“You’re reading my first book?” she asked in shock, all traces of laughter replaced by pure disbelief. “It doesn’t seem like your genre.”
“A supernatural romance? It’s not,” I admitted with a smile. “But I’m willing to branch out. The reviews I read were extremely compelling. Plus, it’s you,” I added, as though nothing more needed to be said.
“Wow… Uh, thank you. I’m honored that you’re even interested. To answer your question… I’m mostly happy with things as they are now. I like not being confined to an office. I’d love to do well enough with my writing that I could afford to take fewer editing jobs.”
“You prefer writing to editing?”
“Definitely. Most writers do. I’d really love to travel someday. Being in different places and absorbing local cultures really inspires me. I love to immerse myself in new places and then write about the experience. I guess that’s kind of what led me to the whole fake name thing.”
“Traveling is an ambition of mine too. Where would you want to go first?”
“Oh, that’s hard… Definitely Europe, but it’s tough to pick just one place. London and Paris for sure, but I’d also love to see parts of Spain, Greece, Italy…”
Kennedy’s eyes became unfocused as though she were picturing herself ensconced in some foreign cafe, surrounded by romance languages and old-world charm. I could envision her there quite easily too, and when she blinked back to awareness, she caught me gazing at her with a soft smile that she returned shyly.
I plated our meals and set the dishes in front of her on the bar. I’d decided to keep it fairly simple with an inside-out chicken cordon bleu, since stuffing the chicken the traditional way would’ve taken more time than I was prepared to divert from Kennedy that evening. It was a quick process of mixing the fig jam and spice marinade, mounding the cheese and ham around each chicken breast, and cooking them in a skillet. I then used the leftover jam mixture to make a vinaigrette for the salad and sprinkled a little feta over the greens.
“Wow, this looks amazing. It’s too pretty to eat.”
“Nonsense,” I chuckled. “It’s too pretty not to eat. Save room for dessert, though.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. Or rather, she ate, and I watched her. A chef always found satisfaction in knowing their meals were enjoyed, but hearing Kennedy’s moans of appreciation took it to a whole new level. I’d cooked for women before, of course, but I’d never been so enthralled by witnessing their reactions. I was fairly certain my jeans would soon be tight enough to cut off my circulation.
“This is incredible. I can honestly say it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You’d think it might be a little too rich, but it really isn’t. It’s just… wow. Have you always been able to cook like this?”
“Well, everyone starts somewhere,” I shrugged, adjusting myself covertly as I forced my attention to my own plate. “As a kid, I was always interested in what was going on in the kitchen. My mom is a great cook, but like most people, she tends to stick to the recipes she knows. I’ve always liked to experiment, especially when I was younger.
“Luckily for me, she was willing to teach me what she knew and let me try different things. My experiments weren’t always edible, but neither of my parents discouraged me, even when I made a mess. I think I was about twelve when I decided I wanted to be a chef.”
“That seems so young, but at the same time, it doesn’t. I was around that age when I started putting serious work into what I was writing. Are you happy at The Aviston?”
I sighed and gave a little shrug, taking a drink from my water glass before answering. I could feel her eyes on me, and I was almost certain her breath seemed to quicken slightly. My own arousal responded to hers as though we were the human embodiment of Newton’s third law of physics.
“I like it well enough, I guess. What I really want is to open my own restaurant someday. To be able to do what I love in my own kitchen, to create the menu I want to serve… I enjoy my work, but the current owner doesn’t tolerate much creativity.” Or artistic expression. Or nuance. Or opinions that differ from his own…
“As a fellow artist, I can understand how frustrating that would be.”
“Yeah. Still, I can’t really complain too much. I make good money, and I don’t mind paying my dues for a few more years while I save up for my own place.”
“Well, I have no doubt you’ll get there someday. And you’ll be amazing at it,” Kennedy said with certainty. She looked at her empty plate and touched her stomach lightly. “I might have just enough room left for you to ply me with some sinful dessert.”
“Sinful is a good description,” I smirked, rising to take our plates to the sink.
I felt her eyes on me again as I moved around the kitchen, collecting a few more ingredients and finishing off our dessert. I’d gone with chocolate, and I hoped she wouldn’t ask me the calorie count. It was a small, round cake, accented with chocolate shavings, drizzled hot fudge and heavy cream, and a fresh, delicately sliced strawberry. This time we would not only be sharing the same dessert but the same fork as well. Judging by Kennedy’s expression, the intimacy of it was not lost on her.
“Come on,” I beckoned, taking her hand to lead her into the living room.
We sank into the plush sofa, and I pulled her legs over my lap. I craved contact with her body any way I could get it, and I was relieved that she seemed to feel the same way. I offered her the first bite, my breath growing shallow with lust as I watched it disappear between her lips. She closed her eyes and gave another appreciative moan that made me fear for the integrity of my zipper. When her blue eyes fluttered open again, they seemed to mirror the intensity I was feeling. I shamelessly brought the fork to my own mouth without bothering to add more food, and I grinned when her breath quickened.
The second and third bites went to her as well, and I cleaned the fork between each one, never breaking eye contact. Our bodies seemed to gravitate closer with each bite, until there was almost no space between us. When I brought the fork to her lips a fourth time, she stilled my hand and pushed it toward me with a smile.
“You should have some too.”
“I’m enjoying the show,” I admitted. Her grin widened as she shifted her legs a little, and I knew she could feel my rigid length against her calf. I obliged her by taking about half of the cake from the fork before feeding her the rest.
When Kennedy’s tongue darted out to catch a bit of fudge at the corner of her mouth, I couldn’t contain the groan that rose in my chest. The dessert was only half eaten, but my willpower had vanished completely. In another instant, my lips were on hers, and I reached clumsily behind her to push the plate onto the end table.
My fingers wove into the soft, honeyed locks of her hair as my tongue traced her lips. She tasted like sugar and sex. Like decadence and lust and sin. She was sweeter than the richest dessert and more intoxicating than the headiest wine. I kissed her as though I might die if I let her go, and her desperation seemed to match mine. I would never get my fill of her.
Our tongues danced, our hands explored, and before I even realized what had happened, she was straddling my lap. I grasped her hips as she moved against me, feeling the molten heat of her through our clothing. A few layers of fabric were all that separated us, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt such a powerful ache to be inside a woman.
Never. It’s never felt like this.
That thought somehow broke through the fog of desire in my brain, and I managed to break the kiss with no small degree of difficulty. Kennedy whimpered in protest, burying her face against my neck.
“Slow, baby. We need to slow down,” I groaned, my voice raspy and thick.
“Fuck.”
“I know. I’d rather do that too, but…”
She drew back to look at me, and the open longing in her expression was nearly enough to break my resolve. I was both relieved and disappointed when she adjusted her position, scooting back to rest her weight on m
y thighs rather than my hips. We both took a moment to slow our racing hearts.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but I shushed her with a finger to her swollen lips.
“Don’t be. Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to carry you off to bed right now, but…” I shook my head as though the action might bring me the clarity I needed.
“We agreed to take it slow,” she nodded.
“Yeah. And I think it’s important. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and the stakes are so much higher. I want to do this the right way. Plus, my sister threatened to castrate me if I hurt you, so…”
Her giggle made me even more reluctant to let her return to her previous position on the couch.
“I can’t say that surprises me. Maybe… Maybe I should go. Before I forget why taking things slowly is a good idea.”
Her gaze lingered on my mouth for a moment before she stole another kiss. I got the impression it lasted longer than she’d planned, and when she finally pulled away, I was cursing my own crumbling resolve all over again.
It was another half an hour before we made it out the door and back to Kennedy’s apartment, and it took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to follow her inside. As I drove back home, my lips still tingled from our last kiss. Resisting our desires had been almost excruciating, but I was absolutely certain it was the right thing to do. This wasn’t a one-night stand or a romp with, as Miranda would put it, ‘some airheaded bimbo.’ I was determined to do this the right way.
Kennedy Brighton was no casual fling.
Nine
Donovan
Early March
Week Fifteen
“I haven’t been up this way in a while. I forgot how much I like your parents’ neighborhood.”
Kennedy sighed contentedly at the passing scenery as we drove to my parents’ home in Carrollwood, and I couldn’t help but smile in agreement. The residential architecture was a pleasant mix of Georgian and Mission Revival, and the streets were shaded by palm trees as well as large Spanish oaks. My parents lived near the historical district, and it was easy to imagine what their home might have looked like in a previous era.
“When were you here last? And where was I?” I asked curiously, still amazed that she’d been friends with my sister for five years and only just recently crossed my path. Kennedy chuckled, having picked up on the hint of indignation in my tone.
“I was here for a party a couple years ago. Your mom was selling… something. I’m not sure where you were, but men weren’t invited.”
She was pursing her lips to contain her smirk, and I didn’t need to ask what it was my mother had been selling. I knew all about Mom’s brief stint as a sales consultant for a line of sex toys and other erotic products. It wasn’t the sort of thing I liked to think about in connection to my mother, much less talk about, so I was all too happy to let Kennedy gloss over the details. Still, the idea of Kennedy purchasing sex toys did predictable things to my nether regions.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat a little. “Well, I’m glad they invited you tonight. We all try to get together every few weeks. You should come more often.”
“Won’t your parents think it’s weird that I’m coming with you instead of Gabe and Miranda?”
“Probably, but they won’t have a problem with it or anything. My parents love you. You should hear the way my mom talks about you since she found out about the baby.”
“I know,” she grinned. “She’s actually called a few times to check on me. It’s really sweet. She’s so excited about becoming a grandma.”
I smiled and squeezed her hand as I turned into my parent’s driveway. According to Kennedy, they’d always been kind to her, but it was clear her status had been elevated significantly since the big announcement. They thought of her as part of the family now, and so far as I knew, they weren’t even aware we were dating yet. That would be tonight’s surprise.
I had a good idea of what to expect from my mother, but Dad’s response could be interesting. David West was a polite, quiet man with strong convictions and a level head. His words were few but meaningful, and while I was curious to hear what he might have to say, I knew I could trust him to be tactful.
Kennedy took a faltering breath as I opened her car door and helped her out, escorting her up to the front door with my hand at the small of her back. I’d promised her there was no need to feel nervous, especially since she’d already gained my parents’ approval for helping Miranda. But I supposed being introduced as my date was a bit different.
Before I’d even reached for the handle, the door swung open to reveal my mom, whose expression was lit up with surprise and excitement. She waved us inside and swept Kennedy into a tight, maternal embrace.
“See? I told you they liked you. You even got the first hug,” I snickered. “You officially outrank me.”
“Oh, hush,” Mom laughed, releasing Kennedy to hug me next. “Where’s your sister? And Gabe?” She checked the open doorway and found it vacant.
“They’re not here yet.”
“You two came together?”
“Well, this time we did, but Kennedy tells me she’s been here before for a party I wasn’t invited to,” I pouted. As much as I might not want to hear about said party, it was too much fun to watch my mother and girlfriend squirm. Dad laughed as he came around the corner from the dining room.
“Trust me, you should be glad you missed it. Hey, kids.”
Dad’s gaze flickered back and forth between me and Kennedy, zeroing in on the lack of space between us, and he nodded shrewdly without saying anything. His expression gave little away, but I guessed he’d have something to say about it sooner rather than later.
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other. Before a few weeks ago, anyway,” Mom remarked, looking pleasantly surprised.
“We didn’t really. Just crossed paths once before that. We’ve been…” Kennedy trailed off as though uncertain how much information I wanted my parents to have.
“Dating,” I supplied confidently, smiling down at her.
While Dad responded with nothing more than a smile, Mom was practically giddy with excitement. She hugged Kennedy again, gushing about how perfect it was and firing off rapid questions about our relationship. After a few minutes, Dad intervened with good humor.
“Come on, honey, give the kids a break, huh? Let’s go finish setting up for dinner.”
“Sometimes I forget how exuberant she can be,” Kennedy giggled as she watched him lead Mom away, still chattering happily. I snorted and hung our jackets on the hooks near the door.
“That was nothing. I hope you don’t mind that I told them. I figured there wasn’t much point in trying to hide it since I can’t seem to stop touching you.”
“It’s mutual,” she smiled, slipping her hand into mine. I leaned down to kiss her but stopped abruptly when my sister’s laughing voice reached us from the doorway.
“Geez, Donny. Can’t even wait long enough to drag her into a bathroom this time?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Make me.”
“I just might.”
“That’ll be fun to watch.”
“Okay, children,” Gabe interrupted sarcastically. “How about giving it a rest for one night?”
“She started it,” I shrugged, gently tugging Kennedy toward the dining room as she glanced back at Gabe in amusement.
“At least you’re getting some good parenting practice. Have you picked up any dad jokes yet?”
“No, but did you hear about the guy who stole a calendar? He got twelve months.”
A chorus of groans and begrudging laughter circled the table as everyone took their seats. Dinner was a casual but lively event in the West household, and I was pleased to see Kennedy enjoying herself. After a short while, I rested my hand on her thigh beneath the table, lightly caressing her through the thin fabric of her leggings. The momentary falter of her breath made me smile.
&nb
sp; She’d chosen a flowy, sapphire blue top that was cut low over her breasts. Though I’d never have admitted it out loud, I’d spent rather a lot of time thinking about her breasts. Private time, either in the solitude of my bedroom or my shower. I’d contemplated every delicious inch of soft skin and how they might feel against my hands… or my mouth…
Which was how I knew with certainty that they’d grown since that first day at Cafe Moda. Not everyone would notice, but I definitely had. And I couldn’t seem to stop looking at them now. It wasn’t until Dad cleared his throat from across the table that my attention was diverted from the dark valley between them. His raised brow of admonition was enough to bring a flush of embarrassment to my cheeks, and I was thankful that my mother and sister were distracting Kennedy with pregnancy talk. I adjusted my pants covertly and endeavored to keep up with their conversation.
Unfortunately, there was very little I could contribute. They were debating the best time for Kennedy to start wearing maternity clothing. Miranda was, as always, eager to shop, but Mom cautioned against rushing into it.
“Keep an eye out for versatile pieces and things you like, but don’t forget that you’ll be wearing the same handful of outfits for months. By the time you reach the finish line, you’ll be sick of looking at them.”
“I’ve heard that,” Kennedy nodded. “The season change is something to consider too. By the time I really need bigger clothes, the weather will be warming up. There’s not much point in buying cool weather clothing that I won’t be able to wear for very long.”
“True. Ugh, I can’t even imagine being pregnant that time of year, especially with our humidity. Both Miranda and Donovan were born in the winter, and I was overheated and miserable even then.”
Chance Encounter (Fates Aligned Book 1) Page 8