by Nancy Warren
She heard the key in the door and her foolish heart fluttered. She was really going to have to do something about this little problem of hers, since they seemed to be spending a lot of time together and familiarity wasn’t breeding contempt. It was breeding a longing that was all too painfully reminiscent of her teenage years.
Not for the first time she cursed herself for sleeping with the man. Before she’d only imagined what she was missing. Now she knew, in glorious, ohmygawd-it-was-fantastic detail.
The door opened and a familiar voice boomed, “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
“Your martini is mixed and dinner’s almost ready,” she teased.
“You are my dream woman,” he announced.
“Well, I might have lied about the martini, but I do have food.”
And he had flowers. A mixed bouquet from a street vendor. Her heart fluttered once again as he presented it to her.
“Thank you. What’s the occasion?”
“Just my way of saying thanks for all these great meals.”
What happened to him complaining about his arteries and his waistline, she wondered.
“Everything smells fantastic,” he told her, gazing at the array of food all over the counter.
“I got a little carried away. I decided to cook up everything I’m planning to serve at the wedding I’m catering, and time it all. It’s a sweat, but if I hire a kitchen helper as well as servers, I’ll make it.”
“Does it all taste as good as it looks?”
“You’ll have to tell me.”
“Cool. Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?”
“Of course,” she said, mildly surprised. He didn’t usually shower when he got home from work.
As though aware of her surprise he said, “I was running all over town today. I got hot and sweaty. I really need to cool off.”
He emerged fifteen minutes later in shorts and a shirt, but not too casual, the kind you might go out in. He was freshly shaved. Something twisted in her belly when he walked by and she smelled the scent of freshly showered and shaved male.
The food was delicious, every single bite. But in truth she barely tasted any of it. David was so different than his usual self. He was attentive, making sure her glass was filled, kind of flirty, and he seemed completely fascinated by every word she uttered.
After he’d eaten every bite of the stuffed chicken breasts with never a single complaint about cholesterol, she said, “I’ve got these little strawberry puffs for dessert. Do you want to try some?”
He shook his head. “No wedding night couple would ever make it that far. You’ve cooked nothing but aphrodisiacs.”
“I have not.”
“Then why do I feel like I need to make love to you every time I glance across at you?”
She gulped. Glanced down. Then up…and caught the smolder in his gaze. Felt the temperature soar even in the air-conditioned room. “You do?”
He nodded, serious for once.
“But, we agreed we wouldn’t—”
His head shake was a vigorous negative. “You set the rules and I agreed to live by them. It was never my idea. I can’t see the point of living with a beautiful, desirable woman and going to bed frustrated every night.”
She bit her lower lip, “You’ve been frustrated?”
“Every. Single. Night.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about, you’ve been frustrated every night, too.”
She could barely stop the smile that tugged at her lips. “Not every night.” But far too many for her own good.
“If there was even one night that you lay awake thinking about me, then I don’t feel so inept.”
“Inept?” It was such an odd word to use.
“There was a time when I used to do quite well with women. You wouldn’t know it, but—”
“Of course I would. When we were in high school? You had girls falling all over the place to get your attention. And who did you bring home? Fluffies. They were all fluffies.”
“Fluffies?” He appeared outraged.
She giggled. “That’s what Sarah and I used to call them, those girls you brought over. Big-breasted, mostly sweet, with big hair and small brains.” She tilted her head, regarding him. She hadn’t snooped or anything, but there had been several vacuous phone messages, a couple of poorly spelled postcards. “I get the feeling you haven’t changed much.”
“You’d be wrong. My taste has changed.” He shot her a calculated glance from under his ridiculously thick lashes. “Unless you consider yourself a fluffy.”
“I most certainly do not.”
“Well, I’m attracted to you, and it seems to me that in the interests of weaning me away from these so-called fluffies you should take a more active role in my personal improvement.”
She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”
“Frankly, I don’t normally have to work this hard.”
“What a refreshing change I must be.”
He moved. One moment he was across from her and the next he was scooping her out of her chair. “I’m not a bad guy, you know? And you’re beautiful, and you look so good—” he touched her hair “—smell so good.” He leaned closer so his nose touched the sensitive spot below her ear, where a pulse began to thump. “And you taste good.”
She didn’t think, she simply leaned forward, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. In the back of her mind she supposed this would turn out to be a mistake, but she wasn’t having any luck protecting her heart. Her rules hadn’t made her immune from falling for him all over again.
At least an affair would give her some spicy memories that would hopefully keep her warm when she looked back on the past.
As their lips met, the sizzle that had been part of their chemistry since the night he’d mistaken her on the street for a stranger burned hot and bright. She’d taken him by surprise—she could tell by the tiny moment of stiffness in his body, as though he’d been expecting a rebuff and wasn’t ready for her to throw herself at him, in spite of him practically begging her to make love with him.
Good, she thought, with a tiny inward smile. She wanted to surprise him, and keep on surprising him until he realized that he didn’t need any fake fiancées or elaborate hoaxes in order to get ahead in life. The woman in his arms was the perfect partner. Not corporate wife, or disposable fluffy, but a woman who complemented him, who challenged him and most importantly, who loved him.
She couldn’t tell him any of this in words, but she could, and did, tell him with her body rubbing sensuously against his, with her lips moving against his with increasing urgency, with the heartbeats pounding through every pulse point.
He pushed her up against the counter, then hoisted her up so her butt hit the cold granite and he stepped between her thighs.
She had the odd experience of coming to him with a virgin’s heart, one she’d so foolishly given to him years earlier, in an experienced woman’s body. Even as she knew how to give and receive pleasure, she’d never given as she did now, to the man she’d loved since she was fourteen years old. The old flutters of nervousness danced over her skin even as her hands moved surely, tracing the contours of his back, his shoulders, his arms.
He was doing his own exploring, touching her hair, the curve of her face, her neck, and tracing patterns up and down her side, coming closer to her breasts but not quite reaching them, building heat within her as she waited and longed for his touch where she was so exquisitely sensitive.
Her nipples began to throb in anticipation. He kept kissing her, as though now he had possession of her mouth he would never let it go. He kissed with the finesse of a man who truly loved kissing. He licked, explored, teased, pleasured her mouth in a way that let her know he would take as much delight in every part of her, and he was in no hurry.
Oddly she found she didn’t have all the time in the world. A strange urgency gripped her, compelling her to tug
at his shirt, needing quite desperately to get her hands on his naked torso.
He helped her tug the thing off, and her urgency seemed to fire his, for suddenly she found—even as she was running her hands over his chest—that her own top was being tugged at. She helped him, four hands all pulling at once, and when the blouse went sailing through the air she heard the deep growl of satisfaction in his throat as he gazed at her.
Not that she’d had any inkling of tonight’s activities, but she had selected one of her prettiest sets of underwear. Seemed David was also a big fan of French lingerie.
He helped her off with her skirt and then hoisted her up and into his arms, making her laugh. “I need more room,” he panted. “I definitely want you in the kitchen, but right now, I want you in my bed.”
She had no objection to the plan, hugging her legs around his waist, enjoying the stiff evidence of his arousal as he jogged them upstairs to his bedroom and tossed her back onto the big bed.
He was so very dear to her. Their night in the Poconos had been wild and fun, but they’d tried to pack everything into a night. Now she felt that she had time. Time to get to know him, to pleasure him and receive pleasure in return, night after night.
She liked the combination of familiar and exotic. She knew his moods, the sound of his voice, his quirky sense of humor, his intelligence and ambition, but she didn’t know he was ticklish on the inside of his elbows until she stroked her fingers over his skin and he jerked away. She’d known he had freckle fields on the tops of his shoulders, but not that his skin would taste like toast and butter.
His fingers were bold and knowing, and yet there was an almost boyish eagerness to him that made her feel incredibly special. The flop of dark hair across his forehead was so endearing, and as she stroked it back off his forehead, their gazes connected and she thought in that moment they were more intimate than two entwined bodies could ever be.
When he finally stripped off her bra and thong, she was so aroused she thought she was going to explode. From the sweat-slick and engorged look of him he was close to exploding, too.
But he held himself back. Touching her breasts gently when he discovered how sensitive they were, tasting the nipples and rolling them on his tongue, he kissed her belly, and when he began to kiss her thighs she gasped, “Wait, I want you inside me first.”
He glanced up at her, dark devils dancing in his eyes. Shook his head. “Not yet. You are my tasting menu.”
Whether it was his words or the touch of his tongue on her clit she had no idea but he’d barely licked at her when she went off like a rocket, crying out and shuddering and quaking.
“Oh,” she said, putting her hands over her eyes. “That was sort of embarrassing. You got me all worked up and—”
“Shut up,” he said and went back to what he was doing. She’d have argued that she couldn’t possibly climax again so soon if he’d let her catch a breath, but he didn’t, merely went back to making a meal of her and from deep within, heat and pressure began to build again. When he pushed two fingers inside her and rubbed her G spot while pleasuring her with his mouth, she had to grab at the sheets on either side of her to fasten her to earth. As she rose, higher and higher, she heard her own cries, and suddenly nothing could keep her tethered any longer. She soared and went flying.
She came back to earth to find David kissing his way up her body, but there was an ache inside her that needed to be filled, and now. Grabbing at him, pretty much wordless with need, she pulled at him until he understood her need and, after reaching for a nightstand drawer so well-stocked with condoms that she didn’t even want to think about it, he readied himself and then plunged inside her.
A shock of surprise rocked her. She’d imagined he’d be all gentle and take his time entering her, but his clumsy speed indicated that he was as needy as she was. His bucking haste rocked her back up again.
They rolled and reached and she felt something magical happening to her that she did not want to experience. Something soft, and gushy and sweet. She couldn’t help the emotions that pummeled her as she held him to her and they found their perfect rhythm. When they climaxed together, as though they’d been working up to a perfect union for years, she wasn’t a bit surprised.
It wasn’t oysters or lobster or any of the other contenders that were the most powerful aphrodisiacs.
In her experience, the only true and potent aphrodisiac was love.
And unfortunately, she knew of no cure or antidote.
17
“WOW.” THE WORD CREAKED out of his throat so hoarsely that he coughed and tried again. “Wow.” He’d used the expression “That rocked my world” a ridiculous number of times. For everything from a great sports play to a tough-to-bag client signing on the dotted line. He now knew he’d been grossly misusing the phrase.
What had just happened in his bedroom with Chelsea was the first thing in his life that had truly rocked his world—seriously, like earthquake tremors, shaking his foundations.
How was it even possible that a woman he liked so much, had liked since she was a kid, who wasn’t particularly mysterious to him, had uncovered a part of him he hadn’t known existed?
He felt like a blushing girl in some bullshit teen movie saying, “I never knew it could be like that.”
She smiled at him, trusting and sweet, her big brown eyes full of emotion. “Je t’aime,” she whispered.
He kissed her, to block out the messages in those big eyes, then rolled to his back, willing his breathing back to normal and his world to right itself. He wasn’t sentimental. It was this whole bizarre scenario that was making him act strangely. He’d never lived with a woman before, and after his failed engagement he had no intention of it. Yet here was a woman living in his house, filling it with the homey scents of cooking and walking by him wafting girlie smells of flowery shampoo and all those gels and cosmetics and things they used. No wonder his brain was permanently fogged.
She reached out and rested her hand on his chest, as though she didn’t want to break the connection. As though watching from another part of himself, he saw his own hand move to rest on top of hers. It felt so right.
It felt so terrifyingly wrong.
He didn’t want to live with the world’s greatest cook, who was also gorgeous and sweet and amazing in bed.
Especially not one who whispered “Je t’aime.” Maybe he hadn’t studied in Paris, but he knew what the phrase meant. I love you, that’s what.
Only a fool would want to live with someone like that. She’d suck all of him into her world. He could see it happening already. He scurried home, lured by her food and her presence. It was classic taming behavior. Feed the wild animal and soon it relies on you, then you lure it into a cage, put a red leather collar around its neck with some cutesy nickname on a metal tag.
His heart had started to slow and suddenly it was speeding up again.
Worst part was he had nobody to blame but himself. He’d needed the fiancée, then when his sister made her living here part of the deal, he’d started sniffing around her. She’d said no sex.
Because she was a very smart woman. Much, much smarter than him.
But had he listened? Had he followed the one simple rule she’d laid down? Of course he hadn’t. He’d done everything in his power to break that rule, because that’s what guys like him did when confronted with stupid rules. They broke them.
Hah. He was the stupid one. Now he’d broken through that barrier, what had happened?
The Poconos had given him a taste, a raunchy, fun, sexy night that had felt good. Had he left well enough alone? Hell, no. He’d decided he needed more. And he’d got more, all right.
The best damned sex of his life, that’s what. And with a woman who had forever written all over her, from her homemade cookies to her big brown happily-ever-after eyes.
Je t’aime.
He’d known the moment their bodies joined tonight, when she’d gazed up at him and he’d felt something inside him shift,
that he was in the deepest trouble of his life.
Not all animals were meant to be tamed. He’d heard of trapped animals who chewed off their own feet to escape. Thanks to Sarah and her PETA membership he knew a bunch of things like that he wished he didn’t.
Well, he wasn’t going to chew off a body part, but maybe metaphorically it wouldn’t be a bad idea.
He glanced down at their joined hands resting approximately over his heart. He picked up her hand, kissed the fingers. “You are amazing,” he said, truthfully, because she was.
Her head turned to him, those big brown eyes slumberous and sexy. “So are you.” She shifted even closer. “It was so much better this time.”
“I, uh…” He couldn’t look into those eyes and do what he had to do, so he turned back to look at the ceiling again. “I need to get back to the office for a couple of hours.”
“You do?” She sounded sleepy and surprised, not remotely outraged.
“Yeah. But this was great.” He leaned over and kissed her sweet, swollen mouth once more. “Don’t wait up.”
“Okay.” She didn’t seem to get the point, but he couldn’t throw her out of his bed any more than he could throw her out of his home. Since she was living in it.
Getting out of that bed took a lot of determination, especially as she hadn’t bothered to pull the covers up to her chin, but was lying, happily sated, her gorgeous body all curves and warm, silky skin, inviting him back in.
It took a physical effort to drag himself into the shower. When he emerged from the bathroom, she was exactly where he’d left her. Mild irritation surged through him, but then he saw she’d dropped off to sleep. Her face was so innocent, and for a moment he remembered the shy, serious girl she’d been. An unexpected and unwanted tug of tenderness drew him to her even as he struggled against it.
Her lips were parted, still swollen from passion.
Quietly, so as not to wake her, he grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a polo shirt, socks and underwear. He dressed swiftly and soundlessly, then, unable to stop himself, leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth.