C.A.K.E novel Chapter 1

“Excuse me,” Arden says with a coy smile.

“Pardon me.” The slightest whiff of an English accent is discernible in his voice.

Arden and a rather attractive man have reached for a bunch of shallots at the same time. Now her hand is wedged underneath his. The pale purple of the tiny onions swirls about the stainless steel counter under the pressure of their palms.

His deep-set dark eyes look her over and she feels naked. But she isn't embarrassed. She's happy to let him look. It's only fair. Arden's studying him, too.

The heat emanating from her husband's body at her side makes her conscious of the stranger's lingering touch. He follows her eyes to their fingers and removes his hand. A nervous chuckle escapes him. He takes a look at his wife before smiling back at her.

Their respective spouses don't seem to notice the interaction. He hands the shallots to her. And Arden thanks him.

“No problem at all,” he says.

His voice sweeps over her ears like a refreshing breeze. It's a nice change of pace from the heavy syrup of the southern accents she hears every day.

British men always seem so suave. Like their accent comes with an ingrained refinement. And the specimen in front of her is no exception.

She wishes he would say something else. Anything else.

Arden lets her eyes wander over him in furtive glances, as she reduces the shallots to uniform oblong circles.

As if he knows she's watching, he licks his bottom lip and she gets a flash of his blinding, white teeth as his lip unfurls from their bite.

His face has a rugged maturity to it. Its features are bold, but not menacing. A pristine goatee frames his thick lips. The soft laugh lines forming at his cheeks make him endearing. His head comes to a slight point, which gives her the sudden urge to run her hand over its slope. The dark, silky skin blanketing his six-feet-plus frame reminds her of freshly brewed coffee. Strong, black, and twice as smooth.

Elliott's hand on her elbow interrupts her examination of the man across from her. She clears her throat and turns to look at him.

“Should I add the wine now?” Eli asks her.

Tonight she and her husband, Elliott, are attending a couples' cooking class. He called her at the bakery and said they were going to do something different for date night.

He wouldn't tell her what he had in mind. Just that she should wear something a bit covered.

Arden couldn't have cared less where he was taking her.

As long as they didn't end up at their regular table at Luciano's. The chef sees them walk into the door, and begins to fire up Eli's medium-rare steak with the Gorgonzola and chive mashed potatoes. The entire staff knows them by name.

Hell, Arden would ridicule them herself, if she had to seat the same couple at the same table every Friday night. Familiarity is comforting. But too much of it is suffocating.

Now, she's surrounded by plenty of local produce, an industrial gas range, and enough butter to sculpt a bust of the alluring Adonis before her. She is a tad annoyed that Elliott chose to center their date around an activity she does every day. But she's thankful for the change of scenery.

The open-air kitchen of the smaller satellite location of the L'Orange Culinary Institute is abuzz with sizzling skillets, and clanging pots and pans. Arden feels a little less stale among the other chatty couples. And the presence of a broad-shouldered view doesn't hurt either.

She takes her eyes off the stranger and hands the wine to her husband. He pops open the bottle and pours a generous amount into the pan with the simmering shallots. She notices the heavy-handed splash. But doesn't say anything.

Eli pours a glass for himself and offers to do the same for the handsome man and his wife. The couple accepts. And the four begin exchanging small talk across their small workstations.

The man introduces himself as Casper Callaghan. His name suits him well, Arden thinks. It possesses a certain intrigue and uniqueness, much like his looks.

His wife, Karma, is a wisp of a woman with lips that seem to overwhelm her slender face. Her brown eyes, give off a cold that makes Arden shiver. The gray of her structured midi dress dulls her caramel skin, making her look even less approachable. The cocky smirk on her face doesn't help matters either.

She doesn't know much about Karma yet. But she already doesn't care for her. Something about the way the woman carries herself puts Arden on guard. Maybe it's the woman's name that bothers her.

“Karma, your name sounds so familiar.” Arden's brow furrows, as she tries to recall where she's heard it.

Karma purses her lips, placing a hand on her hip. “Well, that might be because of my impressive 97% conviction rate with the DA's office.”

Now, Arden remembers. Karma Callaghan is the shark assistant district attorney whose arrogant mug has been all over HLN for the past month. She's one of the prosecutors on the Pollard murder trial.

The state is seeking the death penalty. And if anyone can get a jury to condemn a man to the needle, it's Karma. Todd Pollard would likely plunge the lethal dose into his own arm to escape the massacre of her cross-examination.

The caption of the courtroom coverage often reads: “Karma's a bitch.” And the statement couldn't be more accurate. Her blitzkrieg style of questioning a defendant can have the presumed innocent so scared shitless, they stumble over their own lies.

“You are a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom. Bad news for Pollard,” Elliott comments with an appreciative nod.

“But great for my reputation.” Karma grins. “He's the Ted Bundy of my career. If I nail him to the wall, you could be looking at your next senatorial candidate.”

“And who wouldn't love to see Karma in Congress?” Casper toasts his wife with a sarcastic glint in his eye. He smiles and glances at Arden.

She catches the flash of insincerity and laughs to herself.

Karma cuts her eyes at Casper. He wipes the smile off his face. She snatches a tomato from its basket and places it on the cutting board in front of him. Grabbing a knife from the butcher block, she impales the vegetable, leaving the blade standing straight up in the wood.

Elliott and Arden glance at the knife. Whatever that is about, they want no part of it.

While Karma is glaring at Casper, Eli and Arden take notice of the nearest emergency exit. It's five steps to their immediate left. If Karma takes a stab at her husband, Elliott and Arden will be halfway home before the blade has a chance to swing and miss.

Elliott tries to diffuse the tension by keeping Karma talking about what must be her favorite subject—herself. She seems to forget that either Casper or Arden is even in the kitchen.

Casper yanks the knife from the wood and begins hacking away at the tomato. The result is a mushy mess of pinkish-red flesh and seeds. Arden cringes at his dicing skills.

She selects the appropriate knife and slips it to him. Their hands touch again, as she places the handle of the tool into his palm. A shared shock of electricity passes through them. Arden pauses a moment and meets his eyes. What she sees there alarms her.

Looking down again, she grabs another couple of tomatoes and gives one to him. Curling her fingers over the top of the tomato, she steadies it with her thumb. She angles the serrated blade just above the ripened flesh, keeping the tip planted in the cutting board. Lifting her hand up and down at the wrist, she slices through the firm skin with speed and ease.

He follows her lead, though with much less finesse than she does. But it'll do. She gives him a quick nod of approval, as he tosses the neat slices onto a bed of romaine lettuce.

He smiles at her—again. That makes one too many times now. Arden closes her eyes a second and breathes deep. Forcing herself to concentrate on more appropriate interaction, she asks Casper what he does for a living.

“I'm the CFO of Regent Financial.”

Good. He has a boring, numbers job. Arden can talk about his work all night, and remain dry as a desert. There is nothing sexy about math. As long as he rambles on about it, he won't be the least bit arousing to her.

“I've always admired people who can understand accounting.” Eli tips his glass to Casper. “I can barely manage two plus two without a calculator.”

“Can't take too much pride in it.” Casper shrugs. “It's always come easy to me.”

His every word makes her shudder. Who is she kidding? Casper could read War and Peace to her after she's worked a twelve-hour day. And his voice would still be verbal porn for her.

“Arden's good with numbers, too,” Elliott smirks and nudges her. “You can guess who handles the finances.”

“I'm just the lesser of two evils.”

“Don't sell yourself short, love.” Casper winks at her. “I'm sure your talents are more than satisfactory.” His gaze drops to her chest, before settling on her eyes again.

Arden's breath refuses to come to the surface until she can gauge Eli's reaction.

“My wife is extraordinary.”

She lets herself breathe again. As usual, Elliott is blind to the advance. Even if he did notice, jealousy isn't his style.

The green-eyed monster likes the company of women much better. Karma downs her wine like water and refills the stemless glass. After burning a hole into Arden's cheek, she turns her attention to Eli.

“What do you do, Elliott?” Karma asks. Her lips caress the rim of her wine glass like she's greeting a new lover.

Arden keeps her head lowered, focusing on the cucumber she's cutting into a fine julienne. She eyeballs Casper's wife in her peripheral.

Elliott rocks on his heels a moment, a tick that shows when anyone asks about his work. He makes an almost apologetic gesture and takes a sip of wine. “I am a forensic anthropologist.”

He spends most days in a lab piecing together the decayed remains of some unfortunate individual. Eli's work either garners respect, awe or a mixture of the two. Which is why he is reluctant at times to discuss it.

Karma and Casper look at Eli with interest. But he's too flustered to elaborate in his usual easy diction.

He can wax eloquent about Australopithecus afarensis in front of a hundred students, without so much as an awkward pause. But put him in a more intimate setting, with a couple new faces and ask him about his own evolutionary attributes, he gets stage fright.

“Well, I date dead people.” He shakes his head and laughs. His blonde curls sway like pliable blades of wheat in a gentle breeze. “That came out wrong.”

Arden hands Eli a wooden spoon to stir the risotto, letting her touch linger on his hand.

“Elliott is a professor of Biological and Forensic Anthropology at Birmingham Southern. He often works as a law enforcement consultant. He estimates the age and gender of human remains to determine identity, as well as the possible time and cause of death.”

Arden rattles off the blurb without a hitch. It's been burned into her brain, as many times as she's had to repeat it to relatives who question Eli's absence at family functions. But she likes telling people what he does.

“Wow, that must be challenging work." Karma stares at Elliott "How do you deal with handling...dead people...all day long?”

“I get to come home to this woman.” Elliott puts an arm around Arden's waist, pulling her into him. “Nothing can bother me when she's around.”

Arden blushes, trying to contain the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She gives him a quick squeeze, before turning her attention to a bushel of flat-leaf parsley.

She's not much for public displays of affection. It invites scrutiny. She and Elliott get enough sideways glances from people in the streets, without them being all over each other.

“A scientist and a romantic. You're the total package.” Karma puts a hand to her chest and twists the diamond solitaire pendant hanging in the divide of her cleavage between her thumb and index finger.

The small green leaves of parsley take the brunt of Arden's growing annoyance with Karma's not so subtle flirting. She minces the herb to within an inch of its becoming dust. Taking her eyes off her work to grab a bell pepper, she looks up to find Casper's gaze on her.

She expects him to look away. But he doesn't. His shameless observation makes her wonder what he might do to her if their spouses weren't here.

Arden tugs at the draped shoulder of her pale canary yellow dress. As she does, the chiffon slips lower on her opposite shoulder, exposing a scar about half the size of a stamp.