“If he wasn’t keeping you at Tartine with endless guilt trips?” I turn sideways in my seat so I can sit up on my knees and lean over the console, kissing the side of his face. “What happened to your mother was a tragedy, but it was also an accident. You can’t punish yourself forever. And it’s wrong of him to hold such a painful memory over your head.”
Draven sighs. “I know you’re right, but when he brings up what happened, the guilt just takes over. Shame that I could make such a monumental mistake.”
“No,” I whisper, flooded with sympathy. “Mistakes are human.”
“Mine had the ultimate consequence, though. Maybe it’s right that I live with the intention of making up for it. Maybe Ishouldhave to bear a penance.” He squeezes my hand tight in his grip. “I can bear anything now. I can get through the worst days, as long as you’re with me at the end of them.”
“I will be,” I whisper, planting kisses along his hairline and jaw. “I always will be.”
We’re almost to the restaurant when we hit a snarl in traffic.
I plop back down in the passenger seat, trading a perplexed glance with Draven.
Cars honk their horns at the stoplight across the street from Tartine, and when I look out the window, the intersection in front of the establishment looks like a parking lot.
“What the hell is going on?” Draven asks. “There’s never traffic mid-morning.”
“Strange,” I murmur, the daylight overhead catching my eye. “Open the sunroof and I’ll look out and see if I can find the source of the holdup.”
Draven hits a button and the sunroof opens.
I kick off my shoes and climb up, scanning the intersection. I’m wearing a cropped white t-shirt and a short, black, drawstring skirt that isn’t really appropriate for work, but I plan on wearing the apron over everything once I make it into the employee locker room.
Obviously, Draven appreciates my outfit because, while I’m looking out the sunroof, he’s down below in the car, skimming his palms along the curve of my hips, giving my breasts a rough squeeze through the thin material of my shirt. “God, little girl,”he moans against my stomach. “I used you like a little fuck toy last night and you still woke up smiling at me. I’m terrified you’re a dream.”
“Um. Draven,” I say, distracting by what I see up ahead.
His pushes up my T-shirt to expose my breasts with a shaky exhalation, his open mouth latches onto my nipple, worrying my flesh into a pink pebble.
“Draven,” I breath, fighting off the inundation of lust. “All these people…they’re trying to get into Tartine! There’s a line out the door!”
His warm mouth gradually leaves me, and he pulls my shirt back into place. “What?” I sit back down in the passenger seat, still trying to comprehend the scene I’ve just witnessed. “People are literally fist-fighting and tackling each other to get through the door of the restaurant. Do you have some kind of…special promotion today?”
Slowly, Draven’s eyes have started to darken, his chest rising and falling. “Oh fuck.”
“What?”
“Pierre…” He wheels the car into the closest parking lot, his tires squealing as he pulls into a spot. “He must have served the new sauce to the lunch crowd.”
Understanding dawns. “Our sauce?” I whisper. “The one y-you seasoned…”
“With that perfect mouth?” He drags five harried fingers through his hair. “Yeah. That one. Son of a bitch.”
Draven lunges out of the car, circling around to my side. He wrenches open my door and pulls me out, pressing me between his body and the vehicle. “We can’t let anyone know why that sauce is so good, Claire.” He points to the clogged intersection. “Or those people won’t be trying to beat down the door of the restaurant. They’ll be fighting tooth and nail for a chance to drink from the tap. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A shiver carries down my spine. “They’ll…wantme.”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” he says fervently, his mouth capturing mine in a hard kiss. One that leaves his eyes glazed. Because of my taste. “No one is ever going to touch you, except for me. That’s why we need to keep the secret.”
He’s right.
The idea of these people turning their aggression on me is horrifying.
“Don’t worry,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, my heart soaring when he picks me up in a cherishing bear hug, rocking me side to side. “No one will find out.”
When we walk through the rear entrance of Tartine five minutes later, we both stop in our tracks. The sound of people moaning is muffled, but there is no mistaking what it is. Draven looks down at me and all I can do is blink in dismay. What is going on?
Keeping my hand locked tightly inside of his, Draven pulls me into the kitchen where, sure enough, the infamous pot of sauce bubbles on the stove, one of the line cooks ladling it over two plates of waiting roast chicken, visibly stressed by the row of tickets pinned to the metal rack overhead. His fellow kitchen staff appear stunned, to say the least, but they rush to keep up with the overflowing restaurant