by Nancy Warren
Under it she wore an athletic shirt—not the one she’d sweated in earlier, but a much nicer one that made the most of her meager curves. Besides that she wore only jeans, a black lacy thong and leather sandals.
He took half a century peeling her top up over her belly, stopping to kiss and caress the skin he revealed. When he pulled it up over her breasts, she heard his breath catch. Hah! she thought. Surprise. One of the nice things about being small-breasted was that she could easily forgo a bra when she felt like being casual.
Clearly, Mr. I’m In No Hurry had been expecting a bra and the way he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her breasts, or keep his hands off them, told her he wasn’t nearly as Zen as he pretended to be. From the pace of his breathing, she thought he wanted to rip off her clothes and take her right here, right now, as much as she wanted him to.
But he didn’t.
Controlling himself with an effort she had to admire, he went back to his slow, meandering exploration of her body.
He sat her down on his bed, reached down to tug her sandals off her feet before stroking up her legs.
“Could you do something for me?” she asked, trying not to pant.
“What is it?” She was pretty sure he was trying not to pant, too.
“Would you take off your shirt?”
The slow, sexy smile dawned. “Yes, ma’am.” And he peeled his T-shirt over his head.
Even though she’d watched him contort himself and had seen the muscles in his arms, she’d never seen his torso naked. The man was gorgeous. Hard-muscled and yet lean, with a subtle six-pack. Copper-penny nipples and a delicious arrow of hair that pointed to hidden treasure.
His skin was beyond warm, so hot he felt feverish.
He reached for the button of her jeans. “You going commando everywhere?”
“No. I’m wearing panties.”
He undid her jeans and eased them down over her hips. When he raised his gaze to her hips he groaned. “Those are not panties. You can see everything,” he complained in mock horror.
He raised his gaze until it connected with hers. “I bet those don’t even cover your butt.”
Feeling silly and sexy and delicious, she rolled over. “See for yourself.”
He not only looked, but he also touched, and then he removed the last of his clothes and climbed into bed with her. He took her into his arms and kissed her.
“You are such a good kisser,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Glad you think so, because I am going to kiss every inch of your beautiful body.”
And he did.
She lost track of time. For a woman who billed by the hour, whose schedule was blocked in fifteen-minute increments, who had clocks all over her home and office so she always knew what the time was, it was an extraordinary experience. But she truly did lose any sense of where she was in her day. And as her body trembled, and the man who’d made her wait finally entered her body, she decided that there was a lot to be said for taking the time to do one thing well.
He didn’t rush her, or himself, seemed content to make love for hours, as though climax would come to them when it felt like it. She’d never been with anyone like that before and instead of focusing on achieving orgasm, she found herself experiencing her body and this new man’s, enjoying every thrust and slide, every moan and soft whisper, how her skin felt against the soft cotton sheets, how his skin slid against hers. When she climaxed, he didn’t treat it like an event, but like a wave, and there were plenty more waves out there, so they drifted and crested and played until, deeply satisfied, she dozed, wrapped in his arms.
When she woke, satisfied and smug, she said, “I lost track of how many orgasms I had.”
He opened one eye, a blue gleam against his tawny skin, and mumbled, “Do you usually keep score?”
She nodded. “Of course I do. I track everything. My time, my expenses, my billable hours, it’s like my whole life is one big tally sheet.”
“Good thing I came along,” he informed her.
She was about to sling him a stinging retort when she considered that if she’d remembered to keep track of her orgasms, she was pretty sure she’d have needed more than the fingers of one hand. Most of the time, she was lucky to have one. She wasn’t going to call him on his attitude. Not yet, anyway.
Instead she gave his delectable round butt a resounding slap. “Come on, gorgeous. We have a wedding to go to.”
He turned onto his back and regarded her with a gleam of speculation. “You know, they’ll still get married whether we’re there or not.”
“But they’re my friends. Besides, my best friend is catering the wedding and I promised I’d be there.” Since there was no clock in his room—how did the man get up in the morning?—she dug out her cell phone and gave a squeal of alarm. “We’ve got to get going or we’ll be late. I’ll run home and change and be back in, oh, crap, an hour.”
“Hey, Sarah?” he said, not moving.
“What?” She was almost out the door.
“Bring your toothbrush. I want you to stay tonight. We barely got started.”
23
“THE CANAPÉS ARE A huge hit,” Giselle, the long-legged waitress Chelsea had met while working at the restaurant said, running into the kitchen with another empty tray. “One of the older men made me stand there while he ate seven butterflied prawns. I’m not kidding. I counted.”
“Good thing I made lots,” Chelsea said.
Amazingly, she was actually having fun. This was the work she loved, what she felt she’d been born to do. She took pleasure in food and loved to share that pleasure with other people. Maybe not to the point that some guy would gobble up seven prawns in a row, but she supposed his greed was a compliment of sorts.
Since this was a second marriage for both bride and groom, they’d arranged for hors d’oeuvres and drinks before the ceremony, then they were having the actual wedding in the conservatory, and afterward a sit-down dinner in the dining room.
After sending Giselle out with another tray, she checked on her bartender. And had to smile. David was having the time of his life, she could tell. He was laughing and joking with the customers while pouring drinks with deft assurance.
She glanced at her watch, which told her that the scheduled cocktail hour should be over in a few minutes, and exactly on cue, she watched Karen whisper into the MC’s ear and the next thing, he was announcing that it was now time for everyone to head to the conservatory.
While the couple was getting married, she had time to get the first course ready to go and for David to open and place bottles of wine on all the tables.
She passed Karen on her way to the dining room and the woman beamed at her. “You’re doing a fantastic job. I knew the minute I tasted your food we were going to be great together.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I feel the same.” She did, too. She and Karen shared a perfectionism about event planning that ensured neither would let the other down. She hurried on.
“Everything fine in here?” she asked David.
“Couldn’t be better.”
Returning to the kitchen, she passed the conservatory and paused for a moment to enjoy the spectacle. She loved weddings. The hope and dreams of a couple promising to love each other for all their lives. Filled with hope and the support of their friends and family.
These two had written their own vows, she soon realized. Facing each other and holding hands, they promised to offer each other friendship and support through good times and tough. Maybe they weren’t the most poetic vows ever written, but even so, Chelsea felt emotion catch at her throat. She felt a presence behind her and knew without turning that it was David.
Rock solid, standing at her back. He’d been there today when she’d needed him. She thought that if he ever grew up and got over the fear of commitment that was holding him back, he would be a terrific husband.
While they stood there, close but not touching, the bride said in a clear but tremulous voice, “I pro
mise to love you every day of my life.”
Chelsea felt the echo of those words in her own heart, repeated them silently to the man standing behind her. Then she felt him move. Not away, but closer, so his front was touching her back. For a timeless moment they stood there, while two strangers promised to love each other for the rest of their lives.
Then he moved away.
She turned and hurried to the kitchen, acknowledging the ache in her chest. She didn’t have time for unrequited love, she reminded herself sternly.
She had a wedding to cater.
THE DINNER WAS EATEN, the toasts drunk, the speeches spoken, the wedding cake cut, and the dancing was beginning.
Chelsea’s part was played and she thought with simple pride that she couldn’t have done better. Karen was delighted, and the bride’s mother had made a special trip to the kitchen to thank her, bringing a bottle of the good champagne as a gift.
“You did a wonderful job,” the woman gushed. “And your bartender was quite a hit. You make a good team.” Since David was standing there at the time, she couldn’t say what she wanted to, which was that he didn’t seem to want her on his team. Instead, she thanked the woman politely.
David didn’t even blink when she said, “And here’s a little extra something from the bride’s family,” and tucked a one hundred dollar bill into his breast pocket.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “It’s been our pleasure working for you. You know what you could do for Chelsea if you really want to thank her?”
Both women stared at him in slight shock. Now what was he doing?
He smiled at them both. God, he was cute. He’d be the perfect man if only he wanted her for real. “You’d write a little reference that Chelsea could use on her Web site and her brochure. That would really help her build her business. There’s nothing like a satisfied customer to bring the business in.” He grinned suddenly. “And with wedding catering, it’s not like you want to get repeats.”
“I certainly hope not.” She nodded briskly. “I’ll e-mail you something in the next couple of days. If I forget, remind me. I’ll also tell all my friends. You are a find.”
David answered, “Thanks.”
When the woman had left, Chelsea turned to him. “I can’t believe you asked her for a reference. It’s the night of the wedding.”
“She wanted to do something nice for you. Get ’em while they’re grateful, that’s what I always say.”
I’m grateful, she thought, why don’t you come and get me?
DAVID WAS BACK IN THE kitchen helping her reload the van when Sarah tripped in with a slightly shaggy hottie in tow. He was one of those guys who could wear a designer suit and you’d still check to see if his feet were bare. They weren’t, but his shoes were obviously built for comfort more than style.
“Great job, Chels,” her friend cried, giving her a hug. “Everything was delicious.”
“Thanks.”
“But you’d better do something about the crappy bartender you hired.” She shook her finger at her brother. “Nice one, making me show ID before you’d serve me alcohol. Everybody around gaped at me like I was seventeen.”
Before sister and brother could go at each other, Sarah’s date stepped forward. “I didn’t get a chance to meet you. I’m Mike. I’m with Sarah.” He shook hands with David. She admired the smooth way he’d prevented a family squabble, but then she remembered Sarah’d said he was a high school counselor. With David and Sarah in the same room, he was a good guy to have around.
Chelsea glanced at her best friend. She hadn’t missed the way Mike had introduced himself. He hadn’t said he was Sarah’s date, but that he was “with” her. Interesting choice of words. Now that she took the opportunity to notice, she saw that Sarah had an unmistakably heavy-eyed look and the satisfied expression of a woman who’d spent most of the day in bed. Lucky girl.
When Mike came and shook her hand and said how much he’d enjoyed the food, she studied him, the way she studied anybody Sarah cared about, and she immediately liked what she saw. There was something honest about his eyes that appealed to her immediately.
While the guys were chatting, she grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her outside to the van. “You actually got him into bed?”
“What? Do I have it tattooed on my forehead? I finally had sex!”
“No. You look so…relaxed. And I’m guessing it’s not from yoga.”
A smile older and more self-satisfied than the Mona Lisa’s answered her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed in my whole life. That man is awesome.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m sleeping over there tonight.”
Chelsea might have been the only person in the world who understood what a big deal that was for Sarah, who liked to maintain control at all times. Including doing the sleepovers at her place. If they happened, which was rare. “Did you hear the way he referred to the two of you? He said, ‘I’m with Sarah.’ He’s totally into you.”
“I know.” Again with the smug, I-had-sex-and-it-was-sooo-good smile, which vanished as quickly as it dawned. “It would be perfect except for one thing.”
What could possibly have gone wrong already? “What thing?”
“David can never, ever know that he brought us together.”
There were a million things she could have said, about growing up, and maybe accepting that sometimes other people saw things about you that you couldn’t see yourself. All she said was, “My lips are permanently sealed.”
Sarah nodded. “That’s why we’re best friends forever.”
“Yeah.”
“We’d better go in before they run out of things to talk about and David asks Mike how we met.”
So they went back in to find the guys discussing not romance, but baseball. Men!
It was so cozy in the kitchen and she didn’t want the night to end. She said, “There’s a cold bottle of champagne with our names on it.”
“And a bona fide bartender to open it,” David added.
So they sat around the kitchen, Sarah and Mike hiked up on the countertops and Chelsea and David standing leaning against walls. “I want to make a toast,” Sarah said the minute the bubbles were poured.
They all waited expectantly while she mulled for a moment. Then she grinned. “To Chelsea’s new business, may it be a huge success, to the happy couple tonight, may their marriage be long and blessed, and—” here her gaze connected with her date’s “—to new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” they all dutifully echoed, and then sipped the frothy wine.
Oh, it was good after a long day on her feet, the stress and the almost-disaster of the morning and the unexpected help from a man she was pretending to be engaged to, pretending she didn’t need or want, pretending she didn’t love.
What a mess.
At least Sarah seemed happy with a man whom she suspected would be good for her old friend. Someone who would keep her relaxed and stand up to her when she got into one of her bullying moods.
They laughed and chatted like the old friends three of them were, and Mike seemed like he fit right in.
That relationship wasn’t going to be all smooth sailing, she guessed, but there was something there. Something new and wonderful and important.
She felt David’s gaze on her and glanced up to meet his eyes. She thought that he was thinking the same thoughts about his sister, and she smiled slightly, letting him know they were on the same wavelength. Then his expression changed and she saw all the longing she knew so well.
Abruptly, he put down his almost-empty glass. “I think Chelsea’s tired. I need to get her home.”
“Good plan,” Sarah agreed almost too quickly. “I need to get to bed, too.”
Mike and Sarah left arm in arm, Chelsea put the last of the glasses in the case to be returned to the rental place and she and David got into the van.
She ought to be tired. She should be dead exhausted by now, but a curious energy filled her. Part of it was the
excitement of having pulled off the damn near impossible and exceeding every expectation, including her own.
Part of it, she had to acknowledge, was the man beside her. Driving with a tense concentration, as if he wanted to appear too busy handling a van he’d driven with no problem at all this morning to make conversation.
Fine. She tilted her head back and let the feelings wash over her.
When they arrived back at his town house, he parked the van. It was still and quiet this time of night, lit only by a few industrial lights. The bang of her door echoed.
The stuff didn’t have to be back to the rental agency until the morning, and it should be safe there in his secure garage, but she still walked around the van to make certain they’d locked the back door.
And found David embarked on the same task. They faced each other for a split second, then, as though he had no choice, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with so much banked hunger and passion, she knew he’d been thinking of nothing else since the last time they’d been together.
She tried to pull away. She wasn’t like this, didn’t let herself be used by men who didn’t know what they wanted and ran like hell when they got close to what they needed.
Making a sound of protest, she started to pull away, but he only took her mouth again, more fiercely, and she was lost.
24
NEED, HUNGER, THE RELIEF of a successful first catering job and the raw excitement of being with the man she loved in spite of all his flaws was a heady combination.
She’d regret this in the morning, was almost regretting it now and nothing had happened yet, but she knew she couldn’t pull away. She needed David the way an addict needed a fix.
He grabbed her hand and dragged her with him, barely letting her go for a second.
His face was more stubbly than last time they’d been together, but that was because he wasn’t freshly shaven since they’d been working since morning.