by Karla Doyle
“I hope it’s not too spicy for you.”
“I like spicy things.” Torment-implementation time. She rolled her shoulders, an action that thrust her breasts forward and pushed her bullet-hard nipples against the gauzy fabric. “Let’s see if you can bring the heat or if you’re all talk.”
His signature sexy-as-sin smile slid into place. “I can bring it, babe. If what I’m serving isn’t spicy enough for you, I can always crank up the heat.”
They both knew this conversation had nothing to do with chili powder or jalapeno peppers.
She licked her lips, gave him a glimpse of tongue while guiding the fork into her mouth. “Mmm…” She chewed with deliberate slowness, licking her lips after swallowing. “So good. I could eat your enchilada all night.”
Laughter erupted from his mouth. “Babe, I think that’s supposed to be my line.”
“In that case, I hope you do.” If she couldn’t seduce him while eating, at least she’d amused him. She’d take it. “Seriously, though,” she said, filling her fork with another heaping bite. “The food is delicious.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I do.” She ate the second mouthful with gusto instead of pretense, then swirled some beer in her mouth to assuage the heat. “It is spicy, but just the right amount for me.”
“I’m happy you feel that way.”
Once again, the conversation seemed to be about something more than the meal. And once again, her desire to be finished with the food portion of their evening roared to life. Beneath the table, she squeezed her thighs together in a futile attempt to get pressure where she needed it.
Soon, Sam would tend to that need. Until then, she’d sit back and enjoy everything else he had to offer. Which was a heck of a lot.
“You’re handsome, buff, funny, smart, great in bed, gainfully employed, a homeowner with an eye for style and you can cook. Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Knitting.”
“And giving a serious answer, apparently.”
“It is a serious answer.” He chuckled when she rolled her eyes. “My grandmother lived with us until I was sixteen. My whole life, she was constantly knitting, making these great blankets, then donating them all to charities and fundraisers. Every time I’d ask if I could have one, she’d tell me if I wanted a blanket, I’d have to learn to make one for myself. One day, I called her on it and asked her to teach me. She tried, but I never got the hang of it. Took me an entire year to knit a square the size of a facecloth, and it wasn’t a good one.”
A sweet picture popped into her head. Sam, sitting with his grandmother, the two of them knitting. He must have been adorable as a little boy.
“That’s so cute. How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
She felt her eyes bug out from her head. “Fifteen? Wow, I was not expecting that.” Then the math kicked in. “You said she lived with you until you were sixteen. Did she move out, is that why you stopped trying to knit?”
“She died. Went in her sleep.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” More than a decade, yet sadness lingered in his eyes.
Setting her fork aside, she stood and moved around the table to kiss him. Quick and gentle. A kiss of compassion.
Until he pulled her onto his lap. Holding her sidesaddle, he threaded his fingers through her hair, slid his hand beneath her blouse, stroked his thumb across her nipple while kissing her breathless.
“You taste good,” he said, between sweeping plunders of her mouth.
“Like beer and Mexican food?”
“Like Leigh. My favorite flavor.” Abandoning her breast, he skated his palm up her thigh, under her skirt.
“What about dinner first?”
“Decided I’d rather eat your enchilada all night.”
Her laugh became a moan when his fingers reached her spicy main dish. Their crowded position didn’t allow her to open her legs, but it didn’t matter, Sam made it work. With his soft petting and teasing pressure on her clit, he had her wiggling and needy. More than ready to offer up her body as his all-you-can-eat buffet.
Even her aching need for a Sam-induced orgasm couldn’t block her obsession for order when he carried her away from the table, leaving it laden with food and drinks. “We should put dinner away first.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.” He smiled down at her while opening the balcony door. “And it’s adorable.”
“You think my compulsive need to stay on top of things is adorable?”
He nodded. “Everything about you is adorable. When we get to the bedroom, I want you to put that need to stay on top of things to good use and put your sweet little pussy on my face.”
“And ride like a rodeo champion?” she asked, as he locked the balcony door with one hand.
“Fuck, yes. Exactly like that.” His grin waned momentarily when knocking sounded from his front door.
“Don’t you want to answer it?”
Halfway through the living room, he shook his head. “It’ll be Mrs. Fewster again. It’s always her. We were probably making too much noise on the balcony.”
“But we weren’t loud at all.”
“My existence is too loud for her.”
She would have laughed, if not for the sound of a key in the lock, followed by the deadbolt turning.
Sam froze. “Shit, it’s not Fewster.”
“Then who?” The condominium manager? A former girlfriend who’d never returned her key? Leigh’s stomach soured at the thought.
“Hello…it’s Mom.”
Question answered.
“Shit.” Sam set her down. “Guess you’re meeting my mom.”
“No. No, I can’t.” She shook her head hard enough to rattle her brain. Sour stomach gone, replaced by full panic mode as she surveyed her options.
Kitchen and living room had nowhere to hide. Sam’s bedroom was too far away because the apartment door was already opening.
Sam’s laughter followed her as she scurried for the balcony. Damn stupid lock, crap, she wasn’t going to make it. But did, just in time, thank God. Plastered to the exterior concrete wall, she turned one ear toward the screen.
“Oh, Sam, you’re up.”
Leigh covered her mouth to stifle a snort. Sam’s mom had no idea how “up” he truly was. If not for the interruption, she’d be putting that upwardness to good use right now.
“You look okay to me,” his mom said. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you cancelled for dinner. You never cancel for Sunday dinner.”
Awe, Sam was a mama’s boy. Very sweet. Also, it gave Leigh something cute to tease him about later.
“Sorry I didn’t give you more notice or an explanation. I should’ve called you earlier in the day to let you know I was having my girlfriend over for dinner instead.”
“You have a girlfriend? This is a new development. Where is she? In the bathroom?”
No. Tell her no. Leigh closed her eyes. Held her breath. Crossed her fingers. Focused her energy on manifesting the answer she wanted to hear.
“No.”
Tada! Mission accomplished. Thank you, universe.
“She’s on the balcony.”
Well, hell. Thanks for nothing, universe.
“Want to meet her?”
Again, Leigh prayed for a no.
“Yes, of course, I want to meet her.”
She scrambled to get in her chair, look natural. She fluffed her hair, repositioned her glass, picked up her fork. Looking natural was easy. Her au naturel braless state was the problem. She glanced downward as a light summer breeze swept across the balcony. Make that two very perky problems. Shit.
Chapter 7
SAM
He’d known how his mom would react to the girlfriend announcement and his offer of introduction. He’d also known Leigh didn�
�t want to meet his mother. In his desire to have everything he wanted, he hadn’t considered why Leigh didn’t want to meet his mother. The age thing, he’d assumed. That shit needed to be shut down and he’d planned to use his mother’s approval to do it. Then he’d stepped onto the balcony.
He coughed to cover the laugh that would’ve otherwise burst from his mouth. The grin, he couldn’t stop. Didn’t bother trying.
She’d buttoned her shirt higher and tucked a table napkin in at her neck, creating a waterfall of gray fabric that obscured the view of her breasts beneath the see-through material. So damn adorable. And smart.
Probably should have respected her wishes on this one. Too late now. All he could do was help her out of the awkward situation he’d created.
“Babe, don’t get up. I know your foot hurts from twisting it at the gym. Leigh, this is my mom, Marie. Mom, this is Leigh.”
“Please, stay where you are.” His mom flapped her hands toward Leigh. “No formalities required with me, I’m not one of those uptight, judgmental type mothers. And since Sam has never introduced me to a girlfriend before, I’m happy just to meet you, period.”
Standing behind his mom, he shrugged his shoulders and shot Leigh a wink. He might catch hell for all of this later. If so, he knew plenty of ways to make it up to her.
Her smile grew, changing from necessity to the real deal. Beautiful. She shifted her attention from him to his mom. “Thank you, Marie. It’s nice to meet you too.”
“It sounds as if you’re a fitness person, like Sam. Did you meet at the gym?”
“Yes, at Sam’s old gym.”
“Really? He hasn’t been there in quite a while.”
“Yeah, so good thing it wasn’t my neighbor at the door,” he said, before his mom could jump to the next question and ask how long they’d been dating. And she would. He was a chip off the old block when it came to being direct.
“Is that why you didn’t answer when I knocked, because you thought I was your neighbor?” Facing him now, his mom narrowed her eyes. “You must be talking about the annoying little troll who had your sister’s children barred from the building.”
“That’s the one.”
Leigh’s jaw dropped. “Mrs. Fewster did that?”
“You’ve met her?” his mom asked, turning toward Leigh.
“Just once.”
“Once is enough with that woman. All Sam wanted to do was give his sister a night off from the twins to enjoy a much-needed date with her husband. The babies cried a bit, as babies do. And for that, his menace of a neighbor complained to the condo board. Now Sam’s niece and nephew aren’t allowed in the building. Not even for a little visit.”
“What a nasty thing to do. Though I’m not sure a condo board can ban family members from visiting a privately owned unit, based on their age.”
“The letter looked pretty official to me.”
“I’m sure you could appeal it.” Leigh leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. Her elbow caught and pinned the edge of the table napkin, pulling the rightmost portion of fabric from the neckline of her shirt. One wrong move and the curtain would drop completely.
Taking advantage of his position out of his mom’s sightline, he tapped his collarbone, then pointed at Leigh.
The warning backfired. Instead of being extra careful, she shifted in an attempt to look down at herself, causing more of the napkin to come untucked. Anybody inclined to look would see she was braless under that see-through shirt. Another inch and her entire right nipple would be visible.
Her wide-eyed gaze flew to his face. She may not have understood his initial communication, but she was on point now.
Gently taking his mom’s arm, he turned her toward him. “Can we raincheck our visit to another time? This was my first opportunity to cook for Leigh and I don’t want everything to get cold.”
“Of course, of course. See me out?” At his nod, she glanced over her shoulder and waved at Leigh. “I hope we’ll have a chance to get to know each other better very soon.”
“Subtle, Mom.”
“Subtlety is a waste of precious time,” she said, as he ushered her off the balcony.
Leigh’s laughter followed them inside.
He couldn’t wait to get back out there, see the smile that went along with her laugh. But his mom had requested an escort to the door. That could only mean one thing. “What’s on your mind?”
Stopping near the door, she pointed toward the balcony.
“What about her?” He kept the defensiveness out of his voice, but it was right there, ready to become an offense if she mentioned Leigh’s age.
“I’m pleased you’re in a real relationship with a lovely, mature woman.”
Mature. A suspect word. “You know I don’t do subtext. If there’s something on your mind, just say it directly.”
“Fine, I will. I never cared for your revolving-door attitude about intimacy or the superficial young women who seemed more than happy to pass through it.”
“So…you approve of Leigh because she’s older?”
“I don’t know how old she is, nor do I need to know, though age probably factors in to the vibe I got from her. She’s very attractive, which is no surprise, but even from our brief meeting, I can tell she’s got more going for her than just her pretty face. You’re a smart man, Sam. You need and deserve a woman who can keep up with you in places other than your bedroom.” She raised her eyebrows. “Is that direct enough for you?”
“Yes,” he said, grinning. How many guys could say their sixty-five-year-old mother was this upfront and openminded? Not many, he’d bet. And he had the statistics degree to back up that bet. “You’re right about the vibe. She’s independent and smart. She owns a business downtown. Works her ass off and it’s fantastic.”
“Her business or her ass?” she asked, winking.
A roar of laughter burst from his gut. “Both.” He pulled her into a quick hug. “Love you. Now please go away.”
“Will do, my boy.” She kissed his cheek, then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. “Bring her to Sunday dinner next week. But do let her wear a bra. I’m not sure your father’s pacemaker could handle it if she didn’t.”
He closed the door and scrubbed his hand over his head while walking through the living room. Shit was going to fly if Leigh overheard that last bit. He’d know soon enough.
He slid the patio screen and stepped onto the balcony. Then burst into laughter.
She’d draped a table napkin over each shoulder. Not a hint of boob in sight. “Your mom seems nice.” Casual as anything, she picked up her fork and filled it with food. “Can’t wait to meet your dad.”
Safe to say she’d heard every word. And not lost her shit. Same as at the restaurant when Liz had shared the worst possible information.
“You’re incredible,” he said, taking his seat, then taking her hand. “Is there anything you can’t handle?”
One fine eyebrow rose as she tipped her head. “I don’t know. What else have you got?”
“I think you’re all caught up.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her soft skin. “How about that dinner at my parents’ place next Sunday? You in?”
She shook her head. Not the nod he was looking for. “You’re an in-the-moment person and it’s amazing, I would never try to change you. If your mom hadn’t walked in, we’d be in your bedroom right now, physically enjoying being in the moment, not talking about next week’s Jacobs’ family dinner. Meeting your mom was a fluke. I don’t need it to be anything more.”
“Maybe I want it to be more. Fluke, coincidence, things happening for a reason—call it whatever you want. It’s worked for us so far.”
“Then let’s stay in the moment and think about next week when it gets here.”
“You’re suggesting we not make a plan? Who are you and what have you done with Leigh?”
“I tied her up and left her on your bed,” she said, laughing. Smiling one hell of a naughty smile
, she peeled off the view-obstructing napkins and opened the top three buttons, giving him a mouthwatering view. “You should probably go have your way with her. I know she wants you to.”
He lowered his gaze to her nipples, poking their suckable, bitable tips against the pale-pink material. Yeah, he should do exactly that. Suck them. Bite them. Take her to his bedroom and give her everything she wanted. His dick agreed, making it necessary to shift position so the hungry beast had room to grow.
As much as his body craved her, something in his gut weighed him down. Kept him on his chair instead of taking her to his bed.
“Dinner first.”
Her eyes opened wide. Then wider still when he picked up a fork and took a bite of food.
“Tell me about baking, how you got into it. Were you one of those kids who made miniature cakes in a toy oven heated by a lightbulb?”
Since the sun was at her back, the squint pulling her eyebrows toward each other had nothing to do with lighting. “Is that your subtle way of redirecting because you’re not into a particular sex thing? You can be straightforward with me, Sam. Suggestions aren’t demands, I can take no for an answer. I’m open to whatever you want to do, or not do.”
“I want to get to know you better over dinner.”
“You’d rather talk and eat food than have sex?” she asked, blinking at him.
“I’d rather talk and eat food, then have sex.”
She shook her head lightly, then took a bite, chewing and swallowing with the same feminine grace she did every other thing. Beautiful, even while eating enchiladas.
He focused on his plate before he backpedaled on his dinner-first decision and carted her off to his bed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“You seriously want to know if I had an Easy-Bake Oven as a child?”
“Yeah.” Everything. He wanted all the details, not just the minimum required. A first for him.
“Yes, I had an Easy-Bake Oven.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Tell me the rest.”
“The rest?” she asked, and he nodded. “Okay. I got it when I was nine. It was orange.”