Ten minutes ago, I thought I was having a nightmare.
Now, it feels like I’m trapped in one of my secret dreams—and I have no interest in escaping.
2
Sebastian
Why can’t I take my eyes off this girl?
She’s an abysmal baker. As a master of the craft, her lack of skill should be a deal breaker for me. But I’m barely aware of the other two contestants. Or judges. Or even the cameras and lights. I can only see her. Every bite of her lip or tremble of her finger has a butterfly effect on my entire being. Each action from her ripples through me and seems to go on forever.
What is it about her that has my hands gripped together on the table, zero blood left in my fingers? I hear the rasp of my breath. I hear the quick intakes of hers.
I hide my wince as she cracks an egg into a bowl, losing half of the shell in her mixture. There is flour in her blonde hair, on her pink-stained cheeks. It’s on her backside, as well—a fact of which I’m extremely aware. Every thirty seconds, she wipes her hands on the back of her skirt, leaving white handprints and by God, I think I’m jealous over the fact that she gets to touch herself.
The host called her Alice.
I drop one of my hands beneath the judges table and fist my erection through my trousers, saying her name one more time in my head.
Alice.
As if I’d called to her, she looks up at me through loose strands of blonde hair, red lips and one green eye peeking up at me. Fuck. I squeeze my cock until it hurts.
To say this reaction to Alice is unusual would be a laughable understatement.
As a young man, I had a series of unsatisfying relationships that ended much the way they started, with little fanfare. As a man in his forties, I’ve long given up on the notion of settling down. I’ve never been sure what to look for in a relationship. I only know there’s always something…missing. There has certainly never been this wild energy, this hunger inside of me at the very sight of a female. As a well known bastard, I’m usually already wondering what the hell a woman wants from me.
This girl? Alice?
I’d like her to need things from me. I’d like to provide them.
And I’d like to get on with it now.
There’s a mixture of shame and excitement in the way she’s peeking up at me through her eyelashes. As if we’re in on a secret. She’s wet beneath that short, little skirt and she needs me to decide what’s to be done about it.
Decide for me, please?
Show me.
Her unspoken pleas tighten my muscles until I think I’ll snap.
My cock throbs in my palm and I force my hands back onto the table, grasping the edge tightly. I need to get through the next hour of filming so I can get her alone. It’s all I can think about.
The insufferable host has been interviewing the other two judges. Now it’s my turn, though I’d like to shove the blasted microphone up his ass. “Ooooh. Is there a chill in the air? Sebastian Cove must be in the building.” He laughs along with the audience and I stare back at him blandly. “Oh. Erm.” The host coughs uncomfortably. “Mr. Cove. You’ve built three Michelin star restaurants from the ground up in your home city of London. Critics call your desserts some of the most successful in history, some even ranking you above Julia Child. My question is: Do you plan to rip our contestants to shreds today and can I bring popcorn?”
Suddenly, I regret agreeing to shoot this pilot. Very much.
If they didn’t offer my charity a disgusting amount of money, I never would have subjected myself to less than stellar baking. After all, I can do that at just about any restaurant that doesn’t have my name on the doors. More than anything, I’d like to scoop Alice up in my arms and make an escape somewhere private. But the British Humane Society will receive half a million Pounds in exchange for one more hour of my time. It would be selfish to quit now. I don’t give a shite about letting people down. Animals are a different story.
The host’s question is still hanging in the air and I realize I’ve been glaring at him in silence for long moments. Do you plan to rip our contestants to shreds today and can I bring popcorn?
“I never plan on ripping anyone to shreds. It’s something that happens in the moment,” I say quietly, giving him a disgusted once-over. “A moment like this one. Would you like a demonstration?”
“N-no, I’m good for now,” he stammers. “Um. After watching the contestants for the last hour, do you think there is a front-runner?”
Hell. I’ve paid almost no attention to the other two people, but I’m forced to examine them now. One is a fireman with a laugh that sounds like cannon fire. The other is a redhead from Vegas. A showgirl, I believe they said.
I’ve only had my eyes off Alice for a matter of seconds and already I’m anxious to get her in my sights again. My gaze roams over her and thirst closes my throat, like I haven’t seen her in months instead of seconds.
As I noticed early on, she’s nervous. Embarrassed by all the eyes on her.
I don’t…like that she feels anything negative.
I don’t fucking like it at all.
Not for the first time, my attention strays to her ex-boyfriend where he sits looking crestfallen now in the front row. This mangy little pipsqueak put Alice in this situation without her knowledge and I’d like to bury my fist right between his eyes.
Some of the blame is mine, too, however. Alice was going to leave until I arrived and ordered her without words to stay, simply because I couldn’t bear her leaving. And now, for the first time in my life, I have the urge to reassure someone.
Soothe her. Apologize. Take away the tremor in her fingertips.
I clear my throat. “Front-runner? No. It’s impossible to tell until the final product is presented.” I make eye contact with Alice and hold it. “However, there is potential here.”
The host dissolves into skeptical laughter, but quiets immediately when I drum a single finger on the judge’s table. “Why don’t you bring me a coffee?” I say, flashing him my teeth. “Milk. No sugar.”
“Oh, I’m the…host…” He backs up a pace. “Never mind. I’ll get it now.”
I wave him away. “Piss off, then.”
Predictably, the audience goes wild, laughing the host off the soundstage. I’ll never understand why the public is so amused by behavior that simply comes naturally to me, but in this one case, I don’t mind the host becoming the butt of a joke. Not after his treatment of Alice.
When I look back at her now, there’s a soft, grateful smile on her lush mouth and I forget my own name. Baked goods are the only things I’ve ever deemed a work of art, but her? She’s the ultimate masterpiece. I think I’d permanently give up my taste buds, as long as I could commit her flavor to memory first. For a man who has never placed much value on anything but dessert recipes, that’s quite a statement.
But I damn well mean it.
I damn well need her.
An hour later, when the red velvet cake is presented and the winner is announced, the director yells cut and I finally get my chance.
I never expected I’d have to chase her.
3