by Tami Lund
“Connor, you do the same things to me. Everything. All of this. That’s why—” He cupped her chin and gently turned her face so he could kiss her lips. His tongue thrust into her mouth, swept around and tangled with hers, demanding she participate as their mouths made love. She supposed she should be irritated that he wouldn’t allow her to say her piece, but really, was this distraction so bad?
Not at all.
He broke the kiss to refill their glasses, palming her breast and skimming his thumb over the nipple. She sucked in a breath and dug her nails into his legs, squeezing her thighs together as zings of pleasure shot through her system.
“We’re going to try our damnedest to make love all night tonight, okay?” he asked, as he lifted his glass and drank, while he continued to knead her breast.
She shimmied her hips. “Okay.” He hissed out a breath when her backside rubbed against his swelling dick.
They started to make love in the bath, but Emily Kate lost her concentration when water sloshed over the side of the tub and threatened to flood the bathroom. Connor drained the tub until it was only half full and they resumed their activities. Water still splashed onto the floor, but at least it wasn’t enough to truly flood the room this time.
After they dried off, Connor carried her into the bedroom and lay her on the bed on her stomach. He lay on top of her and wiggled his hips as he feathered kisses across her shoulders. “I don’t think we’ve tried this position yet,” he whispered, and then he pushed into her.
She grasped the sheets, gasping for breath and encouraging him, “Harder, faster, harder, faster!”
We can talk in the morning.
It was her last coherent thought.
***
Connor obliged her for as long as he was able to hold out, and then he exploded so powerfully, his knees buckled. And still it wasn’t enough. Not with the decision he’d made hanging over his head. This was his last night with Emily Kate, and he was damn sure going to get every last drop of pleasure out of it he could manage. For both of them. Selfishly, he hoped he ruined her for all other men, even though he knew he would never see her again. But damn it, the idea that some other guy would be able to come this close to heaven, again and again, possibly for the rest of his life, made him almost reconsider his decision to leave.
But he couldn’t. Even if he chose her over the dream he’d cultivated for ten years, he couldn’t take the chance that the trouble he’d gotten mixed up in might find her. For once in his life, he was doing the right thing. Which sucked royally. No wonder he’d always disregarded what was right and determined to do what felt good, consequences be damned. Because doing good was no fun. No fun at all.
They fell asleep despite his earlier promise to keep her up all night, but he woke several hours later, rolled over, and licked and suckled her breasts until she moaned and writhed beneath him. Then he rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him so she sat astride him. They moved together, slowly, languidly, as if they had all the time in the world to reach that next orgasm.
But they didn’t, and when Connor almost drunkenly realized it, he grabbed her hips and began pistoning faster and harder, and she kept pace, until they again exploded together, before falling, once again, into an exhausted sleep.
***
When Emily Kate surfaced from sleep, the windows in the bedroom appeared to be glowing, as a ribbon of sunlight bordered the closed shades. She blinked her eyes open and stretched, wincing in pain. Once, when she was in college, she’d signed up to run a 5K marathon. She’d trained for months, had been at the peak of health and endurance and strength, and yet, the day after the race, her legs had burned and muscles ached, and she had questioned her own sanity.
This morning, her body felt similar to that experience, except she wasn’t at all sorry for what she’d done last night. In fact, she rather hoped she’d have another shot again tonight. Who knew sex could be so addictive?
Who was she kidding? It was Connor who was addictive. Speaking of...She glanced at the other side of the bed. It was empty. She found him a few minutes later, in the kitchen. He’d thoughtfully fed Blanco, who was hunkered down in front of his food dish, devouring his meal as though it might be his last.
Connor stood in the middle of the room, holding the newspaper she had delivered because she liked to read the real thing over her morning coffee. His face was a mask of anger and frustration.
“Morning,” she said, and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice. He closed the newspaper and turned to face her. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she poured a cup of coffee.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t say nothing. There’s obviously something wrong. What is it?” Her heart began beating wildly in her chest. She had the most ominous feeling. It suddenly became difficult to breathe. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen.
“Pedro’s almost here. I called him for a ride.”
She gave him a confused look. “You can go into the restaurant with me.”
He shook his head. “We’re going in early. I want to go over some stuff with him.”
As if on cue, a horn honked. Connor plucked the coffee cup out of her hand and then tugged her into his arms. He held her like that for a few moments, just hugging her. Then he pulled away, cupped her face in his hands, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
“Goodbye, Emily Kate,” he whispered, and then he strode toward the door.
She couldn’t help but think he’d just told her goodbye for good.
Chapter 9
After spending a couple hours teaching Pedro the ropes, Connor asked the man to take him to the nearest bus station. It was the only mode of transportation that wouldn’t require him to provide a driver’s license.
“I need you to spot me some cash, too. Tell Emily Kate to give you whatever I earned from working the past few days.”
“You’re leaving, bro?” Pedro asked, his face cast with suspicion.
Connor nodded. “Yeah. I need to go back to Detroit.”
“What for?”
Fame and glory. I’m due. Out loud, he said, “That’s where I’m from.”
“So? I’m from Canada, but you don’t see me going back.”
Connor gave him a startled look. “You’re from Canada?”
“New Brunswick. But it’s cold up there, man. Stay here. You know I’m not ready to run this restaurant.”
“You don’t have to run the restaurant. Just the kitchen. Emily Kate can handle the rest.” He felt guilty saying it, because he knew how much she had been looking forward to carving out time for her painting, and Pedro wasn’t quite strong enough yet to manage everything Connor had been able to. But he would be, soon. Pedro was a smart guy, a solid cook, and a caring individual. He’d do what he needed to, to help Emily Kate find her balance.
Unlike me. I’m running away instead.
“Why you leaving her, bro? Did you fight last night? You know you can’t settle an argument by leaving it.”
Connor couldn’t help the amused smile. “You sound like you have experience in that particular arena.”
Pedro nodded. “I do. Me and my girl, we used to argue all the damn time. I didn’t mind it at first, because the making up part was pretty cool.” He winked before continuing.
“But then it got to be too much, you know? Every day, it seemed like. All we did was bitch at each other. One day, I had enough. I packed a duffle bag, got into my truck, and drove south. Next thing I knew, I was here.” He shrugged.
“From New Brunswick?” Connor asked in disbelief.
Pedro shrugged again. “It was a hell of a fight.”
“And you never spoke to her again?” The idea of never speaking to Emily Kate again sort of felt like tearing a hole in his heart. Why the hell was he doing this?
Pedro chuckled. “Hell no. She called me up a week later, screaming at me over the phone. She was royally pissed that I hadn’t gone back to make up with her. Turns out, she wa
s pregnant and her hormones were all out of whack.”
Connor stared at him. “So what’d you do?”
“Drove back to New Brunswick, packed up her shit, and moved her down here, too.”
“You went all the way back to Canada to move her down here?”
“Weather’s nicer here. At least in January. And she’s my girl. I love her. I’d do damn near anything for her and my baby. Little Selena’s a year and a half old now, and we couldn’t be happier. You should try it, man.”
Connor shook his head in disbelief. “Emily Kate and I aren’t...” Aren’t what, precisely?
“Yeah, you are,” Pedro countered. “It’s so obvious, you might as well have a neon sign plastered to your forehead. She hides it a little better than you do, but not much. So again, why the hell are you leaving her?”
Connor rubbed the back of his neck, something he did whenever he was nervous or frustrated. “It’s safer this way,” he finally ground out. He couldn’t tell Pedro the truth. He couldn’t tell anyone the truth. They would all hate him. Somehow, in a very short period of time, Connor had managed to find a small, tightly knit group of friends at Louisiana Kitchen. And one incredibly wonderful woman. But if they knew the truth about him, those fragile friendships would disintegrate as quickly as they started.
His patience gone, Connor turned away from Pedro’s imploring look. “Just take me to the bus station. And if you won’t, I’ll get one of these other yahoos to do it.”
“You ain’t got to be such a dick about it,” Pedro muttered as he led Connor out of the restaurant. “It’s your own damn choice, you know.”
Once they reached the bus station in nearby Marshall, Texas, Pedro pulled the old truck to the curb and shifted it into park. He gave Connor a not-so-sympathetic look. “Why you going, bro? Seriously.”
Connor hesitated with his hand on the door handle. “Have you ever wanted something that was just out of reach, Pedro?”
Pedro shrugged.
“I have. For ten years, I’ve wanted to be the executive chef at a restaurant. I’ve always wanted to be Bobby Flay or Anne Burrell. I have to try, Pedro. I’d be doing myself a disservice if I don’t.”
“You could have that here, you know. At Louisiana Kitchen.”
Connor laughed, although it was a hollow laugh. “It’s not the same. The Food Network isn’t going to do a feature on the Louisiana Kitchen. Famous food critics aren’t going to stumble onto a restaurant tucked away in a swamp in the middle of nowhere Texas.”
“It’s not a swamp. It’s a bayou.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think I do. We aren’t good enough for you.” Pedro sounded bitter, angry.
“That’s not it. It’s just...Look, here’s the deal. My whole life, whenever I wasn’t successful at something, my parents were always encouraging, always reassuring me I could do whatever I wanted, so long as I tried hard enough. But when I did accomplish something, like graduate from culinary school top of my class, I got nothing. Well, I got an attaboy, but that’s about it. It was like they were saying, okay, nice job, but there’s more. You need to keep working because you just aren’t there yet. I know that sounds screwed up, but being an executive chef at a world-renowned restaurant is going to give me that satisfaction that is just out of reach. Whether it’s all in my head or not, I’ve hung my hat on that idea for ten freaking years. I can’t stop now. I can’t settle for something that isn’t my dream.”
“You mean like Emily Kate has?”
The wave of guilt felt like a physical blow. He turned away from Pedro and stared at the squat, rectangular structure that housed the bus terminal. “I wish I could stay, Pedro. I had myself half convinced that maybe my dreams are right here. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He shook his head. It was too dangerous. But he couldn’t run the risk of anyone else knowing his secrets, thus, putting them in danger. Instead, Connor climbed out of the truck and then leaned into the open window and cupped his friend’s shoulder. “Trust me, Pedro. You’re a better fit to run the Louisiana Kitchen. Make it work. Take care of Emily Kate for me.” He slapped the roof of the truck and walked into the bus terminal, ignoring that niggling of doubt in the back of his mind.
Am I doing the right thing?
Realizing his dream at Louisiana Kitchen? With Emily Kate by his side? Highly tempting. But would he regret his decision a year down the road when it became obvious that working at Louisiana Kitchen was a far cry from what he could experience in a more cosmopolitan location, like Napa Valley or Seattle or Miami? And if not a year, then maybe five. Or ten, twenty—eventually, he was certain, he would regret his decision not to try for something bigger, more glamorous.
Not to mention the fact that he was doing Emily Kate a favor. It was best to get as far away from her as possible, for her safety.
It really was for the best.
He paid cash for his ticket, which left him with less than thirty bucks to get him back to Detroit. Guess he’d eat vending machine snacks for the next two days.
He walked away from the ticket window and dropped onto a metal bench positioned against the wall in the waiting area. It was a tiny bus station, not that he had anything to compare this experience to. The facility was clean enough, but it held an air of desolation and misery. Or maybe that was Connor, projecting. He scrubbed his hand over his face and studied his ticket. Twenty-two stops and one transfer. It was going to take thirty-five hours to get back to Detroit. It had taken him four to fly to Louisiana five days ago, to start this freak show that was now his life.
Now he had thirty-five hours to wallow in his misery, to agonize over whether he was doing the right thing. Thirty-five hours to sit in what he figured would be an uncomfortable, cramped seat, next to some smelly old guy. Or worse, next to a grandmotherly type who wouldn’t shut up for the entire damn trip. Trying to look on the bright side, he figured he’d probably be able to charm her into feeding him real food on a few of their stops.
If that was his bright side...
An announcement over the loudspeakers pulled him out of the wallowing he’d already started. A female voice with a thick southern accent announced that the next bus was running late. Estimated arrival time was 2:15 this afternoon.
Didn’t it just figure?
Connor slumped in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and settled in for the wait.
An hour later, he had a weird feeling, like he was being watched. He tried to convince himself it was the girl sitting perpendicular from him, who was far too young for his taste and far too brazen for her own good, as she stared at him and licked her lips suggestively. Christ, her daddy needed to rein that one in before she did something stupid. There were plenty of sleazeballs who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of what she blatantly offered.
He wasn’t one of them, though. Hell, would he ever be interested in another woman again after Emily Kate? She’d been so damn perfect, so cute and sexy and fresh and smart. The perfect package. And he walked away from her. Walked away from the promise of a solid future. At least they’d made love enough times last night that he probably wouldn’t have the urge for a long, long while. Probably.
Except that despite all of what happened last night—or maybe because of it—he was getting hard just thinking about her. Which meant it was time to stop.
He lifted his eyes, caught the leering gaze of the too-young teen, and abruptly turned his head to the side. That was when he noticed the guy standing in the corner near the windows, looking at him. As soon as they made eye contact, the guy immediately averted his gaze, but it was enough for Connor to become instantly suspicious.
Shit. Were the casino guys onto him? How the hell had they figured out he was here? He’d paid cash for his ticket and had used his middle name instead of his last name, figuring his paranoia would be enough to keep them at bay. Not to mention he was in an entirely different state, in some Podunk town he wasn’t even sure was on the map.
Then he recalled the suit who had been parked at the boat launch. One of Vik’s guys. Connor had no doubt. Had he somehow connected him and Pedro to the restaurant?
Damn, he was lousy at this cat-and-mouse game. Maybe he should have gone to the authorities after all. Surely they would have gone easy on him, since he would be rolling over on what he suspected were some pretty big-time criminals. Emily Kate had told him her brother was an FBI agent. What if, instead of being afraid of meeting the guy, he had used the dating–Emily Kate angle? Maybe he wouldn’t be in the mess he was in now. Maybe he’d still be warming her bed and not sitting in the middle of a bus station, wondering if the guy standing in the corner had a gun and planned to use it on Connor.
Shit.
His gaze darted from the dark-haired guy by the windows to the too-young flirt across from him. He glanced at his watch. They still had another forty minutes before the bus was due to board.
He was torn. Did he take the chance and get on the bus? Dark-haired guy likely had a ticket, too. But was it a ticket on Connor’s bus? Probably.
Would he try something on the bus, with all those witnesses? Probably not. But with twenty-two stops and a transfer in Dallas, there would be plenty of opportunity for the guy to separate Connor from the herd, get him alone, and put a bullet in his head.
Sweat broke out on his brow and he glanced at the brazen teen again. She slouched in the metal seat, one long, tanned leg crossed over the other, a hot pink flip-flop dangling off her foot. She wore too-short shorts and a too-tight camisole with a lace overlay and far too much eye makeup and lipstick. Connor bet the high school boys drooled at her feet. He wondered if she took advantage of their worshipfulness, or if she held out for older men, like himself.
If he ever had a daughter, he would lock her in the basement until she was thirty.
His gaze darted to the guy standing near the windows, and Connor once again caught him watching. Crap. He glanced at the girl again, and a plan began to formulate in his mind. Feeling like a sleaze, Connor caught her eye and winked. Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she winked back. He jerked his head and rolled his eyes, hoping she would read his signals right. He should have gone to church today, just to ask forgiveness for what he was currently doing.