Chapter 8

EIGHT

C hez Miso occupied a corner in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in London, less than half a mile from Xavier’s Mayfair apartment. The weather was nice, so I chose to walk through the city, taking the rare moment to enjoy the bustle of the early evening without a four-year-old in tow. After a quick shower, I’d changed into a short black skirt, a flirty green top that matched my eyes, and a pair of espadrilles that lent me about five inches—always helpful when your boyfriend had you by more than a foot. I also happened to know that Xavier liked this skirt a lot. At least, it seemed like it, since every time I wore it, he copped a feel as much as he could get away with.

The menu was, like most of Xavier’s restaurants, a fusion of east and western cuisine—this one specifically a mix of French and Japanese comfort food, but elevated to something truly spectacular, if the reviews were to be trusted. My mouth watered as I entered the restaurant. Scents of what must have been the miso French onion soup (one of the restaurant’s signatures, Xavier had said) wafted from a few tables. I caught glimpses of a few other dishes I wasn’t familiar with. One looked something like deconstructed ramen plated around duck confit. Another seemed to be some form of sushi but was topped with a variety of fish I couldn’t place.

The whole place hummed, full of people eating at one of the thirty or so tables, and a few patrons crunched into the foyer and bar while they waited for another to open up. This wasn’t a surprise—all of Xavier’s restaurants I’d seen were busy. Whatever my duke was cooking, people wanted. Including me.

“Hi, Mal,” I greeted the hostess, whom I’d met the week before when Xavier had taken me here for dinner. “I’m?—”

“Francesca!” She looked slightly terrified when she recognized me. “Oh—I mean, Ms. Zola—bloody—are you supposed to be—he didn’t tell me you needed a table?—”

Okay, so more than slightly terrified. As the girl spoke, I could practically see her blood pressure rising. She looked like she needed to breathe into a paper bag.

“No, no, no,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm. “He’s not expecting me. Elsie said he was working late, and he had asked earlier if I’d meet him here. I thought I’d surprise him. He’s in the kitchen, right?”

“I—er—” The girl glanced behind her toward the kitchen doors. “Perhaps you’d better wait. I’ll clear a seat at the bar for you.”

I glanced at the bar, which was completely jammed. I didn’t particularly want to aggravate hungry, inebriated people by kicking one of them off their stool.

“Oh, it’s all right,” I said. “I won’t stay long if he’s occupied, but he’ll be happy to see me.”

I gave Mal what I hoped was a reassuring grin, then skipped around her, ignoring her clear distress as well as the irritation of the other waiting diners.

“Miss—Francesca—it’s not really a good time?—”

“Thank you!” I called, giddy at the prospect of finally sneaking up on Xavier for once. He always laughed at how easy it was to sneak up on me, often making it into a game with Sofia. This time, I’d be the one to surprise him.

After a rather exhausted-looking waiter emerged from the kitchen, I slipped through the swinging door. I expected chaos—by this point, I knew that restaurant kitchens during dinner hour were a flurry of activity. Instead, every person in the place was stock-still.

No one turned to look. No one even noticed my intrusion. They were all watching Xavier, who was towering over a shriveled, miserable-looking man whose hunched, sallow body and wide-set mouth strongly resembled a toad’s.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Xavier in kitchen clothes. Usually, when he was working, he wore the suits of a businessman, looking more like an owner or investor than the people who actually made the food. Tonight, however, he was dressed as a chef in simple black pants and a white double-breasted jacket with a mandarin collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoo twisting around his left arm.

He’d clearly been working hard, if the light sheen of sweat on his brow and rumpled black hair was any indication. He also looked as edible as anything they were making.

And angry. Very, very angry.

“What does this menu say, Le Fray?” Xavier demanded. “Tell me, what does this fucking menu say?”

The toadish man muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but it sounded as though it were in a French accent.

“Speak the fuck up,” Xavier ordered. “My patience already walked out the door, along with your next reference. What does it say?”

“It says soupe l’oignon gratinée avec miso,” repeated the chef through his teeth.

“And is that what you made?” Xavier demanded.

“ Oui , I made the soup. But it tastes like food for the pigs.”

As quick as a lunging snake, Xavier’s hand darted out to take a handful of the chef’s white collar and yanked him close. Given the difference in their heights, this required the man to step onto his tiptoes as his nose quivered next to Xavier’s.

“Whose restaurant is this, Le Fray?”

Xavier’s voice was low. Dangerous.

I took a step back. I knew that tone, though I hadn’t heard it in a while. Not since the day Xavier had seen Sofia for the first time. We’d walked to the river, where he’d yelled at first upon discovering he had a little girl and I hadn’t told him. But it was the end of the conversation that had scared me the most. The one where his temper had burned hot into embers and turned into threats of legal action that had haunted me for months.

That was the sound of Xavier’s real fuse being lit. Right before the explosions were detonated.

“Get your hands off me!” snapped the chef, who then proceeded to rattle off what I would have wagered were some choice insults in French. “You are lucky I come back at all, espèce de brute ! This restaurant will fail without me. I am Chez Miso.”

“A beast, am I?” Xavier snapped.

I frowned. Xavi spoke French?

“Well, you’re not wrong, you stubborn, insubordinate piece of shit,” he continued, using Le Fray’s collar to march him over to a stove, where a large stock pot full of something that smelled absolutely delicious was bubbling.

Several other cooks skittered out of their way, causing multiple empty pots and pans to clang as they fell to the floor.

Xavier dragged Le Fray’s face down to the pot and spoke in a low growl close to his ear. “I am a beast. But I’m also the owner of this restaurant and your boss—a fact you seem to forget every time you throw these fucking tantrums. You make the recipes we design. You prepare the menu as it’s written. You cook like I want you to cook, or you don’t cook for me or anyone else in London at all.” Xavier grabbed a ladle, then yanked Le Fray up to standing and held it out to him. “Is that clear?”

“Is that clear?” Le Fray mimicked over his shoulder, clearly refusing to pick up the ladle. Then he mumbled something else in French.

Whatever it was, it must have been bad.

Xavier flipped him around to face him, grabbed him fully by the fabric of his chef’s jacket, and lifted him completely off the floor. “Say that again to my face, monsieur! I dare you. You’ll find out what happened to the others before you. They were unrecognizable after they left the fucking hospital!”

Shit. I had a feeling dinner wasn’t happening. Nor anything else pleasant that Xavier might have planned. My man was angry—maybe more than I’d ever seen him—and wild in a way I knew very well. Several of my family members had this exact kind of temper—a long fuse that, when it went off, blew a fire so hot nothing could put it out. It simply had to burn. Nothing was safe from this particular brand of rage. Maybe not even me.

Xavier dropped Le Fray into a crumpled heap on the floor, looking over him with his hands balled at his hips.

“Get out,” he told him.

The chef scrambled up, eyes bugged, but no longer muttering. Fear had replaced contempt. I wasn’t sure it would be better for him.

Xavier took a step forward and, this time bellowed his order. “Get. The fuck. OUT! AND DON’T COME BACK!”

The few pots and pans hanging from the ceiling shook, as if even they were terrified. Everyone else in the kitchen looked like they wanted to sink into the walls and disappear.

At that, Le Fray swiped the chef’s hat off his head, hurled it to the floor, and bounded out of the kitchen, shoving into me as he did. I backed away, intending to make my escape behind him as silently as I’d entered.

And promptly sent a rack of pans clattering to the floor like a cascade of cymbals.

Everyone in the room jumped and turned. Xavier looked up, still holding the ladle as his chest rose and fell like he’d run a marathon. And when he caught sight of me, the fire in his eyes turned a deep, dangerous blue. Frozen and blistering all at once. A flame that could burn through anyone and anything in a moment.

“Ces?”

“I…” I flapped a hand weakly. “Surprise?”

He shoved the ladle at another cook standing next to him and shoved him toward the simmering pot.

“Fix it,” he barked. Then, to everyone else, “Back to work.”

The kitchen sprang into action.

Xavier crossed the room to where I stood, his footsteps masked by the sudden clamor. I watched him come, reminded of Moses in the Red Sea, the way the activity around him seemed to part with each step.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when he reached me.

“I—er—Elsie told me you were here, and I saw your texts. I thought I’d surprise you.” By the time I was finished, I sounded like a mouse squeaking for a bite of cheese.

“Thought you’d surprise me…”

He looked me over, only then taking in what I was wearing. My shirt wasn’t particularly tight, but Xavier’s gaze made it feel like a second skin—particularly since my nipples were making it more than obvious how nervous I was. When he caught sight of my skirt, he chewed on his lips for several long seconds before he grabbed my hand, apparently deciding to offer a proper greeting.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

Maybe not.

He dragged me through the kitchen to a propped-open back door, which he kicked shut as soon as we exited the restaurant. I found myself in an alley off the main street, locked in by a building at the far end and the racket of Charing Cross on the other. Cars zoomed by, pedestrians crowded the sidewalk, and I could hear the tinkle of silverware and music from countless restaurants and bars from here. Still, where we stood was relatively quiet. Or maybe the noise was just swallowed by Xavier’s intensity.

“Is everything all right?” I asked as he yanked me farther into the alley, well past the set of dumpsters used by the restaurant and a shipping container that stored supplies. “Xavi, wait. What was going on back there? Was that really just about soup? Babe, are you okay?”

Suddenly, I was jerked around, then found myself shoved against the brick wall of the building, barely hidden behind the shipping container. Xavier’s big body trapped me against the brick.

“No,” he said flatly. “But I will be.”

Before I could reply, his mouth crashed into mine, sucking, biting, drinking from my lips like he was an alcoholic falling off the wagon. It was a far cry from Xavier’s usually sensuous kisses. This bruised just as deeply as anything he had wanted to do to the man inside. I was completely at his mercy as he raided my mouth, as merciless as a marauder, ruthless as a fiend.

“Xavi,” I gasped when he finally released me minutes later. My lips were so swollen, I could barely speak. “What?—”

“This day,” he muttered as his hands roved down my body, seeking contact through the thin fabrics of my clothes. “This skirt. You had to wear this fucking skirt, didn’t you?”

Without another word, said skirt was suddenly wrenched over my hips, and the hand that slipped between my thighs ripped through my lace underwear with a single tug. Xavier tossed the fabric aside, where it fluttered to the cobblestones, a scrap of pink against the dirty grays and browns. Then he lifted me bodily against the wall, bringing me face-to-face so he could crush his lips to mine all over again. Frequently, he said he wanted to devour me whole. But this was the first time I felt truly consumed.

“You,” he snarled between punishing kisses. “Should not. Be here.”

“But you said—I—oh!”

His long, unforgiving length pressed against my core, the fabric of his pants literally the only thing separating us. The bricks at my back and the traffic at the end of the street all seemed to fade away as he ground his hips into me, hard and brutal.

“I don’t want you seeing me like that.” His teeth grazed my neck, sharp as any animal’s. “Ever.”

“Xavi,” I panted in between more ruthless kisses, his tongue twisting with mine that robbed me of every breath. “Please. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

I wanted to know. I really did. But another part of me, a completely debauched part that had zero shame, wanted much, much more.

“No.” Xavier wrested one hand from my backside only long enough to undo his own pants. His stiff erection fell against my thigh, a heavy, smooth weight that already had my mouth watering.

“Like that, do you?”

Before I could answer, he spread my thighs and shoved inside me in one sudden, harsh thrust that filled me completely and stole every word I had.

“Would you get down on your knees for it?” he asked as he pummeled into me. “Would you suck my cock with that sweet, succulent mouth of yours?”

My head knocked back against the wall as my entire body clenched around him. I shouldn’t like what he was saying. I should have felt completely demeaned.

Instead, my treasonous body was that much closer to climax.

“Yessss,” he hissed for me as he continued his savage thrusts. “You. Fucking. Would.”

“Ah!” I moaned as he took my bottom lip between his teeth and sucked ruthlessly. His mouth slid to my neck, then to my ear, biting as he went, hard enough to leave marks. “Xavi!”

“Shut up!” he barked before he covered my mouth again with his, tongue twisting with mine while pounding into me, robbing me of words beyond a low moan deep from my belly.

My head thumped against the bricks with each rough movement, but I hardly noticed. He was huge—that in itself was nothing new. But generally, he took so much more…time…to prepare me. This was Xavier everywhere all at once, primal and pure instinct. Conquering my body more than making love to it. I couldn’t deny my response, but where was it coming from?

I squirmed under him, struggling to adjust to his size and power. But he was driving harder now, creating a slightly painful friction that quickly gave way to pleasure the longer he worked.

“Francesca,” he huffed, breath hot and heavy in my ear. “Fuck me, you’re so…”

His words faded as his teeth found my earlobe, eliciting a screech from deep within me.

“Hush,” he snapped. “I’m going to tear this body in two, d o you hear me? And you’re not going to argue. You’re not going to fight me. You’re just going to take it, do you understand? You’re Just. Going. To. Take. It. Aren’t you, you dirty girl? Fuck!”

“Xavi—oh!—Xavi, someone could see us!” I could barely string together a full sentence against the force of his movements.

He groaned, as if just the idea made him that much more animal. “Do you really think I fucking care about that?”

He clearly did not, thrusting as relentlessly as he had begun, as if his movements could also drive away the rest of the world, even as my orgasm approached from only the connection of our bodies and the singular fullness of him.

“Take it,” he ordered. “Fucking take me, Ces.”

“Oh my God, Xavi, yesssssss.”

The final word came out as a ragged hiss while my head banged against the wall particularly hard. The slight pain combined with his punishing pleasure proved to be my undoing. My entire body clenched around him as I came, right there in the alley, completely at his mercy while he pumped again and again, giving no quarter as he released every last bit of his aggression.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “My God, squeeze me, Francesca. Fucking milk me, baby.”

I obeyed, unable to do anything else. As I shook in his arms, the hands holding me up suddenly shoved me harder against the brick. Xavier came with a shout, slapping one hand against the wall behind my head while the other gripped my ass hard enough to leave black and blue fingerprints behind. The moan into my neck was a pained howl, like a wild wolf. His hips jerked while the rest of him tensed, pouring into me with every tiny movement.

And I took it all. I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and squeezed, throbbing with him until our heartbeats were finally one.

Eventually, though, the rest of the world returned. I inhaled deeply, relishing his clean scent along with the salty musk of sex and sweat. Gradually, I recognized the way the bricks at my back were prodding uncomfortably. The traffic at the end of the block grew louder. My sense of propriety emerged from its hiding place like a scared kid in a fort. Meanwhile, the clink of Xavier’s belt buckle sounded far too much like the click of a camera.

“Xavi—” I gasped, wriggling weakly against him. “Oh my God, please.”

The press had largely left us alone over the past few weeks, having moved on to other stories, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find us again. I was fully aware of how I must look should anyone stumble upon us. Loose. Easy. Utterly wanton.

Xavier’s breath was warm against my collar. He was still gasping in recovery, but eventually, the rhythm of his heart slowed to something approximating normal.

“I have to finish work,” he muttered behind my ear, clearly unaffected by our compromising position. “I’ll have one of the cooks wrap something up for you if you like.”

That was…it? That was all he had to say after what had just happened?

Gently, the hands gripping my ass squeezed, and then he allowed my feet to drop back down to the ground. I swallowed thickly. Lord, I was still tingling.

“Sure you can’t get away?” I ventured shyly as I put myself back in order. “I’m no chef, but you seemed to have a lot of them in there.”

One hand still braced on the wall next to my head, his eyes raked over my body, and for a second, I thought he might take me all over again, right there. I had never felt so torn in my life. For one, it was like I was his prey, resisting the urge to flee a dangerous predator looking for its next kill. But another part of me wanted to be captured all over again. Maybe more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

In the end, Xavier made the choice for me. He brushed an absent kiss atop my head, then pushed off the wall. With a long sigh and an expression resembling something like regret, he straightened his jacket collar and walked back to the door to the restaurant, leaving me to follow on my own.

“I’ll see you at home,” he said vacantly, without looking at me again as he opened the door.

Sounds of clinking pans and chopping knives filled the space between us.

Then the door closed, and he was gone, leaving me in the alley to find my way back to Mayfair without him.