English: Coffee for Love (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It doesn’t need sugar ’cause it’s already sweet

It doesn’t need an oven ’cause it’s got a lot of heat

Just add a dash of kisses to make it all complete

And that’s the recipe for making love

– Recipe for Love – Harry Connick Jr­

Is it possible for the light to burn my retinas through eyelids that are sealed shut? I stretch and that is my first mistake as I throw my hand to my forehead  in an effort to stop the crazy drummer playing bongos with my frontal lobe. To be honest my head is feeling a lot better than it should.  What the hell happened last night? There were margaritas, and dancing, and Ana with that creepy stalker Christian ….FUCK!  I sit up and that is my second mistake as the room tilts and throws my stomach up into my mouth.  I slump back down  with a groan and try to hold everything together with my hands.  Eventually I feel steady enough to  roll over and see if he is still here.

Disappointment floods through me as I take in the empty bed and his clothes gone. Shit. Did we…? No. He did that neanderthal thing and then the nice guy thing and then he…. I groan. How did I lose control of that particular situation? Guys usually fall over themselves to take me to bed and occasionally I let them. Well, no, technically there have only been a few actual lovers and a number of hot and heavies who almost but didn’t quite make it but they all wanted to.  Not Neanderthal Grey.  He was too freaking good for me.  But the man is a hornbag – how did he resist my charms? And he did it while professing undying love for me. Didn’t he?  Then I register how completely smashed I was last night. God, no wonder he found me so … resistible.  Jeez, Kavanagh, you’re lucky he was gentleman enough to make sure you made it to your own bed and didn’t leave you to choke on your own vomit on the living room floor. Well, don’t expect the good ship Grey to dock in your harbor any time soon.

Groaning again I roll over and see the pills and water he left by the bed. Oh, St Elliot, sweet patron saint of hangovers. Guzzling down the water like a dying man at an oasis, I feel some of my self-induced pain easing.  The next minute I hear the front door opening. Shit Ana.

I am up and out of bed as quick as flash and that would be my third mistake.  Oh, shit…spinning.  Stop the spinning.  Stumbling out of the room, I attempt not to fall into the door frame and emerge out into the living room with all the grace of a newborn hippopotamus.  I am determined to get the dirt on Ana’s evening and I am so focused on my goal that I am almost disappointed to walk out and find Elliot Grey letting himself in. I stop and lean on the the wall watching him, trying to catch my breath and stop this infernal tilt-a-whirl.  After a few deep breaths, my brain finally catches up with what I am seeing.  He is here… with me. Maybe…

“Hey, baby. You look like shit.  I got coffee. I wasn’t sure how you like it so I got espresso and cappuccino. Which do you want?” I look like shit? Nice! The man has the charm of Perez discussing Paris.  However, his smile… His smile is contagious. I unfold my arms and shake my head pushing away from the wall feeling an involuntary pull toward him. Meeting me halfway, he places the coffee holder down on the table, wraps his arm around me then surprises the crap out of me by placing a kiss on my mouth. “I’m kidding.  You look gorgeous this morning.”

What the…? No make up, bed hair, pink flannel, mouth like the bottom of a birdcage and  the mother of all hangovers. Is this guy for real?  Hell, even I can’t stand me…

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” I attempt a smile but suspect I might look like I’m in pain… Which I am.  Before he can comment I turn to the table and grab the espresso then head to kitchen put two sugars in and go back out to the couch, flopping myself down. “I feel like crap but thanks for lying.”

“Oh sweetheart, would I lie to you?” I quirk a malevolent eyebrow, which only serves to set of the beginning of a migraine.  As I rub my forehead, he laughs, grabs his coffee and walks over to join me. “So is this how you like your coffee normally?”

“Oh yeah, sweet, strong and black. Like my…” I say with a smirk. He glances sideways at me.

“Two out of three ain’t bad?” Now he is grinning that full blown Elliot Grey surfer boy grin making me want him so bad I have to squirm in my seat. Without a change of expression he reaches over and grabs my chin leaning in for a kiss.  Oh, revolting much….I know my mouth must taste like raw sewerage but I can’t resist him. Our tongues sweep past each other and I’m just starting to enjoy how things start to heat up before he pulls away. “Drink your coffee, woman, before someone gets hurt.”

That cute grin rests on his face as he stares down at his coffee.  His phone vibrates in his pocket and he leans back and stretches out his long, extremely muscular denim-clad leg to retrieve it without standing up. God, he is so big and so all… Male!  Glancing at the screen he presses a few buttons. “Ana is fine, she’s with Christian at the Heathman. He wanted you to know.” Christian Grey wanted me to know! Well, that would be a huge ‘knock me down with a feather’ moment.

“So what did you text back?” I take a sip of the espresso which is now starting to work its unique magic.

“That I’m here with you and I am okay too.” I laugh. Near damn thing, Grey, and I wouldn’t speak to soon. If you keep looking at me like that you won’t be safe for much longer. “I asked him if he got laid.” A mouthful of coffee flies across the room. Classy, Kavanagh.

“Shit! What did he say?” Do I really want to know?  This is virginal Ana we are talking about, the girl who hasn’t had a boyfriend in the  four years I’ve known her. Nope, no boyfriends and no one night stands. Then Christian, the stalker enters her world and suddenly she’s giving up her cherry? I don’t think so.  If that bastard took advantage of her last night I will string him up by the testicles.

“He doesn’t kiss and tell.” Elliot puts the phone down on the table and takes another sip of his coffee before turning to look at me. “Tell me about Ana.” Great! This seemingly innocent question is going to be the start of an interrogation and my heart sinks with disappointment. I recognize the tactic well.  I kind of hoped that he was here to be with me but now it’s clearly evident that he is protecting Christian?

Start with the truth. “She is a wonderful person who deserves to find love. She is incredibly loyal, private, funny, intelligent. She also has an incredible humility. She has no idea how truly attractive she is and how many guys want to be with her.” Take that you spy.  Ana is perfection and she deserves far better than your pervert brother.

“Is she gay?” I almost choke on my coffee again.  Isn’t that the same question that I got Ana to ask about Christian? Shit, this is payback.  Now I know that Christian has planted Elliot in my apartment to gather intelligence on Ana. I grit my teeth.  “No, she is not gay. She just never found the right guy.”   After the first year of friendship I wondered if Ana was actually gay.  To tell the truth, I would have gone there if she had asked, she is that hot.  Then Jose, the little Latin stud-muffin was ever-present, hanging of her every word and she never looked twice.  After a year of that, I began to think of her as asexual.  Since Christian Grey shifted into her orbit I’ve had to reevaluate that assessment.

“I like to tease Christian about being gay. I know he isn’t but he is so easy to bait.” Elliot breaks into my thoughts.  “So what about you and guys. Is there anyone special that I am going to have to deal with? All those guys at the bar for instance? That Dwayne person?”

Okay, didn’t expect that. This guy is good.  For a moment I think about claiming a WWF champion fiance but when I look at him he seems a little nervous about my answer.  Now I am confused. Does he want me or does he just want to know about Ana?  For reasons I don’t want to examine I decide to tell him the truth.  I might throw myself at guys but I don’t sleep with all of them. Unfortunately, that is not the way they like to tell it to their friends. “I am what would be classified as the eternal tease. Guys want me, I know they want me and I play on it. They don’t get far though, so no, there is no one special… At the moment.”

I add this last comment in a low whisper just to get a reaction. Classic emotional manipulation and it works. Placing his cup down he turns to face me, takes my cup out of my hand and places it on the coffee table.

“You are going to make me work for this, aren’t you, Katie? Like I said last night. All you have to do is say what you want when you are clear headed and it will be easy. I’ll be here heart and soul.” Hell, did he really just say that? He is looking at me so earnestly and heaven help me, I want so much to believe him. I have to look away before the tear that’s threatening turns into a downpour.  Now I feel guilty at doing the emotional mind-meld job on him but shit, he’s Elliot Grey.  He should recognize this shit from a hundred paces!  Relationships don’t work this way. Part of me, the guilty part, wishes he would stop.

Elliot stands up and gathers the empty coffee cups heading for the kitchen. I can’t look at him but I hear him rummaging around in the fridge.  Crap! I could make up for that last bit of shitty behavior by feeding him but now I am at a loss as to what I could possibly offer him for breakfast. A guy like him must require a lot of sustenance. Standing up, I head to the kitchen with my stomach churning but luckily my head is cooperating. He’s humming to himself and pulling eggs, bacon, bread, tomatoes, avocado and mushrooms from the fridge placing them on the bench. Shit, I didn’t even know we had any of that stuff and I hope that Ana doesn’t bust a boiler when she discovers that I’ve destroyed her ingredients for the week. He quickly works out where the pan is, which is better than I could do.  In fact, this is my worst fear. Me and cooking – not so good. Taking a deep breath I close my eyes and uncharacteristically blurt out the next sentence.

“Umm… we could just go out for breakfast. My treat.” Please say yes.  I carefully turn my head slightly to the side and peer out through one eye, hopefully. He gives me an indulgent smile.

“Why would we do that when your fridge is so well stocked? Unless you’re saving this to cook a sumptuous dinner for some other guy?” He tilts his head to one side and looks at me speculatively. Shit, I don’t know. I buy packets or dinners out. This is Ana’s domain.

“Ah no. It’s just…” Shaking my head I look at my feet. Feeling stupid and inadequate here. I don’t know why my kitchen skills are so radically underdeveloped. Ana has tried to teach me to cook but I am hopeless at it. Maybe I missed the ‘mother’ gene.  My mother would stab me with pins if she heard me say cooking was women’s work and the thought even offends my own feminist sensibilities but I just don’t have a nurturing ‘provide for my loved ones from the gifts Mother Nature gave us’ personality.  If it wasn’t for Ana, we would starve; or eat out every night. Ana would never allow that because it would be on my dime so it’s lucky she’s a great cook. Now, with Elliot here I’m patently aware of my shortcomings and more than a little embarrassed that I can’t do this simple thing for him. Worse, he seems to read the look on my face.

“Hey, Katie.” He stops wielding the knife and approaches me. “I want to cook you breakfast. In fact, I’m a great cook and since I don’t seem to be scoring any points in the love department, I figure this is my one hope to impress you.” Jesus, he keeps dropping the ‘l’ word like he means it.  Reaching into his pocket he takes out his phone. “Here… call my brother and ask him if I can cook.” Somehow he manages to make cheeky and hopeful look endearing.

I look from the phone back to him and burst out laughing. “That’s better… now come here.”

Pulling me in front of him, he traps me between his body and the kitchen bench. He places the knife in my hand then holds his hands over mine as we slice the tomatoes. Since when did slicing vegetables become sexy? His movements are slow, careful and disturbingly sensual. Keeping hold of my hand he leads me to the fresh herbs that are growing on the windowsill. I didn’t even know we had a herb garden.  I thought they were just house plants and now I’m a little concerned that Ana might be secretly growing weed.  Elliot seems to know what he is doing. Plucking a few leaves he holds them up to my face.

“Breathe. Smell that? Mmm…basil, oregano…you have quite a garden here, Miss Kavanagh. Fresh and beautiful, like you.” Now,  I am blushing.  I never blush.  I’m on the verge of moving away when his arm snakes around my waist, holding me firmly against his body.  Then he drags the herbs down my face following with a trail of gentle licks as if he is tasting where the fragrant leaves have been. Oh, dear lord. I lean my head back to give him better access to my throat. The licks become open mouth kisses across my collar bone and his hand slides the fabric of my pj top off one shoulder so he can taste more of me.  My whole body is reacting to his touch; fire in my belly, liquid pooling at my core and my breathing ragged and sharp.

Just when I think he is going to strip me naked and take me on the kitchen floor he moves away leaving the kitchen and heading to the lounge.  As soon as I get the trembling in my body under control he assaults my senses with music.  The deep rumbling pulse of Bolero travels through me in waves and I wonder for a moment if a piece of music can bring on a spontaneous orgasm.  Strolling…no, stalking back into the kitchen he takes up his position behind me and we begin chopping herbs together, him controlling every movement.  Which is just as well because my knees are about to give way beneath me.

“Okay, can you put some vinegar into that water on the stove. Just a teaspoon will do. Careful, it’s hot.” Shaking, I move, willing my feet across the kitchen floor.  He seems unaffected as he splashes oil into another hot pan. His movements are efficient, easy and it’s a joy to watch him. Oh, God … food porn! Soon he has eggs poaching as he sautees the bacon and vegetables. Meanwhile my feet are nailed to the spot as my eyes follow his hands.  I surreptitiously wipe the drool from my mouth as he slices some sourdough bread and puts it through the toaster.

“Can you get some plates out baby?” I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m too busy squeezing my over-stimulated vaginal muscles together.  “Baby? You, okay?”  He keeps calling me that. As if he means it. Oh, God, please let him mean it.  Finally I register his words. He must think I am a complete twat. I move to set places at the table while he arranges the food on plates. Even the way he finesses the Italian parsley has me wishing I was a piece of greenery. Trying to refocus, I pour orange juice, hoping like hell I don’t splash it all over the table while I get preoccupied with his feet.  Oh, shit, that made me look.  I bet he has sexy feet.   Finally I take my seat as he presents my breakfast with a flourish.

“Mademoiselle. Bon appetite.” He gives me a gentle kiss then takes his place at the table. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it and I find myself giggling. Silly school girl giggling. Back of the bus, gawking at boys, silly school girl giggling. Jesus H. Christ.

“You speak french and cook, sir?” Latching on to his last words in an effort to redeem myself seems a little pointless but hell, any port in a storm.

“No, but I do speak Spanish. My brother and sister speak French but I had to be the rebellious one.” Be still my beating heart, he’s about to go all Antonio Banderas on my ass.  There will be orgasms.  Lots of orgasms.

“Rebellious, huh? So why Spanish?” I ask, trying to keep the squeak out of my voice. I speak French, including a fair bit of Creole from my stint volunteering after the Haiti earthquake.  I also speak Spanish so I don’t know why his linguistic skills should have me creaming my panties but somehow the idea of the big blond beefcake whispering ‘ti amo’ has me hornier than a Viking’s helmet.

“When we were kids we had a Spanish housekeeper. She didn’t speak much English and even though my family was very patient with her, I knew she struggled. So when my mother insisted I learn a language I decided I wanted to learn Spanish so I could help her.” He is speaking in between swallowing mouthfuls of food. Yes, this man takes a lot of feeding. My hangover has me feeling pretty hungry too and this meal is fantastic. Better than we would have got at the local IHOP. I savor each mouthful, stunned at how much flavor he got out of a few ordinary ingredients.

“This is amazing. Did your housekeeper teach you to cook?” I shovel another mouthful in. Not going to win an award for glamorous and urbane table manners here.

“Yeah, but my baby sister, Mia is studying in France under a master chef. She and I kind of bonded over cooking. We both love to eat and she teaches me everything she knows. Well… almost everything.” I can hear in his voice how much he adores her and my heart clenches. This man is incredible. Loving… funny… sexy… surprising genuine.  This is not the Elliot Gray that graces the social pages.  My libido and my heart are on a downward slide here.  I wrack my still aching brain trying to recall what I know about him.

“Tell me about Casey-Grey Construction.” He dives into the new topic of conversation without skipping a beat. For the next half hour he tells me about his business and his partner James and how his brother has helped him to build it. He obviously sees Christian as the economic brain of the family and he’s extolling his virtues when it comes to helping them get on a secure footing.  But when he talks about the building itself, well, that is all Elliot. He talks with this really infectious passion about sustainable housing and recycled materials. He tells me about building projects that have taken him all over the world and how his company is thriving in an economic environment that is fraught. I could listen to him talk forever. Questions fly out of my mouth as I try to find out more and more about him and the way he thinks. Even his intelligence and knowledge is incredibly sexy. How can I not love this man?

Oh my god. This cannot be happening. We have only just met, we haven’t even slept together and I am already head over heels. Immediately I tamp down these feelings; they are not to be trusted.

We get onto family again and he has me laughing with stories of his childhood. It’s obvious he loves his parents and siblings and that he cares deeply for the people who are close to him. I have tears in my eyes as he relates a story about fighting with Christian that resulted in a martial arts feud. He’s reenacting whole sections of the fight and once again I’m mesmerized by how he moves and talks and how he is so self-deprecating. Apparently, he knew that Christian was going to beat the crap out of him so he resorted to sarcasm and then ran as fast as he could not daring to come out of hiding until he knew Christian was calm. He tells me that he knew Christian had anger problems as a result of a harsh early start before their parents adopted them but he doesn’t give me details. While it scared him he never once thought of Christian as anything but a brother he loved and would defend. Apparently there was nothing stronger than the Grey brothers when they were backed into a corner and he relates a few tales about their scrapes.

I’m crying with laughter by the time he finishes helping me clear up the kitchen and more than a little scared at how much he is making me feel.  However, when there is a lull in the conversation I find myself turning over his words.  Christian has an anger problem.  Has done since he was a kid.  Does this mean that Ana is actually in physical danger?

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Next… Chapter 9: Strictly Physical…

Fanfic Reviews

damonsnewlove 8/10/13 . chapter 8 Omg! I am so in love with Elliott! I need a. Man who can cook.

Carmelroads 3/17/13 . chapter 8 Perfect morning after! I can really see them in the kitchen cooling together and Elliot being over dramatic recalling his childhood memories! So glad I finally started this story.

devangel6 1/2/13 . chapter 8 It’s very interesting to glimpse into more of the Grey family history through the eyes of Elliot, truly amazing, how much love there is. It’s a surprise that Christian was the stronger one when they were kids, despite being the younger one, but Elliot just isn’t a violent guy, he’s like a big loving teddy bear, sweet, easygoing.

Angela76 10/14/12 . chapter 8 So in love with this story! I swear the way you write Elliot it reminds me of my husband and I when we first started dating. Especially the staying the night but not letting it go anywhere and then cooking breakfast. I remember when I first met my husband we had such a connection, then he came and stayed the night the next time I saw him. I wasn’t one to just have guys come over and have a one night stand so I was so nervous to have him over. I wasn’t sure how to act, then he told me that he didn’t want to rush me and that he just felt that we had an amazing connection. It was so much like this story because he did make me breakfast the next day. We were living together w/in a month which was another totally insane thing for me, but here we are it will be 16 years ago next month that all of this happened. Plus we just celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary last month and we are more in love than ever. There really are great men out there like you write these Grey men! Thanks so much for sharing, I can’t wait to take the rest of the journey w/ you! XOXO!

Netzel 10/13/12 . chapter 8 This has been a fun read…thanks

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