Leicester Love Affair

Edward Thornton-Ashe had eaten at the finest restaurants in the world. But nothing prepared him for Adaeze Nwosu's cooking.

"The Nigerian caterer?" his assistant had suggested. "She's quite good. And reasonably priced."

Good was an understatement. The woman was a genius.

And she was also, he discovered when she arrived to set up, absolutely stunning. Thick curves wrapped in professional black, natural hair piled high, skin like polished mahogany. She moved through his kitchen like she owned it.

"Mr. Thornton-Ashe. I'm Adaeze. We spoke on the phone."

"Please, call me Edward. Your reputation precedes you."

She smiled, and something in his chest tightened.

The dinner was for twelve. Business colleagues, important clients. But Edward couldn't focus on any of them. His eyes kept finding Adaeze in the kitchen doorway, orchestrating the meal with graceful efficiency.

"The caterer is excellent," his business partner commented.

"She is."

"Quite attractive too."

"Is she? I hadn't noticed."

He'd noticed. God help him, he'd noticed everything.

After the guests left, he found her in the kitchen, packing up.

"That was extraordinary, Adaeze. Truly."

"Thank you." She continued working, but he could feel her awareness of him.

"Stay. Have a drink with me."

She paused. "That wouldn't be professional."

"I'm not asking professionally."

Their eyes met. Something crackled between them.

"One drink," she conceded. "Then I have to go."

One drink became two. He learned she'd moved from Lagos at twenty-five, built her catering business from nothing. She learned he was Leicester old money, bored by privilege, looking for something real.

"You're not what I expected," she admitted.

"What did you expect?"

"Another entitled rich man." She sipped her wine. "You're different. Lonelier."

"You see a lot."

"I feed people for a living. You learn to read hunger." She set down her glass. "And you, Edward Thornton-Ashe, are starving."

"What would satisfy me, do you think?"

"I have some ideas." She stood, and he realized how close they were. "But it wouldn't be professional."

"I'll pay extra."

She laughed. "You couldn't afford what I'm offering." Her hand touched his face. "But for you, I might make an exception."

He kissed her. She tasted like wine and something spiced.

"Bedroom," she murmured. "I want to see how the other half lives."

She looked like a queen against his Egyptian cotton sheets. Full and abundant, her dark skin gleaming in the low light. He touched her like she was precious, because she was.

"Don't be gentle," she commanded. "I'm not fragile."

He wasn't gentle. He worshipped her with his mouth, his hands, his entire body. She was responsive and demanding, meeting him stroke for stroke.

"Yes! There! Don't stop!"

When she came, she gripped his shoulders and shook. Then she climbed on top.

"Your turn to be served."

She rode him like she cooked—with skill, creativity, and complete control. Her thick body moved in rhythms that drove him mad.

"You eat well," she praised as he gripped her hips. "Now finish well."

He did, crying out her name as he emptied inside her.

They lay tangled together, sated.

"Book me again," she said. "Same time next week."

"For catering?"

Her smile was wicked. "For everything."

Their arrangement was the worst-kept secret in Leicester society. The African caterer who'd captured the Thornton-Ashe heir.

"She's using you," his mother warned.

"I'm using her right back," Edward replied.

But it wasn't using. It was finding. Two people who'd been hungry for something real, finally sitting down to a proper meal.

"Marry me," he said six months later.

Adaeze's eyes widened. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious. I want your cooking and your body and your mind, every day, forever."

She kissed him. "Then you'd better learn to wash dishes, Mr. Thornton-Ashe. I don't do cleanup."

Leicester high society got its most interesting couple in years. And Edward never went hungry again.