by Stacy Gold
As soon as the salads were all pretty on their plates, I just needed to whip up a nice, tangy marionberry coulis to go with the elk steaks, and tonight, minds would be blown. Along with other things, I hoped. Because the chocolate torte I’d whipped up would taste a million times better licked off Morgan’s soft skin.
I smiled and sliced into a nice, ripe, organic hothouse tomato. Nothing better than a phat dinner and hot sex after working hard, and skiing harder. Especially with an amazing woman like Morgan. Perfect way to end an awesome season.
Then tomorrow we’d go our separate ways, and I wouldn’t risk getting my heart broken. Because a woman like Morgan could crush it like a tomato getting smashed for marinara. I’d figured out a long time ago that keeping things casual was way safer for everyone involved.
The music shuffled to the Eagles, and a few tasty strums announced one of my favorite slow songs. I set down my knife and wiped my hands on a towel.
I held out my right hand to Morgan when she walked by. “May I have this dance?”
“What?”
“Do you want to waltz?”
“Ummmm. I’m not a good—”
I swept her into my arms, thinking about taking it to the limit. She went stiff. “Relax. I’ve got this.”
Cupping her shoulder blade with one hand, I took her right hand in my left, her palm hot against mine. One, two, three. One, two, three. On a deep breath, I stepped forward with my left foot, taking her with me. Even with the table and chairs and counter in the way, and her stumbles, I had us doing a mean waltz around the hut.
In no time she relaxed, her body fitting up against me a like boot fits a binding. It was all I could do not to wrap my hands in her hair and kiss the shit out of her. She wasn’t ready for that though.
But hey, at least she was laughing at my jokes.
My foot hooked a chair leg with a clatter and we swayed together. Shifting my weight in a flash, I changed directions and waltzed us the other way.
“That was close.”
“Nah. I had us. I have sick balance.”
Morgan’s laughter bubbled into my ears and chest. “Where’d you learn to dance like this?”
She looked up at me and her smile lit her cheeks, her eyes, her entire pretty face. My chest went warm. Getting her to smile was like winning the lottery. Every, damn, time.
“It’s amazing what you learn with two little sisters.” Especially when you fill in at the father-daughter dances and show up for the recitals and stuff.
We waltzed between the stove and counter until the last notes faded. I pulled her closer for a sweet pivot turn, and laid her back in a dip. With her spine arched, her flat stomach led my eyes right to her nice, round tits.
Damn.
I licked my lips, released her, and went back to my chopping like nothing had happened, even though I coulda kept holding her and dancing with her all night. I held in my grin.
Morgan stood right where I’d let her go, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering, lips parted just a little.
Yes!
****
My palm, my chest, my back… Every part of me no longer touching Dan, tingled. I could chalk that up to cool air hitting all the skin he’d warmed. The tingling in my lips I wasn’t so sure about. Not to mention the tingling in a few other parts of me that most definitely did not touch him.
What the hell?
Had to be a total natural reaction to sudden contact. It’d just been too long since I’d been in a guy’s arms. No way was I attracted to Danny-boy.
Pretty boys who thought they were God’s gift to women were not my type. Especially the ones who just wanted to get laid. Who liked the chase and the conquest, then got bored right away. The next time I got involved, it was going to be serious. Because I’d learned the hard way even casual relationships can have serious consequences.
I shook myself back into action. Since I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing before he started waltzing me around the room, I headed for the wood stove. Grabbing the half-charred potholder off the kindling pile, I wrapped it around the cast iron handle and released the latch.
The heavy door screeched open and heat from the pile of red coals slammed into my face. I grabbed a couple sticks of wood and worked them in through the opening, ignoring the popping sparks.
I glanced at Dan over the top of the stove. His knife snicked along while he bopped and sang Stevie Ray Vaughn like he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably didn’t. The man had a solid career and looked like a freaking model, with those chiseled features, full lips, and soft blonde hair down to his shoulders. A golden boy who floated through life. The kind of guy who, with a smile and a laugh, had women falling at his feet.
Most women, anyway. Not me. I wasn’t about to fall for his pouty lips or his cheesy lines. Lines I’m sure he’d delivered time and again, to great effect. The man flirted with anything that had tits.
He could move, though. And not just skiing. I’d learned a little waltz for a friend’s wedding, but not enough to even be competent. Dan made me feel like I knew what I was doing. If he asked me to dance again, I wouldn’t say no.
He reached for a cucumber, and his eyes flicked up and met mine. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.
Heat that wasn’t from the coals flared across my cheeks.
“Sweet ski day today. Thanks for letting me tag along—even though I kinda barged in.” His perfect white teeth glowed in the dim light of the propane chandelier hanging above his head.
“My pleasure. But I should be thanking you for sharing your secret stash.”
He lifted one muscular shoulder in a barely-there shrug. “Anytime.” His eyes returned to the cutting board, knife blade flashing.
I stood and brushed my hands off over the wood bin. “Funny, I would’ve taken you for more of a no-friends-on-a-powder-day kinda guy.”
His blade stilled, and his free hand rose to his chest. Any remnants of that perfect smile fled from his perfect face. “Morgan, I am hurt you think I’m that selfish.”
“No. No. It’s not—” I stopped. Because it was exactly that. Guys like Dan were self-centered, and would rather nab one more run than share the day with friends. At least, I’d always thought he was that kind of guy.
He rolled his eyes. “Anything fun is always way more fun with a friend.” His hand dropped, and he went back to chopping. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to prove I’d done something cool if no one was watching.”
I snorted. That was the egotistical comment I expected. Except it came with a flash of sparkling hazel eyes and a good-natured smile that took the asshole right out of it.
Chapter Six
Stuffed and satisfied, I shoved back my chair and went to pick a new album on my MP3 player. Just like I’d planned, the guests’ minds had been blown at dinner tonight. Since they left, I’d been working on blowing Morgan’s mind too.
“Does anyone call you Daniel, or just Dan?”
I looked up from scrolling through tunes. “Only my family. But I like it.” I smiled. “Especially the way you say it.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned back on two chair legs. “Daniel, this meal was… Amazing. Delicious. Incredible. Honestly, I can’t find words to do it justice.”
My heart bubbled in my chest. Nothin’ better than making someone else feel good. Except making Morgan feel good. She even beat out my mom and sisters.
Damn. Seriously?
Maybe.
“How’d you end up becoming a chef, anyway?”
“My dad died when I was ten, so I helped out a lot with my kid sisters. Took over cooking and cleaning while Mom worked.”
Morgan’s eyes went wide, and I braced for the usual sympathetic comments.
“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard.”
“It was a bummer, but it was a long time ago. And it all worked out.” I shrugged and grabbed our empty plates. Took them over to the sink while Mick sang the truth about getting what you want. “I sucked at schoo
l, and didn’t find out I was dyslexic until senior year. By then I’d already decided what I wanted to do, and cooking school and me were like meat and balls.”
I glanced over my shoulder in time to catch the twitch at the corners of Morgan’s mouth.
Ha. Got her with that one. I filled the buckets in each side of the sink with hot water from the pot of melted snow on the wood stove. Added a dollop of soap to one, and bleach to the other.
“So, how’d that work with your dyslexia? Reading the recipes, I mean?”
“I was a natural at cooking. Madd skillz from day one.” I pivoted and pulled a couple choice dance moves, a little cabbage patch, a couple hip thrusts, because I could. And because I wanted to make her laugh.
She snorted and shook her head, and I caught the hint of another smile. He shoots, he scores.
I grinned. “And, I got my little sisters to read recipes out loud so I could memorize them.” Grabbing the sponge from behind the sink, I dropped our plates in the soapy water and scrubbed.
“Seems like becoming a chef was the right call.”
“Totally.”
I pulled each plate out of the steaming bucket, swished it through the bleach water, and the clean rinse water sitting in a third bucket on the counter, and set them in the drying rack. I wiped my dripping hands on the plaid dish towel hanging on a hook by the sink. “How ‘bout we finish cleaning and packing up the kitchen, then I’ll serve us dessert?”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” Morgan walked to the sink and grabbed a sponge.
“My pleasure.”
She turned toward me with a giggle. “I saw that dessert earlier, and I have a feeling the pleasure is going to be all mine.”
A warm glow ran through me, like when you’ve been skiing in a storm for hours, and the sun finally breaks through the clouds. I grabbed the last couple pans off the stove and sank them in the hot, soapy water.
Damn straight. I’ll make sure of it.
****
Flipping my sponge, I scrubbed at a raised stain on the last shelf, shaking my head at the image of Dan doing the cabbage patch and thrusting his hips like a bad Justin Timberlake. I’d never realized he could be so…so…silly. A guy that good-looking? I figured he took himself way too seriously to be so unselfconsciously unsexy. Which was kind of sexy.
Go figure.
Then again, I never realized he could be this nice, either. Or this helpful. Or this good company. If someone told me I’d enjoy spending a day with Dan Griffin—let alone the last day of the season—I’d have said they were sick and twisted. Maybe living in an alternate universe.
Am I really that judgmental? A twinge shot through my chest and I winced. Apparently so.
I needed to do some serious soul searching after he left tonight. When I had time and space and quiet, and wanted anything other than my career—or lack thereof—to think about. I backed out of the cupboard and rinsed my sponge in the bleach water. “That’s the last of the cabinets. I’ll start putting pots and pans away. How goes the packing?”
He folded in the flaps of a box and slid it toward the others with a hiss of cardboard on metal counter. “One more box and I’ll plate dessert. What’s left for you to do tomorrow?”
Grabbing the clipboard off its hook, I perused the list of end-of-season chores, touching my fingertip to each one that wasn’t done. “Sweep and mop. Shut down the shitter. Put out the fire and dump the ash. Restock the firewood in here. Clear the deck and paths if needed. Board up the windows. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours.”
“What are you up to after?” He crossed the room to the coolers and pulled out a stainless mixing bowl and plastic container.
“My sister, Taya, is meeting me at the base area. We’re heading out on a weeklong road trip around the Olympic Peninsula.” Assuming my car makes it that far.
“Nice.” He set the mixing bowl next to the thick slab of the chocolate torte everyone raved about at dinner.
“What are you doing?”
“Spending a few weeks hanging with my mom and sisters in Seattle. I start a summer job cooking for a sea kayaking outfit in the San Juans June first.”
“Sounds fun.”
“That’s because I don’t do anything that isn’t fun.”
I snorted. “A great goal, but not necessarily realistic.”
“Sure it is. I make everything fun.” He crossed his eyes and lolled his tongue out the corner of his way-too-kissable mouth.
I snickered. I couldn’t help it. “That you do.”
He turned to the stove and plucked two mugs off the hooks hanging under the shelf. “Tea?”
“Chamomile. Thanks.” I stared at his lean, muscular back. At the messy blond ponytail at the nape of his neck tempting me to slip it out of that hairband and watch it slide and shimmer and pool around his shoulders.
Wait. What?
I turned to hang the clipboard and missed the hook. Twice.
“Your dessert is served.” Daniel held out a chair for me with a mix of humble pride and happiness brightening his eyes.
Cute. Daniel pulling out my chair was definitely cute.
My heart missed a beat.
Dammit. Danny-boy was not cute. He was annoying and pompous and self-centered.
And funny and thoughtful and fucking gorgeous.
I crossed the room and sat, his hands resting on the back of my chair, inches from my shoulders. My skin tingling with imagined contact when he scooted me in. I wiped my hand over my face.
I couldn’t be attracted to him. Even if we weren’t both leaving tomorrow, he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy, and I wasn’t a casual sex kind of woman. Dead end. Draw. Not that it mattered. In another hour or two he’d be gone.
Dan slid into the next chair at the table. His knee bumped mine when he scooched in, and he kept it there, the curve of his kneecap a warm crescent against my skin. The longer he left if there, the more that warmth edged up the inside of my thigh.
I angled my leg in the opposite direction and looked down at the plate between us. A flawless wedge of dark brown sat in a deep red pool of sauce. A mountain range of whipped cream traversed the top edge, with a few fresh raspberries scattered on top. It called to me in a tiny, happy voice, promising to fulfill all my deepest dark chocolate desires.
He picked up a fork. I searched for mine.
“Um…didn’t you forget something?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Nope. Pretty sure not.”
“Well, I seem to be missing a fork, and you seem to be missing a plate.”
He cut a bite off the end, swirled it in the sauce, and held it up. “I’ve got a fork for you right here, baby.” He deepened the O in fork just enough to hint at another word entirely, and his smile filled his whole face.
“Seriously?” Just when I start thinking he’s nice, he says something stupid.
“C’mon, Morgan. Open up. The airplane is coming in for a landing.” Daniel pressed his full lips together and blew sputtering motor noises, circling the fork toward my mouth.
I held in my smile, determined not to give in to his juvenile game.
“The motors are going out. We’re losing altitude with no runway in sight. Mayday. Mayday.” His hand dipped toward my breasts. “Buckle your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we’re in for a rough landing in the mountains.”
That did it. I laughed and stuck out my tongue. I couldn’t let such a fine piece of chocolate go to waste. My mouth closed around the fork and I’d swear an electric circuit closed instead, with a high-voltage zap straight to my core. I eased my head back and sucked the rich chocolate and syrupy sauce off the tines.
All the laughter drained from his face, and his lips parted.
“Mmmmmmnnnnnnn.” I swirled the small bite around in my mouth, savoring the contrast of bitter and sweet. Every inch of me melted along with the chocolate on my tongue.
He stared into my eyes, his look molten, intense. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
His
pupils dilated, hazel eyes going darker. He set the empty fork on the plate, his gaze never leaving my face. The tip of his tongue slid around his lips like he was savoring the exact same bite.
“What do you think?”
I swallowed hard. “I think you know how good this is, and just want your ego stroked.”
“Maybe. Maybe I want something else stroked.” He smirked, eyes crinkling at the corner in the expression I’d realized today said he was joking.
Though I’d bet he was only half-joking.
I imagined my fist wrapped around his hard cock, stroking. Putting that I’m-going-to-devour-you look back on his face. A jolt of tingling tightness shot down my chest bone to my center.
“I think you are perfectly capable of stroking that yourself.” I pulled the plate and fork over. “And you’re going to need to get your own slice. This is too delicious to share.”
“Not the sharing type, huh? Good to know.” He slid back from the table to plate another dessert.
Chapter Seven
The door slammed shut behind Morgan and I sprang into action. Clearing our plates and heating more tea water. Puttin’ on a little Van Morrison. Making a cozy nest of sleeping pads and bags on the floor in front of the wood stove, and adding a few more logs to the fire. We’d both busted ass today, and we deserved to chill in comfort.
I rocked back onto our nest, hummed along to the music, and imagined the look on Morgan’s face when she orgasmed. It’d be the same look she had after eating a bite of my torte, only better. More blissed out. Yeah, making her come would be ten times better if I got the chance. And damn, I loved watching her eat my cooking.
A gust of cold air shot through the hut, chilling my face after the hot glow of the coals. Morgan took two steps inside and froze.
“What are you doing?”
“I made some more tea. Thought it might be nice to relax for a bit.” I grabbed her mug off the floor beside me and held it up.
Her face went blank. Time stretched, like it does when you catch a ski tip, and you know you’re gonna fall, and there’s not a damn thing you can do other than watch it happen. Even my heartbeats crawled.