Chapter 9
Nine
“As much as I love you in fucking pants, Chef, I’ve gotta say that a skirt would make for easier access.” Kane was buttoning my pants in a gesture that was strangely intimate, despite what we’d just done.
Had sex. In the bathroom of his party. He’d done it in front of a mirror, my hands on the quartz sink. I’d watched him fucking me, hard, quick, hungry. His hand had red bite marks in it from where I’d sunk my teeth into it at the peak of my orgasm.
“I’m not a skirt person, but I think I could be persuaded to make an exception,” I answered before I could realize I was, theoretically, against a man telling me what to wear.
But I’d discovered I liked, really liked, semipublic sex. And I wanted to do more of it with Kane. Logistically, skirts made sense.
Kane took hold of my waistband and yanked me so I was flush with his body. “As much as I fuckin’ love that you’d make an exception for me when I get the feeling you don’t make exceptions for anyone, I don’t want you to. Like the pants.” His hands ghosted over my backside. “They’re you, and you can get on the back of my bike.”
My gaze swam in his, utterly lucid with the knowledge that I was falling in love with this man. No, I had fallen. Long ago.
Kane walked us out of the bathroom and I didn’t even bother to look around to see whether anyone had seen us go in together. I didn’t care.
His gaze wandered behind me. “Okay, now you’re gonna meet my brother.”
My head whipped behind me, my gaze searching through the throngs of people to land on a cutting figure in a black suit, taller than the others, who seemed to stand out on presence alone. That could only be Kane’s brother.
My head snapped back to Kane, eyes narrowed. “Kane, the first time I meet your brother cannot be when I look like I’ve just been fucked in a bathroom,” I hissed, trying to smooth my hair, which was no doubt a mess.
Kane chuckled, arms around me as he walked us in the direction of the man in black. “Oh, Chef, the absolute best and only time I want you to meet my brother is when you are red from coming around my dick, and my cum is dripping out of you. Otherwise, the fuck may get some ideas about stealing you from me.”
His words were crass, but they were true. The first part, at least. My face still felt hot; therefore, it must’ve been red, and the wetness in my panties communicated our lack of condom and my lack of responsibility since we’d used one the first two times then never again.
Kane had been hovering above me, eyes locked with mine in question when he’d pressed in, bare.
“Yes,” I’d breathed at his silent request.
And that was all the permission he’d needed before rocking my world. Bare. I didn’t regret my decision, not for a moment.
Irresponsible. All of this was irresponsible.
But it was fun, and chaotic. An adventure. Meeting family, meeting someone so important to Kane, made it real. Made it much too terrifying.
“Kane,” I tried to fight against him, but he was too strong.
And he ignored me, so before long, we stopped. In front of the man in black.
Shit.
There was no escaping it now.
“Chef, this is Knox.” Kane nodded toward the man in front of us.
Knox.
His brother.
The one who’d put himself in an unimaginably horrific position to save his brother from the worst of sexual abuse when they were young. Although the man in front of us looked like he’d never been a helpless child. No, he looked like he sprouted from the ground with fully formed muscles. Everything about him seemed cold. Menacing. A primal instinct inside me told me this man was dangerous. Very dangerous.
He had the same eyes as Kane, sparkling sapphires. Though Kane’s were full of life, mischief and fire. Knox’s were flat and lifeless, like those of a predator.
He had the same angular jawbone as Kane, lips that had a similar curve but no scar, no upward tilt of a smile. I knew he was older than Kane only because Kane had told me. Whereas Kane’s face was tan and weathered with lines from laughter, smiling and the sun, Knox’s was almost porcelain, no lines to be found.
His brows were dark and heavy, his hair an inky curtain over his face.
Unlike his brother’s casual attire, he was in a suit. I could tell it was expensive by the fit of it, like it was made to fit over his slim but muscular body. There were no tattoos on him to be seen.
The two men couldn’t be more similar yet different at the same time. The sun and the moon.
“Knox, this is my Avery.” Kane’s introduction contained a possessive warmth, his finger brushing my bare arm.
“Avery Hart,” Knox said, eyes unnervingly focused on me. “I’ve eaten at your restaurant. It’s good.”
Just like his brother, the single positive word to describe my food did not come out lackluster. No, it seemed like high praise coming from him. I got the sense this man did not throw out compliments.
“Thank you.” My words felt heavy. Not just because of the compliment but for what he sacrificed for Kane. Resulting in Kane being able to smile easily, still love and have intimacy I felt certain the man in front of me wasn’t capable of.
Whether he understood the gravity of my thank you could not be seen. His face remained an impassive mask.
“I see Brax is still here,” he addressed Kane. Displeasure was evident in his tone.
Kane’s smile dimmed only somewhat, but the dim told me something. “Come on, man, he’s a good friend.”
Knox’s scowl deepened. “He’s not your friend, brother. He’s a leech.”
This was obviously not the first time they had had this conversation. It interested me. My instincts with men were usually pretty spot on. I had disliked Brax upon meeting him without anything to back that up.
Though I didn’t doubt Knox was a dangerous man, I got the sense he cared about his brother, would do and had done anything for him. That made him a good man in my book. And I trusted Kane’s judgment.
Kane laughed. It felt forced. “Leeches make good managers, doing all the blood-sucking while I keep my hands clean.”
Knox’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. This was definitely not a man who smiled often. Or ever.
Thinking of his past and about what Kane had alluded to about his present, I felt sad. Not sorry for him, since this kind of man was impossible to feel pity for, the emotion would bounce off his hardened shield. Just sadness.
“Leeches suck all the blood they can get, and they latch on to those closest to them, draining them before they realize it's too late."
My throat constricted as a tense moment passed between the brothers. They stared at each other, Kane’s lip curled, Knox’s nostrils flaring. I hated knowing that someone so obviously fake, a manipulator, was a thorn in the side of a relationship so powerful.
But Kane just smiled, yet once again, it seemed a little forced. He clamped his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
I didn’t miss the way Knox stiffened at the simple contact.
“We’ve gotta get you a woman, bro. So we can get you off blood and leeches and on to fucking in a bathroom and feeling like you could take on the fucking world.”
And just like that, the tension broke.
Though I got the sense the battle wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The evening went great. One could almost say I enjoyed myself, especially with the sojourn in the form of the quickie in the bathroom with a party full of guests a few rooms away.
Yes, it was out of my element, but Kane was at my side, and Kiera was there too, fluttering like the social butterfly she was while also keeping a sharp eye on me should I need rescuing.
Kiera was a dreamer at heart, but she had also told me, “White knights are bullshit. The people who will save you are your girlfriends.”
Although she accepted Kane, though she liked me being in a relationship so far out of my comfort zone, she was protective, as the conversation earlier had communicated. She didn’t trust easily, especially not men.
I didn’t think I did either, yet there I was, throwing my everything into Kane, into his world.
That was not me.
Though I was enjoying the vacation from being Avery Hart, the talented chef with the ice queen reputation.
Except you couldn’t take vacations from yourself, especially if you had any brush with celebrity.
Knox had left shortly after our meeting. Before leaving, he told me, “I’m glad you’re with my brother,” nodding sincerely. “Finally, he’s made a good choice. I’m hoping he doesn’t fuck it up.”
I took that as Knox giving me his blessing. I felt strangely proud.
Kane had many friends, all of whom seemed fun, chaotic and ready for a good time. All of them were welcoming to me, with an air of almost amusement, as if they were used to entertaining Kane’s flavor of the month.
We were speaking to Cleo Locke, one of the few female motocross riders in the sport who was really making a name for herself. She was an enigma with her pixie cut and delicate features. In her pretty, flowing, pastel dress paired with combat boots and arms full of tattoos. Her energy was warm, welcoming.
Kane hadn’t even introduced me properly before her eyes lit up with recognition.
“I know you! It’s been at the edge of my mind since you arrived,” Cleo snapped her fingers. “You worked as Gerald DuBois’s protegee.”
My smile froze on my face, and my body turned rigid.
“I know now, of course, that you have your own very famous restaurant and are a force of nature, but I ate at his restaurant in Paris—fucking loved it—then bought his book because I love biographies, and you’re mentioned in it,” she gushed. “You’re one of his proudest accomplishments.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, the man can cook and did great things in the culinary world ,blah, blah, blah,” she flapped her hands. “But really, a man taking credit for a woman’s achievements… Aren’t we past that?” She shook her head, unaware that I had stopped breathing.
I didn’t dare look at Kane. The second I’d gone still, his grip had tightened around me, and his head had tilted downward in my direction. He’d already clocked my reaction on body language alone—I wouldn’t give him my face.
“I stopped reading the book there and then,” Cleo continued. “And then I tried to find your book, but you don’t have one, and you have very few published articles and pictures of yourself, hence the fact that it took me a hot minute to put a face to the name. Anyway, a long-winded way of saying I’m a big fan. I’ve only had the pleasure of eating your food at Gerald’s restaurant, but Inferno is on my bucket list. If my schedule can ever line up with a reservation.”
My mouth had gone dry. I forced my hand upward so I could take a sip of my drink before speaking. “We’ll exchange numbers.” I hoped my voice didn’t betray anything. “You can tell me when you’re in town, and I can see if I can make something work to get you in for a meal.”
It was not something I normally, if ever, did—yielded my power in order to get people into the restaurant. One, because I didn’t like it, and two, because if I set any kind of precedent, people wouldn’t leave me alone.
I didn’t quite know why I did it with Cleo. Maybe because I liked her on sight, maybe because she’d seen through Gerald. Or maybe because she reminded me a little of my sister Maisie, with her wild energy and easy smile.
“No shit?” Her eyes lit up. “That would fucking rock .” She dug into her purse, grabbing her phone for us to exchange numbers.
By then I was recovered enough to look up at Kane and hide my discomfort. Unfortunately, he had a crease between his brows, obviously holding on to the moment when I’d stiffened.
He opened his mouth in question, but luckily, we were interrupted by Brax.
“Kane, we’ve got a sponsor over here we need to talk shop with.” Brax looked at me with a fake smile. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m sure you’d find it boring.”
Any other time, I would’ve treated Brax’s casual belittling of me with one of my patented stares and a cold quip, but I’d already pegged the man as an arrogant asshole.
“I’m not talkin’ shop,” Kane bit out. “And Avery isn’t going anywhere.”
“It’s fine.” I held up my drink, thankful it was half empty. “I need a refill and to find Kiera.”
I all but ran from them at that moment.
I could tell Kane wanted to pull me off to a quiet corner to discuss the conversation with Cleo, but this was Kane’s party. Therefore, there were no quiet corners. Usually, that would’ve irritated me. But for current circumstances, it suited me.
The party went well into the night, with people getting rowdier and rowdier. Kiera left at some point with a famous actor. She gave me a cheeky grin, and I couldn’t help but smile back. It did help that I’d had two margaritas. Which was a lot for me.
I wasn’t drunk. But I was less tense. I needed something to take the edge off, especially after the mention of Gerald.
Kane nursed the same beer the entire night. He made a good show of smiling and joking easily with his friends, but I didn’t miss the sideways glances, filled with concern, he sent my way. I did my best to ignore those glances and try to make it look like I was having fun.
The last straggler had filtered out and Kane dragged me up to his room at the brownstone.
“As much as I’ll try to convince you to sleep in tomorrow, I know that’s an ill-fated journey,” he said on the ascent up the stairs. “So bedtime it is.”
I smiled. “Since when do you dictate my bedtime?”
His hand ghosted over my ass. “Whenever the fuck I like, Chef.”
I didn’t argue, though the principle should’ve made me bristle.
He stayed in the bathroom as I went about my nighttime routine, washing off makeup with the face wash I had at home. He’d noted every one of my toiletries in my bathroom and then bought them for me to have here.
Likely, he had an assistant buy them, but the gesture was pivotal. Romantic.
I tried to ignore it, feeling suddenly delicate without the sounds of the party and disturbingly sober in the overhead lights of the bathroom.
“Something triggered you tonight,” Kane said from where he was perched on the side of the bathtub. “When Cleo mentioned that chef.”
My stomach dropped. I’d hoped that Kane hadn’t noted my reaction. The music was loud, we’d been drinking, and the environment was chaotic.
I glanced at him in the mirror. I considered trying to lie, brushing him off. I was an expert at throwing people off the scent when they tried to prod into my personal business. My family didn’t even know about this.
Not even Kiera.
She knew the basics, she knew something had happened, that a man hurt me, but I hadn’t been able to tell her the entire story.
I’d buried it, deep, unable and unwilling to drag it up into the light. Especially not into these bathroom lights in front of Kane.
It might’ve been the margaritas. It might’ve been my suddenly soft heart. Or that Kane had shared about his trauma so easily with me. It might’ve been because I was exhausted from keeping it inside for so long. Whatever the reason, I started talking, washing my face as I did so.
“I was young,” I said, rubbing at my face a tad too vigorously. “I’d studied at the culinary institute in France and after, I’d promptly been offered a position working under Gerald DuBois at his Michelin star restaurant in the heart of Paris. It was a big deal.”
I clenched my teeth and wiped my face with a washcloth, thinking of the girl I was then. There were no tears of joy at the offer, no hysterics of any kind. Even as a teenager, I was serious. I was happy at the offer, of course, but not surprised. Hadn’t this been what I’d been working toward my entire life? I’d put the effort in and got the intended result.
The hysterics were reserved for my mother who had sobbed happy tears on the phone when I told her. I’d quickly found reasons to end that phone call. I didn’t do well with emotions, especially hers. Too many bad memories attached.
“He had a reputation,” I continued, patting my face dry. “For being a misogynistic asshole. Not something unique in the top tiers of the culinary world or the world in general,” I added dryly with a bitter smile.
Though looking at the man who should’ve embodied toxic masculinity, I couldn’t find a trace of it in him. He was masculine in every sense of the word. But no misogynist.
“I expected that,” I continued, spritzing my face with toner. “I considered myself able to handle such things. If you can’t handle pressure and a stripping down of everything you are, then you aren’t capable of being in those world-class kitchens. But the asshole everyone said he was didn’t materialize. He was hard on his staff, expected perfection, but I respected that. And he treated me with respect. Was patient. Impressed. Gave me freedom with new dishes, responsibilities that I didn’t expect to get being so new. Which didn’t earn me friends in the kitchen.”
I took a deep breath, putting down the toner before toying with a moisturizer.
“I guess I considered him a mentor. Almost a father figure. Which, in hindsight, is an insult to my father’s memory.”
I gulped down fire and shame, remembering how part of me had wished for a man like that as a father instead of the easygoing, loving and jovial man I remembered. Because if I had a tough, stern and cold father, maybe it’d be easier to lose him.
“I stayed late often. To clean up, scrub ovens, counters, to experiment with recipes of my own. Gerald had given me free rein of the kitchen after service… A huge gift.”
I thought back to the serene nights, the sizzling of the pans, the clang of pots and the faraway noises of Paris. I stayed until after midnight plenty of times, even when I’d have to be up at six to prepare for service.
“I was always alone in the kitchen,” I rubbed lotion onto my neck. “Gerald was always at events and parties, being celebrated. He liked that. Bathed in the attention and praise he got for being a genius.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d always found him a little narcissistic and pompous. But again, to survive and thrive at that level, you always had to have a certain level of narcissism and delusional belief in yourself.
“But then one night he was there,” I whispered.
I still smelled him. Expensive port and aftershave couldn’t cover the bitter twang of sweat.
“He’d been drinking. But he wasn’t drunk. Not that that would’ve been an excuse for what happened next,” I scoffed.
Kane had been intently listening, his elbows resting on his knees. That was his way. When I had his attention, I had all of it. He hung on my every word. Previously, I’d liked that. But at that moment, I didn’t.
I was suddenly aware of my body, of his body, of the story that I’d shoved down so deep that it tore out bits of me while coming back up.
Kane pushed up from where he was sitting, crossing the short distance between us. He gently angled me away from the mirror to face him, his breath on my face, his enticing scent mingling with that of my memories. “What happened next?” he asked quietly.
Kane was hyperaware of everything. Of minute details. Of gestures I made, expressions, the tone of my voice. He had learned who I was in the short time we’d been together. Actually, knew me.
I swallowed past the lump of dread in my esophagus. The memory had made nausea swirl in my gut. I regretted going there. Thinking that I was strong enough in Kane’s arms, his presence. But I also knew I couldn’t let myself retreat. Knew Kane wouldn’t let it go now.
The only way through was forward.
“He, um,” I pulled in a long breath. “He came on to me. Not very elegantly either.”
There was the smell of the port. What I’d been cooking. Beef Wellington. Something I’d never put on a menu since that night.
His hands were fumbling, invasive straightaway.
I’d swatted them off, tried to push him away even as he backed me into the door to the walk-in freezer.
I hadn’t been aware enough of my surroundings, of him casually talking to me with a strange gleam in his eyes, herding me to an area of the kitchen where I couldn’t escape from.
I hadn’t thought I’d need to be on guard in a way a woman needed to be on guard—when she was walking to her car at night, when she was breaking up with someone unpredictable, refusing the advances of someone at a bar.
No, I thought I didn’t need the skills each woman unfortunately learned, not with this man. One I trusted. One old enough to be my father. A mentor.
After that night, I didn’t think there was such a thing as a man I could trust. Or feel safe with.
“You know you want it,” Gerald had whispered, lips against my neck. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
“No,” I replied, quietly at first, trying to push his roving hands away. “No!” I said louder as his hands crept even lower. “I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”
I’d thought a lot about those words. Whether what happened next was my fault because I’d said it so plainly, without adornment or gentleness to stroke his ego enough to hide the straight up rejection.
I’d wondered if there was something I could’ve said, something I could’ve done to make him stop.
It was only in hindsight, with time to pad me from the trauma, that rage replaced those feelings of blame and guilt. It was not my responsibility to let him down easily so he wouldn’t assault me. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, a woman could say to make sexual assault her fault. Nothing she could wear. No looks she could give.
No.
The single word was enough.
It was enough to make what he did a crime.
“He didn’t rape me,” I forced out the words. “Didn’t get that far, at least. But he … did enough.”
Gerald’s fingers, dry and probing, making their way past the elastic of my pants, pushing my simple cotton panties to the side before pushing inside.
It hurt.
It shocked me.
I left my body, not entirely understanding what was actually happening to me.
But then I did.
And my knee went to his balls.
His finger left me in a rush, brutally, causing more pain, but it gave me the opportunity to run.
I squeezed my eyes shut then forced myself to look at Kane. His face was a cool mask. “I came back to the kitchen the next day. I don’t know what I was thinking. Don’t know why I didn’t report it to the police.” I couldn’t keep Kane’s eye contact, my gaze flitting around the bathroom skittishly. “Because I was in a foreign country, was what I told myself,” I sighed. “Because it would draw attention to me in a way I wouldn’t like. I would never ever be able to make a name for myself as a chef. I’d always be the girl who accused Gerald DuBois of sexual assault. I wouldn’t be believed. I’d already assumed that much. It would be he said, she said. The student of the great man who was nothing but ordinary. I wanted him to pay. I did. But I didn’t want it to be at the expense of my career. My future.”
Shame bloomed in my cheeks.
“It was selfish and cowardly,” I admitted in a small voice. “Going back into that kitchen was, second to watching my father get buried, the hardest thing I ever did.”
I’d thrown up in the alley before I walked in.
“But I went in,” I whispered. “And he was there. And he looked at me, smiled tightly, politely, acting like nothing ever happened. Although I was no longer his golden student. Much to the delight of the others in the kitchen. I made sure I was never ever alone in his presence again.” I clenched my fists at my sides. Kane was close to me but he wasn’t touching me.
“I finished out my time there then left. Worked in other kitchens. Buried myself in that.”
Though I didn’t feel brave enough, I looked at Kane. His face was still expressionless. But he was shaking with what might’ve been rage, his chest rising and falling quickly.
I felt awkward, unaware of what to do with my admission out in the open air. Air that was stagnant after being buried for so long.
Kane jerked, as if I’d thrown water on him. His eyes lost that glazed look to them, and he squinted at me. His fire was back, mixed with a kind of rage I’d never seen on his face.
He cupped my face in his hands. “You, Avery Hart, are many, many things. Two things you absolutely aren’t are selfish or a coward.” His words were steely, hard as iron. “I’m not gonna lie, Chef, hearing that makes me want to make calls, get on a plane and go kill the fuck with my bare hands. I know that’s my ugly, baser nature speaking, but fuck if his death doesn’t sound sweet to me.”
He took in an audible breath, never breaking eye contact.
“Spent my life working on that. That rage that put me in a cage. That turned me into someone I don’t want to be, so I’ll continue working on that. Moreover, I will not make this about me. I’ll say it plainly, Chef. I’m sorry that happened to you. So fucking sorry. Men are scum. And I don’t mean ‘some men,’ I mean most of us. Almost all of us.” His thumb brushed my bottom lip. “But I’ll endeavor to be worthy of you. And I’ll treasure that you felt safe enough with me to tell me that just now.”
My heart danced at his tender, sincere words. I wanted to cry. Sob against his chest. Kane would let me, that I knew. He wouldn’t be afraid of my tears, my feelings.
But I didn’t want that. There was still a stubborn, maybe emotionally stunted part of me that thought tears equaled weakness. So I held on.
Kane was watching me, searching my expression as if he were waiting for me to take the lead on what to say next.
When I didn’t speak, he stroked my temple. “What do you want from here? I can run you a bath. Get you in the shower. Put on a movie. Whatever you need.”
I rubbed my lips together. “Sex isn’t anywhere in that list,” I pointed out.
He grinned slowly, but it was muted. “After sharing that, dredging that up, I didn’t know if you’d want to be touched like that right now.”
I nodded, a gesture meant to push back the tears again more than anything. Kane was so considerate. Thoughtful. Empathetic.
I clutched on to the hem of his tee, tugging it up. He let me pull it over his head to reveal his tattooed and muscled torso.
“I need to be touched right now,” I told him, kissing his neck. “I need you.”
His eyes lit up. “Tell me what you need from me, Chef.”
I kissed along his jaw, looking up at him. “I need you to bend me over that sink.” I nodded to the sink in question. “Then I need you to fuck me, and I want to watch it in the mirror.”
A groan rumbled from Kane. He took hold of my hair, roughly wrenching it back.
“Oh, Chef, I can do that.”
KANE
It took an hour after Avery went to sleep for her muscles to relax. Even after I fucked her in the bathroom, watched her break apart, there was so much tension coiled up inside her.
She was waiting. For me to … punish her for her admission? For me to look at her differently? Like she was dirty. Weak.
I was only guessing because that’s what I’d been waiting for when I’d told her about my past. She was the only one, beyond a therapist, I’d ever told. I wasn’t ashamed of it, but there was still a little toxic part of me that felt shame. Like I wasn’t a man by admitting I was a victim.
But Avery made me feel like more of a man than I’d ever felt. There was no pity from her. Only fire, burning hot in her hazel gaze, fire she wanted to breathe on my mother, the man who hurt me. I could feel it, her need to avenge me.
It hadn’t emasculated me, my woman wanting to fight for me. Fuck no. It confirmed that I’d chosen the right woman.
I was trying to stop myself from breathing my own kind of fire now. Once I’d been sure Avery was asleep in my arms, relaxed, I’d scrolled until I found every piece of information I could on Gerald DuBois.
Pompous asshole.
There were plenty of bullshit articles praising him, about his contribution to the culinary world. And plenty of those articles mentioned Avery. How he’d ‘discovered her’, ‘turned her into the chef she was today’. I’d wanted to hurl my phone at the fucking wall.
No one had discovered her, and sure as fuck, no one but her made her into the chef she was.
Once I’d calmed my heart rate, I kept looking, learning.
Though I hadn’t jumped on a plane to France … yet. I wanted to know thy enemy.
He was my enemy.
Avery was everything to me.
Fucking everything.
I knew it scared her, we scared her. It scared the fuck out of me too. But I was never one to run away when I got scared. I made a career off that shit.
So once I was done looking up Gerald DuBois, I emailed my jeweler.
Avery was not a flashy diamond kind of woman. I’d need something she could wear in the kitchen.
I’d work on it, we had time.
Because I planned on having a lifetime with Avery Hart.