Chapter Seven

IT WAS RONNI WHO came up with the idea of filming Cook’s Treats in Scott’s home. Spending three weeks with the show as an intern, Ronni was studying for a post-graduate qualification in television journalism, and struck Morgan as fiercely ambitious. She arrived at every production meeting with a long list of suggestions, and was determined to get at least one of them on air before she had to return to her course.

Plans were already being drawn up for the shows to be broadcast over the Christmas period. These would be pre-recorded a couple of weeks in advance, meaning the crew could have some well deserved time off to spend with their families, and in previous years they’d been filmed on the usual set. Ronni, inevitably, had thought of a change to the format.

‘Why don’t you produce them on location?’ she asked.

‘Did you have anywhere in mind?’ Lucinda replied.

‘Well, I did have a couple of ideas …’ Ronni consulted her extensive sheaf of notes. ‘You could maybe go down to The Ludgate Chop House, let the cameras take a behind-the-scenes look at what Scott does when he’s in the kitchen.’

Scott vetoed that idea with a curt shake of the head. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. You’ve no idea of the mayhem it would cause, trying to fit a film crew in the kitchen when we’re working.’

‘And it could be viewed as a breach of the rules on product placement,’ Lucinda added. ‘Some people might see it as a plug for the restaurant. Any other suggestions?’

Ronni glanced back at her notepad. ‘In that case, how about filming in the presenters’ actual kitchen?’

‘Now that I like,’ Lucinda said, before either Morgan or Scott had the chance to interject. ‘And I think the viewers would love it, too. Seeing Scott preparing one of his gourmet meals at home, it’ll make them realise how easy it would be for them to do the same thing. We can do one show from Scott’s place and the other from Morgan’s. Smart thinking, Ronni.’

Lucinda moved on smoothly to the subject of whether they should book guests for those shows or simply repeat a couple of the best interviews from the series so far, leaving Morgan to wonder just what she’d been let in for.

The quiet Regency building that housed Scott’s flat was easy to spot. The battered white van bearing the production company’s logo parked before it let Morgan know she was in the right place. Pressing the buzzer, she heard Scott’s voice snap, ‘Yes?’ into the entry phone. From his abrupt tone of voice, she knew it was far from the first time he’d had to answer the door this morning.

‘Hi, Scott, it’s Morgan.’ She shook her umbrella before furling it. A heavy rain had been falling all morning, showing no signs of letting up. When they’d first discussed shooting in Scott’s home they’d looked into the possibility of filming on the roof terrace, but today’s weather made that an impossibility.

‘Oh, hey, Morgan. Come on up. I’m on the top floor.’

The door buzzed open and Morgan climbed the four flights of stairs to where Scott stood waiting for her.

‘Remind me who thought this was a good idea,’ he muttered, letting her into the flat.

When she’d seen the magazine photos of his home, it had been immaculate, with not so much as a stray newspaper cluttering up the place. Now, there was chaos everywhere. Cables snaked through the flat, and free-standing lights had been set up in the living room. A Christmas tree stood in one corner of the room, giving off an appealing scent of fresh pine. The strings of tinsel and coloured baubles hanging from its branches didn’t strike Morgan as suiting Scott’s tastes, and when she picked up one of the gaudily-wrapped presents sitting beneath it and gave it an experimental shake, it sounded suspiciously like an empty box. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if that same tree found its way to her flat for the filming of the next show.

Walking through to the kitchen, she found the duo of home economists, Janice and Nina, busy chopping and peeling vegetables in preparation for Scott’s cookery segment. Once they’d finished those, they’d be moving on to weighing out the ingredients for her own contribution to the show, cute little cupcakes decorated to resemble Christmas puddings.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Scott asked, and when she nodded gratefully, he poured her a cup from a shiny Italian coffee maker that stood on one of the work surfaces.

That was as close as they came to having any kind of conversation for the next couple of hours. Hardly had she taken a sip of the rich, aromatic brew than she was whisked into the bathroom to have her make-up touched up, before joining Scott on his butterscotch leather sofa to film the introduction and links to the various pre-recorded items that would be slotted in when the show was put together in post-production.

Cooking in Scott’s lavishly appointed kitchen proved to be a pleasure, even with the camera’s intrusive presence following her every step of the way. Unlike the appliances in Lucinda Leeson’s home, his top-of-the-range stove with its gas hobs and convection oven was used on a regular basis, and his collection of knives was honed to razor sharpness.

As ever, she couldn’t help but be struck by his air of calm self-assurance once the cameras rolled, and she wondered again how much of his barking, bullying chef persona was really an act. At one point, as the camera panned down to his finished plate of turkey pot pie, he slipped Morgan a little wink, unnoticed by everyone else. Carrie’s words rung in her ears: ‘He wants to be with you every bit as much as you want to be with him.’ She had to discover the truth of those words, sooner rather than later.

As the crew packed up to leave, Morgan lingered in the kitchen, admiring the pots of herbs on his windowsill, the fruit bowl piled high with lemons and limes, ready to be sliced and squeezed into whatever recipe he was working on. ‘I don’t want to sound cheeky, but I’d love another cup of coffee if there is one. It’s Blue Mountain, isn’t it?’

Scott nodded. ‘Just got a fresh supply last week, from the Algerian place in Soho. It’s expensive, but it’s so much nicer than some boring old French blend.’

‘Well, I can’t promise the same when you come over to mine for filming next week, but I do have some wonderful toffee vodka you might like.’ Taking a deep breath, confident no one was left to overhear this turn in the conversation, she said, ‘Scott, we really need to talk about what happened at Lucinda’s party.’

He stiffened, pausing in the act of refilling the coffee machine. ‘I thought we’d decided not to discuss it. It was a pleasant one-off. It didn’t mean anything more.’

‘But that’s the point. It did – does mean more than that to me, and if you’re honest, it does to you, too.’ Growing bolder, Morgan continued, ‘We were so worried about what might happen if the press got wind of the fact we were more than just colleagues on the show, but you know what? I really don’t care what they think. Carrie said some things that made a lot of sense the night we had dinner at the Chop House, and she made me see that if I’m not careful, I’m in danger of missing out on something very special.’

‘Morgan, you know I don’t have time for a relationship ...’

‘Says who? OK, so you work long hours in the restaurant, but not every night of the week. We could make this work, I know we could. And you can’t deny there’s a spark between us whenever we’re together. If the viewers can see that, I’m damn sure you can.’

She reached out, linking her fingers in his loosely enough that he could pull them away if he wanted to. If he did, she’d take it as a sign she was wasting her time, and he really didn’t want to be with her on anything but a professional level. Instead, he tightened the grip a little, pulling her to him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Morgan’s eyes blazed, defying Scott to deny the electricity sizzling between them. A pulse beat steadily between her legs; she felt weak with need for him.

‘Do you feel that?’ she whispered.

By way of answer, he crushed his lips to hers, his kiss driving the breath from her. She cupped the point of his chin in her hands, returning the kiss with equal passion. His tongue traced along her lips before delving back into her mouth, probing and exploring. Their lower bodies ground together, the bulge in Scott’s jeans leaving Morgan in no doubt as to how badly he wanted her.

Breaking the kiss, he murmured, ‘Shall we take this to the bedroom?’

‘Lead the way,’ she replied.

‘OK, though we’ll need some supplies to take with us.’

Baffled as to what he meant, Morgan watched Scott take a pot of clear manuka honey from one of the cupboards and a pomegranate from the fruit bowl, before pulling a little paring knife from the wooden block. Satisfied with his choices, he turned and left the kitchen. Morgan followed him to the bedroom, with its white-painted walls and huge king-sized bed, topped and tailed with wrought iron rails.

Scott set the honey and the pomegranate down on the night stand. Sitting on the bed, he beckoned Morgan to join him. She kicked off her shoes, and did as he requested.

‘Now, where were we …?’ Scott murmured, before kissing her with even more passion than before. Rolling together on the bed, they fell into a caress, beginning to learn more about the other’s body. Before, they’d been pressed by the constraints of their surroundings and the fear of a curious partygoer walking in on them. Now, they had all the time in the world to discover the sensitive places, the little touches that made them squirm with delight or sigh with the sweetest of pleasure.

Morgan nuzzled at Scott’s neck, breathing in his familiar cologne, mixed with a richer, muskier scent all of his own. Crouching over him, she settled her crotch on to the solid contour of his cock, still trapped in his jeans. Humping herself gently against the hardness there sent little quivers of pleasure through her pussy.

In return, Scott’s hands had worked their way up under her top, and were squeezing her breasts together. The catch at the front of her bra came undone as he fiddled with it, letting the soft mounds of flesh spill out into his welcoming grasp.

Two could play at that game. She pushed his T-shirt up, revealing the flat, golden expanse of his stomach. While Scott worked to strip her entirely of her top and bra, she peeled off the T-shirt so she could nip and lick at his flat, pink nipples.

Suddenly, a comment of Carrie’s popped into her mind and she giggled.

‘What’s so funny?’ Scott asked, breaking off from thumbing her nipples into tight, aching peaks.

‘Oh, something Carrie said, when I first found out I was going to be working with you. She told me you should never trust a skinny cook. I just wondered what she’d say about one who was such a nicely put together arrangement of muscles and –’ She reached lower, unzipping his fly and pushing her fingers inside to touch the hard length of his shaft. ‘What would you call this? Just another muscle or  …?’

‘I’d call it a rock-hard cock that’s just dying to sink itself in your tight pussy,’ Scott replied, his voice a low, erotic growl that made Morgan’s juices flow more strongly than ever. ‘A cock that could never get tired of fucking you. Anywhere, any time, whenever you want me.’ He tugged at the waistband of Morgan’s black leggings, pulling them down, leaving her in nothing but her soaking wet panties. ‘Because you’re not so badly put together yourself, Morgan Jones, with your beautiful hair and your gorgeous breasts …’

His mouth closed around her nipple, the soft suction causing Morgan’s pussy to clench with desire. Slipping a finger between her thighs, she teased her clit through the wet lace of her panties.

‘In fact,’ Scott continued, ‘I’d say you looked good enough to eat.’ He grinned, lust etched across his handsome features, and for a moment she thought he was about to rip off her panties and replace her busily circling finger with his tongue. Instead, he reached for the pot of honey.

‘Lie back, Morgan,’ he instructed her. ‘I’ve had this recipe in mind for a while, but never had the right person to prepare it on.’

‘Don’t you mean prepare it for?’ she asked, but the first cool drops of honey landing on her naked, overheated skin let her know he’d chosen exactly the right word. Working quickly, Scott drizzled a trail over both breasts, down to the soft curve of her belly, stopping just short of her underwear.

Setting down the pot, he took the pomegranate, quickly cutting it open and squeezing one half over Morgan’s torso, the seeds falling to land like scattered jewels on her flesh. Only then did he peel down her panties, tossing them aside before removing his jeans and boxer shorts. His cock reared up from its sandy nest of hair, bobbing with his movements as he crawled up the bed beside her.

‘Mmm. Definitely the tastiest thing I’ve whipped up in a long time,’ he told her, before bending his head to lick up the mixture of sticky honey and tart pomegranate seeds. He took his time, guided by Morgan’s sighs and moans to spend a little longer sucking at the stiff points of her nipples. When he eventually moved low enough that he could run his tongue tip over the puffy outer lips of her pussy, Morgan was practically begging him to give her the satisfaction she needed. His erotic feasting on her body had taken her to a state where she knew it would only take the lightest of touches on her clit to have her dissolving in orgasm.

At last, he guided her thighs wide apart, gripping her bum cheeks and pulling her on to his waiting mouth. His tongue lashed over the molten folds of her sex, licking along the whole length of her cleft. Briefly, he brushed over her anal rosebud, and she shivered at the thought of him pressing his tongue deeper, maybe even teasing that tight, untried entrance with a finger.

Scott seemed to realise where she needed to be stimulated most urgently, for his tongue returned to her clit, flickering like a lizard’s over the swollen bud until she cried out, gripping fistfuls of his hair and crushing his face against her as she wrung every drop of sensation from her orgasm.

Riding out the last shallow waves, she released her hold on him. He gazed up at her, chin and lips glazed with her juices. When they kissed, she tasted herself on him, a rich, complex bouquet that was uniquely hers.

‘And now for the main course …’ Now Scott reached for a condom, sheathing himself before laying back and inviting Morgan to mount him. With his cock primed and ready for her, and a look of undisguised lust in his stunning green eyes, it was an invitation she couldn’t ignore. Gripping his shaft by the root, she held herself poised over him for a moment. He strained up towards her, his cock anxious to bury itself as deep in her body as it could go.

‘Please, Morgan, don’t tease me. You can’t know how badly I need to fuck you.’

She’d never heard him beg before, never seen him at a point where all the control had been wrested from him. He was, literally, in her hands. She toyed with the idea of tying his wrists to the bedrail, rendering him completely at her mercy, but that was just too cruel. Maybe in the weeks to come … For now, she could only acquiesce to his urgent need to be inside her.

Inching herself down, she engulfed his cock in the velvet clasp of her pussy, watching the play of emotions on his face as he registered the feel of being lodged to the hilt inside her, just as he’d craved.

She rode him slowly, shifting up and down on his thick length, her eyes never leaving his. His hands clamped around her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples, adding more strands to the web of sensation that seemed to wrap around her body from head to toe.

‘Good?’ she asked him.

‘Better than good,’ he assured her. ‘Bloody marvellous, in fact.’

‘Just what I wanted to hear.’ She’d aimed to string the pleasure out for as long as she could, but her self-control was fracturing further with every passing second and she bucked and heaved, inner muscles catching and releasing his cock with ever-increasing speed. It seemed as though their whole world had been reduced to this one room, the once-crisp bedsheets crumpled beneath them, the insistent pattering of the rain against the window the only accompaniment to their lovemaking.

Senses swamped with the feel and taste and touch of Scott’s body, Morgan surrendered to the overload of sensation. ‘Oh, God, Scott, I’m coming!’ she cried out, her last coherent words before her pleasure crested wildly and she threw her head back, almost sobbing with the force of the orgasm thundering through her.

Dimly, she registered the way Scott’s cock jerked inside her as he reached his own peak, calling out her name over and over. He held her safe and secure in his arms, as though he couldn’t bear to let her go.

At last, she eased herself off him, snuggling up against his bare, sweat-sheened back.

‘So,’ she asked, echoing her earlier question, ‘do you feel what I feel?’

‘And what’s that, exactly?’ Turning to face her, Scott brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

‘Well …’ She could hardly bring herself to say the words, afraid what his response might be. Then she steeled herself, driven by a need to spell her emotions out. They’d wasted so much time worrying about how other people would react, when all that mattered was their obvious need for each other. But Morgan had to know whether Scott felt the same all-consuming desire she did. ‘I feel as though you’re someone I could very easily fall in love with.’

He didn’t laugh, didn’t stiffen and turn away in a manner that would tell her he didn’t feel the same. Instead, he hugged her tighter. ‘Yes, I do feel it. And you don’t know how hard it is for me to admit something like that. After Sasha and I split up, I didn’t know whether I’d ever be able to open my heart to anyone again. But if we keep working on this recipe for passion we seem to be cooking up together, who knows what might happen?’

Those words were all she needed to hear. The man by her side wasn’t the self-centred, career-obsessed Scott who, she now realised, was largely the media creation Carrie had always claimed. This was a man who was willing to put his heart on the line for her, no matter what anyone else might think, and she couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to separate the two.

Now she had, she was determined to make up for lost time. Between soft, nibbly kisses, she reached for the pot of honey, struck with the urge to act on all her fantasies of anointing Scott’s cock with some delicious foodstuff before licking it off. ‘Sounds wonderful to me. So why don’t you lie back, and this time I’ll treat the cook?’