by Harley James
When she turned around, he was in her space. Like right there. She tilted her head back to look at him and swallowed hard. Oh man, he smelled good. Layered notes of leather and vetiver and a vivid memory of the ocean from her childhood. One from when times were actually good with her mother.
“Any cook worth his or her salt gets used to rip-roaring messes. You’ve got a doozy. Guess it’s your lucky day I’m here.” He tapped her on the nose and walked in.
Twenty minutes later, the stove sparkled, the quiche was baking, and Scourge was fast asleep on Jessie’s lap as she shuffled her Constitutional Law notes on the table. Not that she’d been able to concentrate with Nate’s fine ass moving around her kitchen like he owned the place. Of course, she could always hope that osmosis worked because Lord knew she’d practically burned a hole in the pages looking at them.
At least things had finally quieted down next door, so she’d begun to relax.
Nate sat down across from her and handed her a glass of Gewürztraminer. “Sorry, it’s all I have at the moment.” One side of his lips lifted. “Cheers.”
Her glass clinked against his before she sipped the wine. “It’s nice. I’m a bartender, but I don’t drink much, so this is a treat.” She gestured to the oven. “Hey, if you want to go home now, I can bring the quiche over when it’s ready.”
“Tossing me out already?”
“I thought it’d be more like a get out of jail free card for you.”
He tugged on a coil of hair by her ear. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you out since way before the mailbox incident last week.”
When her pen fumbled to the floor, she was thankful Scourge was on her lap to give her hands something to do. “That was not my fault.” Her overheating face said otherwise, however. It took a special kind of stupid to get your hair stuck in a metal mailbox. “I’m telling you, poltergeists live in those little black holes. But anyway, thank you again.” She took back-to-back gulps of wine. Seriously, why was he here? She’d bet a whole week’s bartending tips that she was frumpville compared to the other girls who crossed his path on a daily basis.
He stood up from the table, and just like that, her fairy tale was about to end. He would leave now, but that was A-okay because prince charmings didn’t compute in her world. She had bills to pay, grades to maintain, an uncle to avenge, grandparents to care for, new employers to impress—
“Bring your glass and come here, Jess.” He held his hand out to her.
“Where are we going?”
His slow smile mocked her. “Do you always need to know all the answers before you leap?”
“Yes. Prosecutors always press for the truth.”
He winked, sat down on her couch, and patted the cushion next to him. “So, no defense law in store for you.” It wasn’t a question. “Gonna save the day as a prosecutor then. That’s brilliant.”
That slight English accent was terribly alluring. As was the invitation to sit next to him. She chose her favorite threadbare chair instead. Scourge soon claimed her lap. “I’ve never asked, but are you from around here?” she asked. He’d moved into the building exactly forty-seven days ago. She remembered it well because it was the same day Uncle Mason had called to tell her he’d been manipulated into selling his nightclub.
“More or less.” He swirled the sweet, woodsy liquid in his glass.
It was the first time he’d spoken that he hadn’t looked her in the eye. Her curiosity was piqued. “Meaning you’re from Minnesota in general? Or you were born elsewhere, but you’ve been here a while?” The latter seemed more likely because of his accent.
“I bloom where I’m planted. Now tell me, why law?”
She opened her mouth to call him on his evasive answer, then closed it. This wasn’t Moot Court, and acting like a pit bull tended to get exhausting after a spell. Not to mention, it wasn’t the best way to get to know a guy. She drank the rest of her wine and settled back into the chair. A pleasant tingling began to wind about her legs. “I want to be a voice for vulnerable populations—battered women, children, the elderly, disabled veterans.”
“Ah, my initial impression was correct then. You’re an angel in a world of demons.” His eyes seemed to pulse with warmth, sincerity, and…something else.
Jessie smiled, feeling warm in an entirely nice way. She pushed her sweatshirt sleeves up and pet Scourge slowly, a delicious contentment seeping through her. “I hesitate to correct your assumption, but the only angels in my family are my grandparents, Tilly and Walt. They share a love like you’ve never seen.”
His eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “You must take after them, though. You mentioned while I was cooking that they all but raised you.”
“Yes, fortunately for me, otherwise my mother—” Her gaze dropped to where Scourge snored on her lap. The wine was making her tongue loose. Most people ended up finding out about her notorious mother eventually, but right now Jessie wasn’t ready for over-sharing.
“Your mum?” Nate’s question came out soft, his eyes clear and focused. It would be so easy to spill her family’s dirty laundry.
He wasn’t the only one who could be evasive, however. “Have you ever wondered how a child could turn out so differently from his or her family?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact—”
She would have loved to hear what he’d been about to say, but the wall banging re-commenced next door. Nate tilted his head back and belly laughed so deeply she couldn’t help but giggle, too.
“No wonder you got so distracted, Angel,” he said.
Before Nate, no one had ever called her an angel. Not even as a child. It was nice. Especially the way he spoke the endearment, slowly, meaningfully, like he was savoring each letter on his tongue.
Moments later, his insinuation dawned on her. She glanced around the kitchen, remembering her ‘mess-interrupted’ and cringed. “They didn’t distract me with their…uh, their…”
“Fucking?”
The illicit word from his lips made her whole body tingle. “No!”
“Oh, but I think they did. And they are.” His gaze was filled with heat. And he was smirking, the beast.
“That’s not what I…You…I wasn’t leaving because I had to get away from that.”
He shook his head. “You are a horrible liar. Apropos for an angel.”
“Well, give me a break, that sexual marathon isn’t normal.” Scourge yipped and growled on her lap, irritated by her agitation.
“On the contrary. It appears no one has ever showed you how much of a journey lovemaking can be.” He paused, his eyes once again tracking slowly from her lips to her breasts, lower, down to her bare toes. Her breath caught and held, frozen while her heart pumped hard in her chest. His eyes smoldered when his gaze returned to hers. “I’d be delighted to initiate you.”
Outrageous!
But…she liked it.
Almost as much as she liked the way his lips slid past his teeth on that infernally slow smile. “You are curiously depraved,” she whispered.
He stood, lifted Scourge out of her lap, placing him on the couch. “Quite. Put it on a t-shirt for me?”
“No t-shirt big enough to fit your vainglorious ego.”
“Be careful, big words turn me on. But tell me, since when does having an ego equate with depravity?” He leaned down to place his hands on the chair arm rests, boxing her in.
She cleared her throat. “Since when does a metrosexual know how to cook?” Or have a brain? This guy was more trouble than a wired eighteen-year-old in a strip club.
“I didn’t figure you for the judgmental type. Stereotypes can be dangerous.”
“More like early warning systems for modern women.”
“What are you worried about?”
She blew out a breath, but it didn’t help one damn bit. “You.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m here because I like you.”
But why? Why do you like me? “I know nothing about yo
u other than you drive a beat-to-hell pickup, you’re exceedingly permissive with your friends, and by the smell of it, you know how to make a mouthwatering quiche. That’s it.”
Next door, the man’s groans merged with the woman’s growing crescendo of staccato cries. Jessie shifted in her seat, her body achy and warm. The sounds were getting to Nate, too. She could see it in his eyes. The way his gaze kept drifting to her breasts. He straightened, his hands sliding down his pants like his palms were sweaty.
“What else would you like to know?” His voice was gravelly.
The woman next door had to be dying by now from the cadence of those moans. “How can anyone go on for so long?”
“Oh, Jessie, that sounds like a challenge I can’t refuse.” He pulled her up into his arms, and her skin ignited.
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About Harley James
Mom by day and freak by night, Harley is a down to earth soccer mom who lets her foxy side fly when writing about witty females, over the top bad boys, and a world of steamy magical romance so hot it’d make a demon sweat.
When Harley’s not reading, writing, or dancing in the kitchen, some of her favorite activities happen in the great outdoors with her sexy alpha hubby, their two awesome teenagers, and the world’s coolest dog, Finn.
So leave all your worries behind and let Harley make your sultry fantasies come to life!
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