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  Renee swallowed. “Um, sure. I’d love to show you.”

  Delilah regarded her a moment and Renee felt herself flare with heat. “You looked as bored as I was when you walked out here. How’s about we go now?”

  “Now?” Renee suddenly felt ill.

  Delilah peered around Renee to look through the glass doors and into the gallery. Inside, artists were chatting with patrons and reporters, flutes of champagne in their hands, everyone dressed in customary black. “Yes. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

  Renee’s apartment was sparsely furnished, the space taken up by canvases, sculptures and artists’ paraphernalia.

  “Wow, this must get a lot of light,” Delilah said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I love about this place. The natural light is great. But, as you can see, it’s small. I need to move.”

  “I know what you mean. I need an entire room for all my cooking equipment.”

  Renee slung her jacket over a chair. “Would you like some coffee? A drink?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  She went into the kitchen, separated from the rest of the apartment by a bar-style counter.

  While the coffee dripped, Delilah walked around the loft, pausing at different pieces of art to study them. She stopped at a framed painting of a beachscape in which orange slices splayed across the horizon. “This is fantastic. You’re very creative.”

  “So are you. Those recipes you come up with always sound so delicious.”

  “But you take food to a whole new level.” She admired it for another moment. “How do you keep the food from rotting? Do you spray something on it?”

  “Yes. It’s a special varnish. A couple of coats, and food is preserved indefinitely.”

  “Like a bug in amber.”

  Renee laughed. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  Renee poured two mugs of coffee and placed them on the counter. “Half-and-half okay?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t understand skim milk in coffee.” Delilah walked over to the counter and sat on one of the stools. She frowned. “Makes it look and taste like dirty bathwater.”

  Renee’s chest fluttered. A foodie, a sense of humor and wry. Now, if only she’s into music, she’d be my dream woman. “Do you like music?”

  “Love it. What do you like?”

  “A little of everything. Rock, dance, jazz, blues, alternative.”

  “Me, too! My favorite, though, is slow and soulful. Like Joss Stone.”

  She’s Venus. I’ve just met Venus. “I think I have some cookies somewhere.”

  “No, thanks. You’re sweet enough.”

  Renee’s ears rang as blood rushed to her head. Was she still in an upright position?

  “So, tell me about what’s going on over there.” Delilah pointed her chin in the direction of the table with the canvas lying on it.

  “I’m working on a project. After the positive reactions I got on my last installation, Culinary Adventures magazine wants me to do a photo project. But it’s not working. I keep trying different things, but it’s just not happening.”

  “Why are you having such a hard time?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s missing.” “Well, what exactly are you doing?”

  “I’m preparing certain foods and using them as the paint on the canvas.”

  She looked over at the table. “What kind of foods?”

  “For this one, chocolate—in truffle and ganache forms—fava bean spread, cherries, cilantro pesto…” Renee started to feel foolish. Delilah must think she was nuts.

  “That sounds sexy.”

  “That’s good. I was going for sexy.”

  “Well, I’m not that experienced with art, but I’d be happy to brainstorm with you.if that would help…”

  Renee wasn’t sure how to respond. On the one hand: beautiful woman, willing to spend time with her and discuss her work. On the other hand: total stranger.

  “I’d love that. Maybe we can have dinner sometime?” Renee tried to look casual by sipping her coffee.

  “How about this Friday?”

  Renee’s throat went dry. She took another swig. Hot coffee, she discovered, does nothing to help moisten a parched throat.

  “I’d love to.”

  “Great.” Delilah smiled, and then looked at her watch. “I have to go. I have a dinner date at nine.” She slid off the stool.

  “Okay,” Renee said, trying not to sound disappointed. “Um, I should give you my number.”

  “No need. I’ll pick you up Friday at seven, okay?”

  She tried to control her smile so that it didn’t turn into a dumb-ass grin. “Sounds intriguing. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me, too.” Delilah pulled her jacket on and picked up her purse. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Anytime,” Renee replied, as Delilah walked out her door.

  Renee must have pulled out every pair of pants, shirt and skirt and tried them on with every pair of shoes. She had to hurry, though—she had just buzzed Delilah up.

  She had no idea where Delilah was taking her. A fancy place? Casual? Pizza? She finally decided on something neutral—a pair of gray slacks and a royal-blue button-down blouse. She was fastening a simple chain-link silver necklace when the doorbell rang. Her hands began trembling and she lost her grip on the clasp. The doorbell rang again.

  “Damn!” She ran out with the chain in her hand and stopped at the door for a second to regain her composure, then opened it.

  Delilah stood there wearing black jeans and motorcycle boots and a black pullover with a collared white shirt. Okay, casual.

  “Hi,” Renee said.

  “Hi. You ready?”

  “Sure. Let me just grab my jacket. Come in for a sec.”

  While Delilah waited by the door, Renee attempted once more to get the chain around her neck. She struggled for a minute before Delilah came over. “Here, let me help you.” She took the chain and brought it around Renee’s throat. Renee felt her fingers on the nape of her neck and shivered, hoping that it wasn’t obvious. When Delilah had clasped the chain, her fingers remained on Renee’s skin—only for a second or two, but enough to make Renee’s belly tighten.

  “Thanks.” Renee put her jacket on. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Despite her angst, the car ride was comfortable, and before long, Delilah pulled up at a curb.

  “Here we are.”

  Renee looked out the window. They had parked in front of a row of brick houses. She didn’t see a restaurant. “Here?”

  “Yeah.” Delilah got out of the car and went up on the sidewalk, where she waited for her. Renee followed.

  “Um, where’s the restaurant?”

  “This way.” Delilah led her up the block a couple of yards and turned in toward a pinkish brick house with an iron fence enclosing a little shrub garden. She led Renee up the driveway to a side door, and up a flight of stairs.

  Delilah kept silent until they reached the top and walked into a vestibule. From there, they entered a dining room.

  A rectangular, rough-hewn wooden table was prepared with two place settings, wineglasses and candles. A round, squat vase filled with white chrysanthemums sat in the center.

  “Oh, wow,” Renee said, “What is this?”

  “This is the restaurant. It’s called Delilah’s Kitchen,” she said with a playful grin.

  Renee was stunned. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, don’t just stand in the doorway. Come in.”

  Renee walked cautiously toward the table, afraid to disturb anything.

  On the table was a platter of what looked like artichoke hearts and a bottle of chenin blanc. “I feel terrible. I didn’t bring anything. Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve brought wine or dessert or—”

  “Everything tonight is on me, including the wine and dessert.”

  Renee stood motionless. A strange sensation rippled through her, like a combination of settling into a warm blanket on a cold wintry day and sticking your
finger in a light socket. She went to the entrance of the kitchen. Equipment filled almost every inch of space. “That is the biggest food processor I’ve ever seen in my life,” she said.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” Renee responded with a snort.

  Delilah nodded. “Yeah, I kind of have a weakness for kitchen toys. I do so much cooking, it pays to have the good stuff.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you open up the wine? I’ll finish up in here.”

  Renee went back to the table, picked up the corkscrew and began working on the bottle. “Well, not too soon, I hope.” Her voice caught slightly.

  Delilah joined her and bent over to pick up the two wineglasses. “Do you have somewhere to be after dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ve got all night.”

  Renee’s hand trembled slightly as she poured the wine.

  “Let’s go sit in the living room while the food finishes cooking.”

  They sat on her couch, an intimate thing that would have held three people at most. “Here’s to new friends.” Delilah held up her glass.

  “To new friends.” Renee clinked her glass against Delilah’s and sipped. She needed the fortification.

  Over the wine, they chatted about Renee’s work and her methods until a rich, savory aroma began to waft in.

  “Something smells amazing. What is that?”

  “Swedish meatballs.”

  Renee looked at her sideways. “You are a goddess.”

  Delilah laughed. “Hardly. It’s not as complicated as people think. At least, my version isn’t.”

  In the moment of silence that followed, and under Delilah’s gaze, Renee felt as if nothing else in the world existed. There was only here and now.

  The spell was broken when Delilah got up. “I think they’re ready.”

  Renee followed her out. “Can I help?”

  “Absolutely not. Have a seat at the table.”

  “I feel funny not doing anything. I mean, you cooked dinner—”

  “I’ve got it under control.”

  Renee sat down at the table. Two bamboo placemats held white square plates and cloth napkins folded inside wooden napkin rings. “You set a beautiful table,” she called out to the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” Delilah responded, as she brought in a small platter. She set it on the table and sat down. “Please, help yourself.”

  Renee picked up two of the little meatballs by the toothpicks sticking out of them and put them in her plate. Delilah then picked up the artichokes. “Try these.”

  “They look great.” She took a spoonful of the hearts and tasted raspberry vinaigrette.

  Dinner conversation was light and comfortable as they made their way through Delilah’s menu: trofie with pesto, blackened catfish with red quinoa, and sauteed bok choy.

  “You know,” Delilah said, after they’d eaten everything on their plates. “I’d like to do a story on you. An artist who uses food in her art. Not just in the usual way, like crushing berries for paint, but actually using food in the art.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “I hope you left room for dessert. I made it fresh.”

  “You made dessert, too?”

  “Of course.” She batted her eyes coquettishly. “Why don’t you go into the living room? I’ll bring dessert in there.”

  Within a couple of minutes, Delilah entered with two sundae glasses in her hands. “Chocolate Kahlúa pudding.”

  Renee’s jaw dropped. “Oh. My. God. You can’t be serious.”

  Delilah placed them on the coffee table. “You seem to have a predilection for chocolate.”

  They both scooped spoonfuls into their mouths. Renee closed her eyes and moaned. “This is incredible,” she murmured.

  Delilah smiled. “It’s one of my signature dishes. I’ve made it a thousand times. Funny, I was worried it wouldn’t come out right.”

  “Why?”

  Delilah blushed and Renee melted.

  “I really wanted it to come out good for you.”

  The pudding was soft and warm and it made her think of Delilah’s flesh, her shoulders, breasts, and possibly touching all of them with her lips. She quickly stuck another spoonful in her mouth.

  “I love chocolate, too,” Delilah continued. “There’s something so sensual about it. It’s smooth, silky, rich and complex. And, of course, chocolate triggers endorphins. It’s a known aphrodisiac.”

  Renee swallowed. “Does that mean you’re trying to seduce me?”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Renee looked at Delilah’s braids, following the path of one red streak, weaving in and out of the ropes of hair, winding like a river. Then, both began nervously laughing. Delilah dribbled pudding onto her shirt and wiped it, still laughing.

  “Uh-oh, I hope that comes out.”

  “It’s okay, I’m used to spilling food on myself.”

  Renee watched her calmly dab her shirt with her napkin, and it dawned on her. The thing her project was missing.

  “Would you be willing to help me with my project?”

  Delilah’s eyes widened. “I’d love to! What do you need me to do?”

  Renee told her what she had in mind. Although Delilah seemed hesitant at first, she agreed.

  Despite the incredible dinner she’d just had, Renee felt ill again. Thinking about what she was going to do with Delilah was almost too much to think about.

  Three days later, Delilah sat at Renee’s counter in a robe with her laptop and began her story while Renee prepared her workspace.

  Renee draped a drop cloth over the dining room table and smoothed it out. “Okay, lie down.” Delilah untied the robe and slowly let it drop off her shoulders and slide down her body. Renee swallowed hard. Delilah was stunning, from the curve of her plump breasts to her smooth thighs. For a second, she wondered what it would be like to lay her head down on those breasts after a long, hard day. Her full thighs and curvaceous hips would make a sumptuous canvas.

  Delilah lay down, her hair settled gently around her head. Renee’s head grew hot. She tried not to appear as if she was interested in Delilah’s body but didn’t know how to do that. She had to look at her, so she furrowed her brow and tried to look pensive.

  She stood near Delilah’s face. “Are you okay?”

  Delilah, hands folded on her stomach and feet crossed, wiggled her toes anxiously. “Yes. I’m a little nervous. It’s not every day that I’m part of someone’s art. A naked part of someone’s art.” She gave Renee a small smile, which she took to mean that Delilah was still willing.

  “So, I’m going to take the various foods and place them on different parts of your body. Ready?”

  Delilah nodded and stoically put her hands to her side. “Ready.”

  Renee turned to the bowls and plates of food on the card table she’d set up next to the dining table and picked up the first bowl, containing macerated blackberries. She scooped some out and looked Delilah over. With a paintbrush, she made a circle on her stomach with vertical lines stemming out above and below the circle. To that, she added a splash of crimson from the bowl of red-pepper puree.

  One by one, she took each food and determined where it should be on Delilah’s body.

  The ripe white figs went perfectly between her breasts, and the honey dripping down along her rib cage made Delilah’s nipples harden, making Renee shiver. The caramel, still warm, awakened her skin with gooseflesh as Renee drizzled it back and forth all along her torso, making her look like a pastry.

  The air became redolent of basil and cinnamon from infused chocolate ganache, which Renee spread on her lower belly.

  “Oh, that smells so good,” Delilah said, sniffing the air.

  “I try to engage all the senses.” She ran her fingers over Delilah’s skin, pulling champagne slurry along. Delilah shivered.

  “Are you cold?”

  Delilah’s cheeks flushed rosy. “No.”

  When she’d blankete
d Delilah from head to toe with the sumptuous feast, Renee picked up her camera and said, “You are a smorgasbord.”

  Delilah smiled shyly. Then Renee began shooting. It was difficult keeping her eye in the viewfinder and not on the shimmering pomegranate seeds or peaches, glistening with their own cooked sugars, sliding in tiny increments across Delilah’s skin.

  She shot from all sides and from above, individual body parts as well as the whole. Many shots later, she put the camera down.

  “Well, that’s it, I think. You must be stiff.”

  “A little.” Delilah brought her knees up, making berry juice run down her thighs.

  “I’ll get some towels.” Renee looked at the figs between Delilah’s breasts. “What a shame to waste all this perfectly good food,” she said with a chuckle.

  “We don’t have to waste it.”

  Renee’s heart pounded. Was that an invitation? She reached for a fig, then pulled her hand back. Cautiously, she bent over and picked one up with her mouth. When her lips met Delilah’s flesh, Delilah’s stomach tightened. Renee felt as liquid as the nectar on Delilah’s belly. With the fig still between her lips, she moved up to Delilah’s face and touched the fig to her lips.

  Delilah gently bit and gazed up at Renee, who bent again and kissed her. Delilah encouraged her with a hand. She loosened herself from Delilah’s grip and pulled off her T-shirt and bra. She climbed on top of the table and lowered herself slowly onto Delilah, one leg between hers.

  She licked caramel off her stomach, nibbled mango from her arms and sucked the raspberry coulis that had settled on Delilah’s fingers. Her shoulders, dusted in toasted coconut, were next, then the hollow of her throat, which cupped slivered almonds and pooled balsamic reduction. She kissed the taste of lavender on her neck.

  Delilah writhed and arched beneath Renee’s lips. The aroma of sweet sugars and fragrant herbs mingled with the scent of need.

  Delilah tugged at Renee’s pants and Renee obliged by removing them and her underwear and tossing them aside. She repositioned herself on Delilah and continued tasting the menu. She slowly slid her hand down her torso until she reached her thighs and slipped her fingers between them. Delilah gasped.

  She swirled a finger in the caramel and pulled some down where she could taste it and Delilah at the same time. One lick made Delilah moan. Renee continued licking, stopping now and then to add something else from the smorgasbord, as if they were condiments for Delilah’s body. Renee had her tongue deep inside. Delilah tasted like ambrosia, and she knew that it wasn’t the sweets.