A Recipe Not Long Forgotten
Constructive criticism always welcome!
Reviews very much appreciated!
Chapter One
Amanda had been so focused on the thought of Ambassador Sarek visiting her apartment that she had failed to notice the weather had turned threatening. Not an uncommon event in San Francisco, but the high winds added to the hearty downpour could likely look quite intimidating to a Vulcan. The traffic was getting treacherous when added to the approach of the holiday season and its tumult of frenzied shoppers. She imagined that a drenched Vulcan might resemble a cat in the same condition, at least in temperament and ability to cope.
She had learned over the past months to skillfully maneuver her conversations and teasing to wrest from him his softer, gentler side. Hoped that he fared better than she imagined in the winter onslaught so it didn't eliminate the possibility of warming relations a little further. She had decided to attempt some old-fashioned coaxing with homemade food she could actually cook, which was limited. All was prepared and left in the stasis box so that each food would retain its temperature and moisture until served.
She had started a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls from an old family recipe earlier in the day, but had been diverted by a flurry of phone calls, first from the few well-wishers who she had shared her intentions with and later, toward the evening, from family about the storm, which now caught her attention. As it became too late to finish before he arrived she decided that perhaps she could finish the rolls quickly while he had a glass or two of wine. Her mother had caught her father's interest with this very same recipe, but she didn't need to share that tidbit with her quarry.
She had started the wine without him, a glass of Zinfandel, to get in a slightly bubbly mood to hopefully add to the evening's buoyancy, but also to garner the nerve to perhaps hint at something more. Without being too obvious, of course. She would never want to risk their budding friendship, but it was getting much harder to ignore his draw. She had always thought him quite handsome from the first day she'd met him, and handled it as she would any unavailable man whether he be married or, as in this case, with circumstances too complex to even fathom the number of reasons they shouldn't expect anything more.
But the daydreams began soon after she met him. She had also began to wonder if the looks he sent her that held a little longer than seemed casual, and his running into her more often than expected might be more than her imagination running away with her. She started to notice his scent was a very pleasant mix of spice and musk that put a flutter to her heart and caused her to catch a breath every once and again. His personal comfort zone with her seemed to decrease to the point that he accidentally brushed or bumped her every once and awhile.
She had started to glance where she shouldn't when his attention was diverted, tracing his lines when he wore more standard clothing that showed his nice body-the broad shoulders that pulled at his silk shirt and coat when he twisted to retrieve something. Even the tight, firm buttocks that his pants tightened over as he leaned over to pick up something she had dropped. Okay, she had dropped things more often after he leaned to get that first and she noticed the splendid view. And then the day she had caught him at an inopportune moment to pick up a disc at his private suite in the embassy. He only wore a thin silk-like shorts and tank combo, extremely form fitting. She assumed it was a Vulcan exercise outfit of sorts because he had stated that he had been performing Nye'ler, a sort of cross between dance and Tai-Chi. She had to force herself not to return her glance to the obvious outline of a serious package between his tight, firm thighs.
She heard the doorbell and checked herself once more in the mirror. A bit of cleavage that from his height would supply a nice view. A form-fitting dress of thin silk with enough leg showing so not to appear vamp but that might attract his attention. A slit traced up a little too high on the thigh in the back so that if she turned away and leaned over, for a last chance if nothing else stirred him. She felt her heart begin to pound as she reached for the doorknob.
And there he stood, enigmatic as usual. His tall, broad-shouldered form seemed to fill her doorway, and to tower above as she remembered her forgotten shoes, the absence of which must make her appear positively tiny. He didn't smile, but looked pleased in that odd way he had of the slight tilt of his head, slight arch of his eyebrow and a glittering in his eyes.
"I am punctual, am I not?" He seemed the slightest bit unsure of himself, which Amanda had never seen in him. She wondered if having him on her turf was keeping him slightly off balance. Perhaps that might help in her situation… It surely gave her some hope of affecting him tonight, at least in some small way.
"As usual," Amanda replied. "However, I seem to be running behind…"
The other eyebrow followed the first. "Perhaps then I could be of assistance."
Amanda couldn't help but grin at the thought and led him to the kitchen.
He looked, if anything, a bit unsettled. "I have never been present during the actual preparation of a repast." He stared at all of the bowls and ingredients spread about the counter.
Amanda couldn't contain a giggle at the expression of wonder on his face. "You act as if it were the discovery of some new chemical element."
He looked at her, then about at the clutter. "If you give me some instruction, I will attempt to lessen your burden." But his lips had tightened slightly so that she was sure he was only being courteous; more likely concerned about his inexperience.
She stifled another giggle at his formality, as if it were some grand experiment. "Perhaps you would like to keep me company while you have a glass of wine?"
"Certainly, madam." She noticed his tone had lightened at only watching. No sooner, he stepped too close behind and startled her with a question-she dropped the cupful of flour all at once into the large bowl and a cloud of flour enveloped them both.
Amanda frowned and turned toward Sarek who was staring at the front of his charcoal gray tunic and slacks now puffed and spattered with white streaks.
"I had not considered I could cause such calamity by mere inquiry," he said.
She laughed aloud at that. Even if he hadn't meant it as a joke, it was too awfully funny. He eyed her curiously; seemed fascinated the outburst of mirth from her. She had always assumed it would upset him, but it seemed to ease their times together instead.
She stared at his shimmering tunic and pants now dulled by the flurry of flour and attempted to flick it off with a towel. "I'm so sorry, sir."
"Let me," he offered, and took the proffered towel from her. "It was I who startled you. I apologize for the further efforts necessary to correct the situation. And 'Sarek,' please. I had thought us long past titles, Ms. Grayson."
She raised an eyebrow. "Amanda, then."
He paused then gave a gracious half bow with a tilt of his head. Very dashing, she decided.
She still felt bad about his 'flouring,' and had started lightly slapping his clothes before thinking. Was too close to his crotch before realizing he had frozen. She stopped too abruptly, even as she noticed the slight tightening of his pants about his hips, and perhaps the slightest tenting at the front but looked away too quickly to be sure.
He cleared his throat a little noisily. "I could approximate, within a reasonable margin of error, the amount of flour lost, if that would help any," he said. He didn't meet her eyes, she noticed, as she handed him a spoon and he selected a precise amount of flour and handed it to her, looking too awfully serious about his estimate. It was too little to really matter, but it gave them both a moment to compose themselves.
As she was about to add it to the bowl, he stepped forward again. She stopped mid-motion, looked back at him and he stepped back.
"There are unexpected complexities involved that I had not imagined," Sarek said. "Perhaps I should prepare the fireplace?"
"Good idea," she replied. "We can burn some of the huge allotment of Veriwood you sent ahead." And smiled at that. She had mentioned her fireplace once and he'd sent her a massive amount of the expensive wood substitute that looked and burned exactly like the expensive fruitwoods, but didn't create the same pollution or sacrifice trees.
She realized the size of his fireplace must be much greater than hers from the amount of wood he decided she needed through the winter. It was a sweet gesture, but so Vulcan to imagine she used the fireplace as a necessity in what to him must be a frigid climate. But she did love fires, and now had an excuse to create them almost nightly. Though in San Francisco that usually meant keeping the windows open to keep it cool enough. Except in the summer, ironically.
"The coldest winter I ever spent, was a summer in San Francisco," she said.
Suddenly there was silence. She turned to see Sarek looking quizzically at her.
"A humorous quote from Mark Twain," she explained. "A hyperbole about the irony of San Francisco's summers being so cold, relative to what most would expect for a city with such a temperate climate."
He nodded, but didn't look convinced.
She stopped her mixing as she noticed his back to her as he leaned over, one knee upon the brick seat as he placed the various size 'logs' and "kindling" very methodically to provide the correct air, fuel and heat ratio for the most efficient burning. As he explained once when she had mentioned her difficulties at times getting the fire to catch and continue burning. Of course, she didn't mention that it was often likely because she forgot to open the flue.
She watched the muscled thighs and tight buttocks stretch the silk of his pants at the unusual angle and imagined her hand sliding over them. She wondered again if she had seen what she'd seen earlier. Could she have given him even the slightest of erections at the possibility of her touching his crotch earlier.
He looked around and she started guiltily. "You have found some way for me to assist you?"
She smiled at the many retorts that came unbidden as she leaned her elbows on the counter. He was still so unaware, almost innocent, of innuendo so easily derived. It got many chuckles from women and left him often confused.
"Let's take advantage of your more than adequate muscle mass, she said a little too innocently as she cleared her throat and glanced at his obviously firm biceps as the silk stretched and slipped over them. Stir this just for a bit."
He stepped over and she handed him a wooden spoon, which he accepted resignedly and eyed the bowl of pale, streaked goop. "I have never seen food before it was presented on a table or traveled by on trays. It looks very different than how it appears later," he said confidently.
She smiled at his attempt at cooking conversation. "Just how would you know, if you don't know what it should be when it's finished?"
He blinked at that. "You have caught me playing the ambassador. Sometimes a 'bluff' gets the other to fill in the necessary information." He flushed slightly. "Forgive me."
She smiled at his discomfort at being caught. "We are making cinnamon rolls."
He nodded. "I have heard of Tootsie Rolls…"
Amanda paused at that, with so many questions, but bit her lip instead. They share some ingredients, I think. Who really knew anymore, with all of the "nutritional" substitutions allowed.
She had the dough rolled out, slathered butter all over it, then began sprinkling sugar and cinnamon over it when she noticed Sarek stepping closer. He seemed to be staring intently, and sniffing, as a cat might, over her shoulder. "That scent," he said in an almost whisper, "what is that?"
"Hmmm?" Amanda said, the back of her hand spreading a streak of cinnamon up her cheek.
Amanda looked up to see Sarek's charcoal silk doused with more flour than before, tried not to laugh and sputtered and snorted instead in a very unladylike manner.
Sarek turned and eyed her with some concern, as if she might be choking.
She waved away his concern and began to laugh even harder, but sobered quickly as he stepped closer than she expected. He put his hand up to her face yet let it pause so very close.
"Are you well?" He asked, looking concerned.
Amanda felt her heart hammering. Just what did he intend. She felt her lips part in surprise and hopeful expectance; a human male in this instance would be preparing to kiss her.
But he only held his stance so very close. She could feel his breaths float down upon her as she arched her neck to stare up into that face. She could even feel the warmth of his body through his clothes. It was so very difficult not to reach for him; to stand so very still as he seemed ready to pounce but waiting for the exact moment. His eyes stared into hers. She saw a mix of green and soft brown with a touch of gold shot through. His lips parted as if mirroring hers.
His thumb touched her face, drew up at an angle as if following the line of her cheekbone. He pulled it from her, twisted his thumb and peered at it, then drew it across his mouth, his tongue slipping out and tasting it. His eyes closed and he seemed almost to swoon then shake himself. Amanda couldn't help but notice how like a cat he seemed at that moment.
His breaths seemed to accelerate. He leaned even closer, breathing more deeply and slowly. "What is that scent? That taste?" he asked in a strange, rough tone she had never heard him use before. Very animal-like, as his actions had been.
She wasn't sure what he had smelled exactly. She was covered in a panoply of ingredients and, to be honest, her thoughts were focused on his nearness and the possibilities than anything else. She wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted him to take her. She shook her head to clear it.
"Scent?" She found it hard to concentrate on how to answer as he seemed to be staring at her with such intensity, taking such deep breaths of her, feeling his heat. It all seemed so sensual, intimate…erotic. It all seemed it should lead to much more, but was paused to entice her. To lead her astray.
They were friends. He was her employer, a Vulcan, she had to remind herself. He was the ambassador. She-only his teacher, improving his idiom and accent, a linguist hired on by the Vulcan embassy, though she also had her research and theories on the new idea called a universal translator. He stepped even closer as he leaned forward and seemed to breathe in her scent near her cheek.
End of Chapter One (Chapter Two will hopefully come along soon...)
