by Eden Bradley
He grabbed the soap right away and lathered his cock, began to pump. He bit his lip, could almost taste her there still.
Mia Rose.
Pleasure shot through him, seemed to weigh him down, crushing him, untillhe could barely stand. He leaned against the wall of the shower, let his head fall back, thrust his hips into his fist.
Yeah, wet and slippery, just like she’d be inside. He knew it, knew it from the silk of her mouth, the slide of her tongue on his.
Mia Rose.
His climax bore down on him. Sharp and hot, his come spurting between his fingers. He was panting hard, his hips still pumping even after it was over. It wasn’t enough. Not by far. Because his cock wasn’t the only part of him obsessed with Mia Rose. And it wasn’t only her body he wanted.
The woman had really spun his head. This endless need to come and come and come was only the beginning of it. He couldn’t even think about the rest.
He leaned into the coollwall of the shower, let the water wash him clean as he tried to catch his breath.
Maybe once he fucked her he’d be able to work her out of his system. That’s what he was telling himself anyway. Because the idea that there was something more was not acceptable. Not good for him, not good for her.
He’d made a deallwith himself, damn it. That’s what had gotten him over Elena. And it had been working.
Nothing long-term. No emotions involved. Never give a woman the chance to get to him again.
The problem was, with Mia Rose, it might already be too late.
Karalee pulled up in front of IllFornaio, just as Gideon had told her to. Yes, told her. He’d been very specific. She was to arrive at eight o’clock, wearing a black skirt and nothing underneath it. She’d trembled all the way there, feeling the coollleather of the car seat beneath her thighs. And there was something about knowing she was doing exactly what he’d asked of her that was frankly thrilling as hell.
The valet opened her door and she stepped out. The air was coolland damp this close to the bay. The strong scent of salt was replaced by garlic and baking bread when she opened the door to the restaurant and went inside. She looked around the crowded room, took in the black and cream striped wallpaper, the red leather booths, the starched white tablecloth. The murmur of voices layered against the music, broken by the occasionallburst of laughter.
She’d eaten here before, but she’d never arrived in this state of anxious arousal. Not here, not anywhere.
“Karalee.”
His voice at her ear, deep, reverberating through her body. She turned to him.
“Gideon. Hi.”
How strange, suddenly, to see him here, in a public place. To be on an actualldate, rather than hiding in some corner, being fervently fucked by him. Not that she’d minded. She wouldn’t mind now.
“We’re ready for our table,” he told the hostess.
“Gideon Oliver, reservation for two.”
The woman nodded and led them to a small booth in the corner. Gideon gestured her in. Karalee slid across the smooth vinyl, acutely aware of how naked she was beneath her skirt. Gideon slid in beside her, untillhis thigh pressed against hers.
“I see you came dressed as I asked, Karalee.”
She nodded, her throat dry. He smelled too good.
“Did you do everything I asked?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice catching. Then, more strongly, “Yes, I did.”
He smiled at her, that Hollywood smile, all flashing white teeth and old-schoollcharm. He really did look like an actor, handsome as hell, sculpted features, strong chin, dark, deep-set eyes. She went warm and liquid inside when he slipped an arm around her and leaned in.
“The pasta primavera is excellent here. We’ll have some wine.”
She nodded. She didn’t know what to say to this man. Wasn’t sure if this relationship, if one could callit that, was going to be about more than sex. But they were on a date, weren’t they?
The waitress approached with menus, but Gideon waved a hand. “We’ll both have the house salad. The pasta primavera for her. The tagliolini with prosciutto for me. And a bottle of Dolcetto d’Alba.”
Gideon turned to Karalee as the waitress nodded and left. “You’ll like this wine. It’s a red, but more subtle than most.”
“That’s the first subtle thing that’s happened between us,” Karalee said. She couldn’t help it.
Gideon grinned. “So it is. But I think you like that about me.”
She laughed. “You’re right. I do.”
Her shoulders loosened. Maybe this could be a normalldate after all.
His hand on her thigh made her jump a little. She watched his face as his hand slid up, right into the already damp V between her thighs.
“Spread for me,” he told her, locking his gaze on hers.
Maybe not an entirely normalldate.
Her breath escaped in a long, quiet sigh. Her lashes fluttered closed for a moment.
“Open your eyes, Karalee. Look as though nothing unusuallis happening.”
“You must be joking,” she muttered through clenched teeth as he drove his fingers into her, pleasure flashing through her body.
“Your wine, sir.” The waitress opened the bottle.
Gideon pressed his thumb onto Karalee’s clit just as the waitress pulled the cork free. She ground her teeth hard to keep from crying out.
The waitress poured a small glass for Gideon. He lifted it to his nose, took in the scent, his other hand momentarily stilling between Karalee’s legs. He sipped, nodded to the waitress. “Very good.”
The woman filled both glasses and left. Gideon handed one to Karalee. “Here, try this. It’s quite nice.”
She lifted the glass with a shaking hand, while he went back to work on her. She took a small sip of the deep red wine. It flowed smoothly down her throat, the flavor light and subtle, as he’d said. But she was having difficulty swallowing as Gideon continued his assault, circling her clit, pressing his fingers deeper inside her.
“Gideon…”
“Yes?”
His face was perfectly calm. How could this not be affecting him? But when she looked more closely, she saw the fever in his dark brown gaze, caught the heaviness in his breathing.
“Jesus, Gideon. I think…I’m going to come right here.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“But…I can’t.”
“You will. For me.”
She started to shake her head, but he only pressed harder on her clit, drove his fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm.
He leaned in another inch, untillhis breath was warm on her cheek. “You won’t be able to help yourself in a minute, will you?”
What was he doing to her?
“No,” she breathed.
And in the next moment it hit, like a wall of pleasure coming down on her. Pleasure and heat in a shivering surge that made her gasp, made her bite down hard on her lip to keep from whimpering.
“Jesus, Gideon,” she murmured when it was over and he’d pulled his fingers from her. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, but she was too uncertain as to what this was, going on between them. Instead, she blinked hard, pulled in a deep breath, sat up a little straighter. When she looked at him again he was staring at her, smiling.
“What?”
“That was beautiful.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. She didn’t know what she had expected. She hardly knew what to think herself. Picking up her glass, she sipped her wine, then quickly sipped again.
Gideon leaned in and whispered into her hair, “Did you enjoy that, Karalee?”
She pushed down the uncertainty seeping into her system, lifted her chin, looked directly at him, and smiled. “Yes. I did.”
“Good. Because that’s only the beginning of what I hope will be a very interesting evening.”
“Is that so?”
“Surely you didn’t think we’d have dinner tonight, then go ou
r separate ways?”
“I hoped not.”
A wicked grin lit his dark eyes. “I like that about you, Karalee. But I wanted us to get to know each other tonight, too. Otherwise I would have just taken you to some dark corner again.”
“I like the dark corners. But I like it here, too. And I have to admit I’m curious about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
Their salads arrived and she lifted her fork. She was starving suddenly. She speared a bit of lettuce and chewed for a moment, thinking. She was thoroughly relaxed after her lovely little orgasm. “I want to know where you came from, where you were before you came to San Francisco. You’re something of a mystery at school, you know.”
“Am I?”
“Are you telling me you don’t do it on purpose?” she teased.
He laughed. “I’m not so mysterious. I’ve actually lived most of my life in San Francisco. I taught at U.C.
Santa Barbara for eight years before coming to San Francisco State. But I grew up here. I always come back.”
“What made you go to Santa Barbara? You don’t strike me as the beach bum type.”
He shrugged, a casuallmove, but she saw his features harden, his eyes going flat. “I needed a change. Needed to be somewhere different.” He picked up his glass, drank the rest of his wine in one swallow, poured some more.
He didn’t say any more. But his face had said it all.
She’d hit a sore spot. One he obviously had no intention of talking about. But then, this was the first reallconversation they’d had; she didn’t expect him to bare his soullto her. Not that she needed him to.
She decided to change the subject.
“How do you like your new job?”
“The staff is great. The students are great. They seem very interested in learning. A more sophisticated group than at some other schools.”
“I agree. I’m not sure what it is. They’re very focused.”
He nodded, started in on his salad. She was glad to have distracted him from whatever had made him so uncomfortable.
“Do you miss Santa Barbara at all, Gideon?”
“No. I like the pace in San Francisco more. The lifestyle is a little too laid-back for me in Santa Barbara. And I’m glad to be back in my house here.”
“You have a house in the city?”
“It’s over on Potrero Hill. An older house. It needs some work now, after renting it out these last years.
But there’s a great view of the bay. And I opened the attic up to make a master suite when I first bought it.
I put in these enormous windows, a couple of skylights. You can see most of the city from up there.
It’s like sleeping right under the sky.”
“It sounds unusual.”
“It is. It’s incredible. And it’s home for me. At least, it’s getting to be again. I’ve only been back in the house for a month. What about you?”
“I’m one of those Midwest imports.”
“Ah. Where do you haillfrom?”
“Indiana. I came to California for college and never left.”
“So, you’re one of those innocent small-town girls?”
“A small town, yes. Not so innocent, though.”
He grinned. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t call you innocent, Karalee.”
“But I am a preacher’s daughter.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yes. My father’s a minister. If my parents had any idea what Chico State’s reputation for partying was, they’d never have let me leave the house, never mind cross state lines to go to college.”
“But you managed to get an education, to become a teacher.”
She shrugged. “It was what I wanted to do, and it makes them happy, although they hate that I live so far away. Not that we’re particularly close. But they have this archaic idea that a woman can’t survive alone in the world. I think that’s what’s kept them together all these years. But that kind of thinking is one of the reasons why I couldn’t ever go back, once I’d left. This city is my home now. It’s so dynamic. I love it here. My father calls San Francisco a city of sin. I suppose it is. Maybe that’s what I like most about it.”
He grinned at her and lifted his wineglass. “Ah, Karalee, you’re really something.”
How strange to sit here, talking with him as though nothing had happened; simply two people having dinner. But even now her sex throbbed, wanting more. Wanting him.
“So.” She leaned in, her wineglass in her hand, her fingers caressing the stem. She lowered her voice.
“Do you always have sex in the janitors’ closet?”
“Only with you. But it may become a habit.”
She went warm inside. Something about the way he was looking at her, as though he might eat her alive.
She’d like that. Love it, really. “I hope so.”
He pushed his salad plate aside, reached over, and stroked the back of her hand with his fingers. She shivered, desire dancing over her skin. The man had great hands.
“I have plans for you later, Karalee. They don’t involve a closet. But I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind.”
God, even hearing him say these things was an incredible turn-on. She squeezed her thighs together.
“I can’t wait to find out.”
He smiled at her. She smiled back, lust surging through her system. Dinner couldn’t be over soon enough.
Mia stood and wiped her gloved hand over her cheek. The sun filtered through the scattered clouds, touching her little garden with bits of gold. She’d been working there since sunrise, unable to sleep after her evening with Jagger.
She should never have let him kiss her last night.
Should never have gone to his apartment for dinner.
The only smart thing she’d done was to leave before things went any further. But she wanted to go back, wanted him to kiss her again.
She wanted him to do more than kiss her.
Why was she being such a prude suddenly, if even only in her own head? Why was she unable to be honest with herself about what she really wanted from Jagger? Because what she wanted was for him to put his hands on her, to touch her naked skin. She wanted to strip his clothes off, to see his body, to feellhis skin against hers. She wanted his mouth allover her, to feellthose lush lips, his wet tongue on her flesh…
She wanted him to fuck her. Oh yes. And she wanted him to feed her again, to take that lovely raspberry sauce he’d made and cover her in it, lick it from her skin in long, lovely strokes…
She shook her head and commanded her body to calm as she went back to work, pulling weeds, snipping the blown and browned roses from their stems, focusing on her task, on the pale winter sun warm on her back.
She hadn’t experienced that sensual—sexual— connection between a man and food since Ben. Yes, she watched the cooking shows with her vibrator in hand. But she knew her physicallresponse was nothing more than a reaction that had been built into her. She’d spent years learning about fetishes, trying to understand what motivated her own desires. She understood why she sexualized food. She knew exactly what Freud had to say on the subject, understood the chemicallresponses in the brain. But that was about her own history, not a specific person.
So why was it all coming up again now, with Jagger?
Just because the man could cook, obviously understood something about the sensuallnature of food. It meant nothing.
Or at least, it should mean nothing.
She worked for another hour. Then, her garden in order, she picked up her basket full of cuttings and dead roses. The scent of the roses came to her, along with the ever-present scent of the ocean.
She loved these smells. They reminded her of when she’d first come here, when she was thirteen years old. More than old enough to understand what her mother was, the things she did. She’d loved this house the moment she’d seen it. Loved her grandmother the moment they’d finally met. And she always felt guilty that she’d been so relieved w
hen her mother had taken off in the middle of the night, leaving her there. Guilty that she never missed her, that she was simply glad to have a normalllife, finally.
Moving to the back corner of the garden, she emptied the basket into the compost pile, took it to the small shed, and set it inside on a shelf along with her gloves, then headed into the house. In the kitchen, she washed her hands, poured herself a glass of iced tea, and drank it in long gulps standing over the sink.
She was good at guilt, that was for sure. She felt guilty as hell now over that kiss last night. Over the cravings that pulled so strongly at her insides she could barely stand not to pick up the phone and callhim. Such intense yearning for him, driven by the whole food thing…it was all tied together, wasn’t it?
No, no, no.
What was she going to do with herself? This was pure torture, to want him so badly and not be able to have him. So much worse after that teasing kiss last night. The man could kiss. She was pretty damn sure he could do a few other things. But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this!
But she couldn’t forget the feellof his lips, the taste of him, the scent of raspberries and chocolate in the air…
She was a mess over this guy, and she had no idea how it had even happened. This internallbattle was making her crazy. Jagger was making her crazy.
Another good reason to stay away from him.
She knew damn well what she should do: keep her distance, never allow herself to be alone with him.
Never allow him to touch her again, to kiss her. But she also knew damn well she couldn’t do it.
Jagger walked along Mission Street, the rich scents of garlic and spices wafting from the restaurants he passed, along with that sharp smell of damp pavement the San Francisco fog always seemed to bring out and the odor of sour booze from the bars and clubs where the crowds were beginning to gather for the night’s activities. The streetlights illuminated the dark sidewalk; neon signs cast colorfullshadows at his feet, blue and yellow and hot pink pooling in the small puddles as he moved down the street.
He’d been out at a bar with Jean and Leilani, but he hadn’t been able to sit still. He’d drank a beer, then made his excuses and left. Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, he slowed his pace. He really didn’t want to go home yet. Not that he knew where he wanted to go. But at home, allhe’d do was sit around and think about Mia Rose.