Add Spice to Taste by R.G. Emanuelle Page A

that Brit hired you because you’re a good chef. I’m sure you are. Brit wouldn’t have it any other way.” He began walking back out to the living room, turning his head slightly so I could still hear him. “But if you think that the food is the only thing that’s going to get eaten tonight, you really are naïve.”
    I stared after him, stunned at his audacity and at the thought that Brit had those designs on me. Sure, she had been flirting with me but the idea that she was plotting some kind of Showtime-style seduction seemed both absurd and, frankly, a little scary.
    Brit was a beautiful woman , to be sure, and any healthy, normal degenerate like me would find her attractive. The prospect of sleeping with her was not unappealing, and it’s not like she was some freaky dominatrix that I should avoid. At least, I didn’t think so. And even if she was, that’s not what was scaring me.
    It was the thought of being with anyone after the mess I’d made with Brenda. Even Julianna. Starting a relationship was not the problem. Sustaining it was. It had been close to two years and I still had not been able to imagine making anything work with a woman.
    Until I met Julianna. But I hadn’t done anything with her yet, either. Desire for Julianna and the fear that I would fuck it up were dueling inside me and I wasn’t sure which would win. I was really hoping it would be desire.
    I peeked into the living room. With a giant spool of white lights in his hands, Michael walked over to the corner of the room closest to the kitchen, where a high step-stool had been placed. “Look,” he said, placing the spool down on the floor, “I’ve known Brit for a long time. She’s a good person. Got a good heart. Lord knows she was there for me every time I got my heart broken. You think women can be bitches? Well, let me tell you, boys can be ruthless. Especially the pretty ones.” He seemed to go somewhere else for a moment as he gazed out the French doors. “But she likes her women. She likes to have a good time. She has no desire for anything long-term, if that scares you. If that’s what you want , then you’re out of luck.”
    He opened up a plastic box and pulled out a couple of removable hooks, and climbed the step-stool. Once at the top, he pulled the tab off the back of a hook and stuck the hook on the wall, high up in the corner. He climbed back down and began unspooling the lights. “Either way, she usually gets what she wants.” Standing up straight for a moment, he said, pensively, “I don’t think anyone’s ever complained.” A conspiratorial laugh made his voice lower an octave. He laughed again. “From what I hear, she shows her guests a good time. So just enjoy yourself.”
    The elevator doors slid open again. Still a bit astonished at Michael’s suggestion that I was there as a concubine—a cooking concubine —I looked up to see who was entering.
    Julianna stepped into the apartment and came into the kitchen.
    “Oh,” she said, looking me up and down. “That’s hot.”
    I looked down at myself. “What?”
    “I like that look on you. Shows off your nice arms.”
    The black tank top I’d worn underneath my jacket was standard for me in summer—it was the least I could wear underneath, short of absolutely nothing.
    “Um, thanks. It got hot.” I glanced over at Michael, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention.
    She arched an eyebrow and kissed me, softly at first, but then she nipped my lower lip before pulling away. Damn, it was getting really, really hot.
    Only after that did she survey the apartment. “Wow,” she said in a hushed tone. “This is crazy.”
    “I know, right?”
    Julianna was still holding the bag she’d walked in with and gingerly put it on the counter, as if afraid to damage the surface.
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    “Lunch. I figured even the chef has to eat.”
    I smiled . “Yes. Thank you. That was very sweet of you.”
    She probably never dreamed that just two