Page 68 of Pandora's Pleasure

Thomas’ dreadlocks were the mark of his proud heritage, the gray at his temples adding wisdom to his joyful eyes. This wasn’t the first time I’d snuck down here during a visit to see him. I was always guaranteed to be welcomed with kindness—and enjoy a good laugh because he was as funny as hell.

Having once worked at the White House for the President, Thomas had a bunch of riveting stories to share. He’d grown up in New Orleans and taught himself to cook before talking his way into a job at The Ponchartrain Hotel, an historic gem in the Garden District.

Being with him was a welcome break from all of the stuffiness upstairs—an escape from the staffers coming and going and the tension that went along with the daily running of a senator’s office.

Damien strolled in with a serious expression on his handsome face.

An hour ago, Theo had told me Damien was on his way in from downtown and was hoping to get a meeting with his dad. I wondered how it had gone.

Memories flooded in again of what we’d done together in his dungeon last night, and I had to tear my gaze away from his.

“Hey.” I pointed proudly. “Look what I made.”

Thomas straightened up from the countertop. “Ms. Bardot’s teaching me some mean tricks with Swiss chocolate, Mr. Godman.”

“You can call him Damien,” I said.

“Sure can,” Damien said as he reached for the dessert knife. “You do realize that Mr. Davenport is a Michelin chef?”

“Of course I know.”

Damien threw him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure Thomas can top this any day.”

“Pandora’s a great cook,” Thomas said warmly.

“Allow me, sir,” said Damien as he cut off two slices, sliding the plate over to him. “Good luck.”

“Hey.” I punched Damien’s arm playfully.

As Thomas tasted the creamy mousse his face lit up. “I better watch out for my job.”

Damien tasted the confection. “You’re hired, Ms. Bardot. Let’s start you off with washing dishes.”

“No way,” Thomas defended me. “She’s my new pastry chef.”

I gave him a bright smile, excited that such a renowned chef had enjoyed my dessert.

Damien offered his thanks to Thomas for being my company. With a nod of his head, he indicated I was to follow him out.

“Bring a slice,” he demanded. “I’ll finish mine later.”

Thomas hurried to throw a big slice of the dessert into a glass dish. I gave him a hug before leaving.

Carrying the chocolate mousse, I tried to keep up with Damien’s long strides. “I’m not allowed to bake at home.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but Thomas doesn’t have the time to entertain you.”

My feet stuck on the tile as I watched him walk off. He’d gone from cordial this morning back to moody.

“Hurry up.” He held the door open for me.

I scurried through. “I was showing him a new recipe.”

“Right, a Michelin chef. I’m sure he appreciated that.” He cast a disapproving glance my way.

We exited the building and he gave a courtesy wave to the two security officers as we passed by them. Damien quickly reached the passenger door of the SUV and ushered me in.

We both settled into the back seat of the car—the same one that had brought me here. My suitcase had been stashed in the back. With Damien’s change of mood, I wondered if he regretted inviting me over to stay tonight.