed voice. The woman who’d first summoned Jonathan had remained by the door. This was his sous chef, Gib? She hadn’t expected his trusted second-in-command to come in this package.
“Better. Except for the occasional headaches.”
“I’m glad.” Gib’s lashes fluttered. “That you’re on the mend, not that you have headaches.”
Leighton found the retraction charming. She smiled. “I know. You’re Gib?”
“That’s me. It’s short for Gibson. Nyah Gibson.”
“Nyah. That’s a beautiful name.”
“What?” The shrill cackle grabbed both of their attention.
In the small group of women encircling Jonathan, a young redhead patted her chest above her low-cut shirt and laughed, revealing the source of the original sound. Fire Crotch tilted her head and swayed back and forth. Leighton firmed her lips. The girl couldn’t be more obvious.
“She won’t last,” Gib said.
“Who?” Leighton asked, trying to play it cool. Apparently FC wasn’t the only one being too obvious.
“You don’t have to worry about that.” Gib nodded toward the groupies, er, grouping. “He’s a celebrity in the food world. Women fawning over him isn’t a new occurrence, or men for that matter.”
Heat flared through her. Why was she jealous? Jonathan loved her. Didn’t she believe him?
A sudden pain arced behind her eyes. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Will he fire her?”
“That’s not his style. They usually quit when they realize their attentions won’t be returned.”
“So it happens a lot?”
“It comes with the territory. But he takes his work very seriously. He’d never get involved with one of his employees.”
Leighton scrutinized the beautiful woman standing next to her. “You’ve worked with Jonathan for a long time?”
“I have. I started out at Quartet and when he decided to open Sedici he asked me to come with him.”
That required a huge commitment from both parties. “What does being his sous chef entail?”
Gib crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m his second in command. Chef has a vision for his restaurant. It’s my job to carry it out. I manage the kitchen staff, prepare the food and ensure the customer’s experience is the way Chef intends it.”
Leighton lifted both brows. Wow. “You must work closely with him?”
“Twelve to fifteen hours a day, six days a week. I’m like his right hand. But only in the kitchen.” Her lips twitched. “I’m not touching anything else.”
Leighton laughed. “I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face.”
“Never?”
Gib shook her head, her eyes bright. “Never.”
Leighton returned her attention to the women fawning over Jonathan. He made eye contact, his smile was open, and his posture appeared relaxed. Friendly but professional. There was nothing in his behavior to indicate he was flirting.
“He cares for you, Leighton.” Gib’s voice was gentle.
“I know.”
“We were three weeks from opening. Nothing could’ve dragged him away from here. Then you had your accident. He went to see you at the hospital every day and when you regained consciousness, he chose to be with you. I didn’t think anything would take precedence over his restaurants. But you did.”
A booming voice intruded before Leighton could process Gib’s words. “Someone told me this restaurant was owned by a famous chef, but there must be some mistake. The service is seriously lacking.”
A tall, handsome blond man waited just inside the door, holding hands with a delicately beautiful pregnant woman. Beside them stood another couple: a gorgeous woman with a mass of black curls, and an incredibly attractive man with dark tousled hair and an intense gaze, his hands resting on her shoulders.
