Wicked Seduction

1 Recipe for desire

Vera

Lester Harbor, Friday, April 1

God, I hated cooking.

"Put me in a cooking class, and you'll get a recipe for disaster," I told my best friend and my brother Julian's girlfriend, Sapphire Blake. She had signed us up for Italian Cooking with Pietro De Luca.

I looked around the intimate cooking studio, which could pass as a country kitchen straight out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. The scent of oregano and bay leaves assaulted my nostrils. I looked up at a crack spreading across the ceiling.

Fucking shit, is it too late to run?

"You know, Vera," Saph began, flashing her baby-blue eyes. "Pietro is the head chef at a Michelin star restaurant."

"Unless he's packing a meaty Italian sausage, I couldn't care less," I muttered.

"Vera!" Saph burst into laughter. "Is cock all you think about after all the years you spent in law school?"

"You're damn right that's what I think about," I shot back with a smug smile.

"We need to douse you with a good serving of holy water!" Saph chuckled, shaking her head. Loose strands of chestnut hair framed her oval face.

"I like pussy too," I teased, running my tan fingers along her alabaster arm. She glanced at me, smiled, and lowered her dark eyelashes.

"I love that you swing both ways," Saph murmured.

I dragged my fingers through my long, wild caramel hair and blew out a gust of air while waiting for our mystery chef. I toyed with the rolling pin on the bench, only to hear a thud, coinciding with an immediate blinding pain in my left foot.

"Oww!" I yelped, rubbing my throbbing foot, which hurt like hell.

"Oh, sweetie!" Saph winced, then picked up the rolling pin and placed it on her side of the bench, far from my curious fingers.

A couple at the next table giggled, only to be silenced by my death stare. Both women wore leather miniskirts, knee-high socks, and bright, tight tank tops. With their candy-pink hair, they could pass as street fashionistas in Japan's Harajuku district. The other couple, donned in dark, solemn business suits, remained tight-lipped and stone silent.

"I told you this would be a disaster," I hissed at Saph as we waited for our chef to arrive.

"It sounds like the birthday girl is a tad bit ungrateful," she replied, biting her quivering smile.

I wasn't ungrateful. I just didn't like cooking. Besides, I couldn't cook to save my life. "No one wants slop, Vee," Julian remarked once when I turned risotto into a slush of mush.

"Buona sera!" A deep voice boomed from the door. I looked straight at the gray eyes of a very fit, dark-blond Bacchus, the Roman god of the grape harvest, winemaking, and religious ecstasy.

"My name is Pietro, and we're going to cook up quite a storm tonight," Mr. Hot 'n' Spicy, carved out of marble, hummed. He glanced at us and flashed a player's smile. Would I get a chance to lick, nibble, and suck on him?

"Now, here's a few tips on making a good crust. Firstly, I suggest that you use sifted flour to avoid lumps. Also, strong flour allows the dough to rise with fine structure."

"What kind of oil should we use?" I asked, unbuttoning the top two buttons of my silk blouse due to the rising heat.

"Always use olive oil. Extra virgin olive oil will give a more fragrant crust." His eyes flickered at me before turning away. I was hungry, and the kitchen was where I wanted to be. I straightened my shoulders and stuck my chest out, giving the chef a smile that would melt the North Pole. Hell yeah, I wanted Pietro tonight.