The Crab Consumed
The Crab Consumed
Series The Zodiac Club: Book 5
Heat Rating 3
Released 2011-06-17
Word Count 5510
Keywords Erotic sexual,fantasies naughty soft,porn vanilla experimentation star,signs Zodiac, tammy valenting, the zodiac club series, erotika for women, erotika romance, erotic romance
ISBN 978-1-926930-87-9
Disclaimer/Notice/Warning
Price :$1.99
Twelve star signs, four friends, one extraordinary year.
Izzy discovers a whole new meaning to the word steamy when she finds herself in the kitchen of a celebrity chef’s seafood restaurant. But how far will she allow her Cancerian conquest to get his claws into her?
The food was sensational, Izzy couldn’t deny. And when Jessica took her—with the maître d’s permission—into the kitchen to meet Quincy J. Lawrence himself, it was the first thing she told him.
To Izzy’s surprise, he looked taken aback. Pleased, yes, but also slightly nonplussed at the remark.
"Thank you so much, ma’am," he replied, rather gushingly, Izzy thought. Surely he must be used to taking compliments from the customers?
"Most people say things like that, but you can always see it in their eyes. They only say it because they feel they have to or they’re frightened of me or something. You really mean it."
Izzy cocked her head. This guy was being serious.
"I do," she confirmed, adding a warm smile to reassure him.
This was no kitchen ogre. He was impressive, for sure, with a height and build that marked him out as physically imposing and a richness to his voice that would certainly resound around the room if he ever chose to let rip. There was an aura about him too—from his jet-black, neatly trimmed hair to his expensively shod, oversize feet—that spoke of authority and poise, and there was more than a suggestion of a brooding quality behind the ostensibly smiling hazel eyes. But for all his reputation and presence, he seemed as gentle as the lamb quietly roasting in his oven for the customers who chose, for their own inexplicable reasons, to steer clear of the speciality dishes.
So when he invited them to stick around after closing time to join him in a celebratory glass of champagne in honor of the restaurant’s recent opening, Izzy found herself saying yes quite readily, even though Jessica excused herself with some implausible tale about another bash to attend. As for Amy and Sarah, back out in the restaurant, picking over the remains of the shrimp tails at the table, it was clear they were not included in the invitation. When they began to complain, Jessica shut them down firmly.
"Hey, girls, this is for Izzy. Give her a break. If Quincy J. Lawrence wants to get his claws into her, then I say we should let him. Or maybe it’s the other way round…"
Izzy blushed again, but a knot of excitement in her gut told her Jessica just might be right.
Within half an hour, Jessica had dragged Sarah and Amy almost forcibly out of the booth. They exchanged kisses with Izzy and wished her luck, then headed out into the moonlit night with a spring in their steps and large grins on their faces. The maître d’ was attentive and kept Izzy topped up with champagne as she waited another half hour for the last of the diners to finish up, settle up, and ship out of the restaurant. Then, finally, she was alone in the place after the waitstaff were ushered into the kitchen by the maître d’, to be replaced moments later by Quincy J. Lawrence, wiping his hands on a towel before mopping it against his dripping brow.
"Hot back there?" asked Izzy nonchalantly, trying to gauge the level of this most peculiar of conversations. She’d never met a celebrity before, never mind sat alone in a restaurant after hours by the dim light of an aquarium and the moonlight streaming in through the glass frontage.
"Have you ever sat in a sauna wearing a fur coat and woolly hat while they set fire to the place around you?"
Izzy had to admit she hadn’t.
"Don’t try it."
"All right," she said, smiling again at this gentle, funny man with a fearsome reputation and a genuine warmth. "But I would like to see your kitchen again, now that it’s a bit less busy."
"Of course. Be my guest. It’s a bit quieter than it was earlier, but it’s still pretty hot in there, I’m afraid."
"Well, if I can’t stand the heat," began Izzy. Then it struck her: she was flirting with him.
The maître d’ was just shepherding the last of the waitstaff out the back door as Quincy led her into the kitchen. The little man in his tuxedo threw them a knowing smile and wave before flicking the light switch and slamming the door shut behind him. With the overhead fluorescent strips now turned off, the only light came from a small table lamp on a metal desk tucked away in one corner of the enormous kitchen. That and the moonlight, which worked its way in through a couple of narrow window slits high up on the far wall.
Even in the dim light, the expanse of shiny surfaces gleamed as if they had been polished for a military inspection. Izzy ran a hand across a nearby steel-sheeted preparation area and nodded appreciatively.
"So smooth."
Behind her, Quincy copied the movement, tracing his hand in the wake of hers until it reached the same point on the steel, where it nudged hers. Izzy left her hand there for a moment longer than she meant to, then moved swiftly away to study a rack of knives and cleavers hung menacingly against a magnetic strip on the wall.
"These look dangerous."
Quincy hadn’t followed her, she noted, and she wondered if it was because she had put him off by moving away so quickly.
"Depends what you do with them, I suppose."
"What do you do with them?"
She saw him hesitate momentarily, then suddenly he was beside her and reaching out for one of the blades on the rack. As he leaned across to pluck it from its place, he brushed—casually but noticeably—against her arm. When he didn’t apologize, she knew he was as comfortable as she was.
"This one’s for chopping vegetables," he announced, slamming the knife down on the metal counter. "And this one is for shelling prawns."
She turned to face him and looked him squarely in the eye with a gaze that didn’t shift as she spoke, her voice heavy with implication.
"Have you got anything for opening up crabs?"
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