by Tami Lund
“I can’t even find time to paint, let alone nurture a relationship. The only thing that’s kept me busy this past year is this restaurant.”
“Sounds lonely.” Connor lifted the wine bottle and topped off their glasses.
“It can be.” She twisted the stem, staring at the golden liquid gently lapping at the bowl of the glass.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Her gaze snapped up and settled on his face. He watched her steadily, the look in his eye serious. After a moment’s pause, he reached over, trailed his fingers over her arm. She shivered and dropped her lashes over her eyes to watch his hand.
“I think we should continue this party back at your place.”
Chapter 3
Ohmigod, was this really happening? Was she seriously taking home a man she’d only met ... what? Seven hours ago? She was crazy. Certifiable.
She was certainly stepping out of her comfort zone. Emily Kate didn’t do spontaneous. Or impromptu. Nor did she break the rules. Or sleep with men on the first date. Hell, this wasn’t even a date. She’d hired the man on the spot earlier in the day, and then they’d celebrated the evening’s success with a bottle of wine, and now she was trying to shove the car key into the starter so she could drive him back to her place. To spend the night. In her bed instead of in the guestroom.
“Is there a convenience store, a 7-11 or something nearby? Unless you have protection at your house?”
Protection. She was the sort of girl who took birth control and required her partner to wear a condom. Safety first. That should be her motto. Hell, it was her motto. Which explained why she was running her grandparents’ restaurant.
Hooking up with someone like Connor probably wasn’t safe, either. He didn’t appear nervous or uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping with a virtual stranger, whereas she was on the verge of a panic attack.
“You okay?” he asked, gently extracting the key from her hand and inserting it into the keyhole. “If you don’t want to ...”
She shook her head so violently, curls sprang free of the clip on the back of her head and twisted round her neck. “No. Yes. I mean, yes, I do. I really do.” All of a sudden, like a waterspout turned on after having been turned off for the winter, need poured from her. Yes, she wanted this. She desperately wanted this. The man had saved her restaurant’s reputation tonight. He had complimented her artwork, had not condemned her for her true passion. And he was sexy as sin. And sweet and easy to talk to, to boot.
She recognized these were not exactly the best reasons to toss logic and safety to the wind. These were certainly reasons to consider going out on a first date but not necessarily to take home a man she barely knew. Maybe that was exactly why she was doing it. Maybe his presence in her life was the catalyst she needed to finally be herself, safety and caution and doing the right thing be damned.
She half turned in her seat and pressed a hand to his chest. “We need to establish a few ground rules.”
Okay, maybe she couldn’t entirely throw caution to the wind.
His lips quirked, that charming half smile offering promises she couldn’t even begin to grasp. “Ground rules. What are those?” he teased.
“I don’t normally do this.”
“I can tell.”
“I need to know it won’t be weird in the morning.”
“It won’t be weird in the morning.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because I’ve done this before, and we’re both intelligent adults, and we both know we have to work together after this. Relax, Emily Kate. Let me show you a good time, and then I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, and we’ll have a kickass day at the restaurant tomorrow, too.”
“I feel like I’m living some sort of dream right now, and any minute, I’m going to wake up.” The only thing better would be if he said, I’ll run your restaurant, Emily Kate, while you paint to your heart’s content. After I bang your brains out first, of course. Her thighs quivered with the possibility.
“If I were a lesser man, I might be intimidated by your expectations. Now, nearest convenience store?” He lifted his hand, cupped her cheek, and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her lips. She opened them and he dipped his thumb between them, touching her tongue, before pulling it away so she could talk.
Except she didn’t want to talk. All she wanted at this point was to relieve the ache building between her legs. “Gas station,” she said, her voice breathy. “A few miles down the road. Hopefully they sell condoms.”
“It’s a gas station. They sell condoms.”
Ten minutes later, she parked in the carport underneath the house she’d inherited along with the restaurant and laughed when Connor climbed out of the car and exclaimed, “You live in a house on stilts.”
“Yeah, if you live on the bayou, you don’t really have a choice.” She locked the car and led him up the rickety old stairs to the backdoor. “Careful. Stay to the right as you come up. There are a few rotten boards. I need to bug my brother to fix them.”
“This is pretty freaking cool.” Connor stayed by her side as his gaze drank in what little they could see by the glare of the floodlight hanging over the backdoor. Emily Kate pulled open the squeaky screen door and fumbled with the key as she tried to get them inside.
“Here, let me,” Connor said, and he gently pulled the key from her hand, flashing what she was coming to think of as his signature grin, and then he opened the door. A fat, black cat sat in the doorway, all but blocking their entrance. His tail twitched, and he let out a mournful yowl.
“Hello, Blanco,” she cooed. “I’ll feed you in just a minute.”
“Blanco? You do realize the cat is black, right?”
She laughed. She hadn’t laughed this much in a very long time. Since well before Papaw died.
“Yeah, that’s kind of the joke. I need to feed him, or else he’ll never leave us be. Make yourself comfortable. I think there’s more wine in the fridge.”
“He looks like he might eat one of us if you don’t feed him. He’s larger than some of the dogs I’ve met.” Connor pulled two glasses from the glass-front cabinet next to the sink and half filled them with wine he’d pulled out of the refrigerator.
“The vet recently told me to restrict his diet, which hasn’t been pleasant for either of us. If I don’t lock the bedroom door, he’s in my face at 6:00 a.m. demanding food. Now he’s taken up this yowling business.” She poured food into his dish, and Blanco immediately stopped meowing to focus on devouring his dinner.
“I think I’d just feed him, vet’s recommendation be damned.”
“What I wouldn’t give to make decisions, everyone else’s opinion be damned.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” She refused to let sobering thoughts invade right now. She was far too tempted by the possibilities that lie ahead. It was exhilarating, this sense of freedom to choose her own path.
After she fed the cat and slipped out of her shoes, Emily Kate sighed and accepted the glass of wine Connor silently offered.
“Living room?” he suggested.
She nodded.
“Come on, I’ll rub your feet.”
“You’ll what?”
He sat on the crimson sofa and patted the cushion next to him. “Those sandals are sexy as hell, but I bet your feet are killing you after standing on them for the last ten hours. I’m happy to do it, but don’t expect my foot rubs to be as good as my cooking,” he warned her.
“Oh. Okay,” she said, feeling bemused and very off kilter. She sat down, and he immediately lifted her feet and placed them in his lap.
He took a sip of wine, placed his glass on the low, square coffee table, and then set to work causing every single nerve ending in her feet to stand at attention and demand she undress this man and have her wicked way now, now, now!
“Oh, God.” She moaned, closing her eyes and laying back against the couch cushions. “That feels so-o-o good. You are amazing with your hands.”
He shifted, and then he loomed over her, holding himself up with his hands pressed into the cushions next to her head. “I’m good with my mouth, too,” he assured her. “Can I kiss you?”
“Oh. Ah. Y-yes. Please.”
His lips quirked into a smile as his head descended. She watched for a split second, and then let her eyes flutter shut, intent on enjoying the heightened anticipation by not actually knowing the exact second he would make contact.
And then he did, and the anticipation had nothing on the real deal.
• • •
Connor lowered himself to his elbows, consciously not pressing his weight into her, yet needing to be closer. She felt as good as she looked, and she was just coy enough with her faintly innocent flirtation that his blood was running seriously hot through his veins. He hadn’t been this turned on in a long time, and he was thoroughly enjoying the sweet torture of tempting her into sleeping with him. Foreplay had never been so much fun, and he hadn’t yet touched anything more than her feet.
Women came easily to him. Too easily, if truth be known. He knew he was good looking, and in the high-end restaurant business, there was no end of available women to sleep with. Servers, restaurant managers, under chefs, the students borrowed from the local culinary schools. Even the patrons sometimes threw themselves at him. While Oliver had refused to give him the promotion he deserved, the man had no qualms about using Connor’s masculine good looks to lure business in the door. He had often found himself paraded through the dining room, even if the executive chef was the one who’d made the well-received dish that night.
Still, while he wasn’t entirely surprised he’d been able to lure the adorable Emily Kate into taking him home with her tonight, he hadn’t counted on it being a sure thing. She wasn’t like the women he was used to. She was ... more innocent, yet strong. Definitely small town, despite the fact that she told him she grew up near New Orleans. Impeccable southern manners only added to her allure. She was confident in her abilities at running the restaurant, yet there was a curious vulnerability he suspected was tied to her artwork.
Artwork that was damned good, in his opinion. He wasn’t exactly a connoisseur, but he felt something when he looked at her paintings. Something ... emotional. He suspected each and every one had a story behind it, and that story made the paintings all that much more real. A few years back, he’d had a brief affair with a woman who ran an art gallery in Detroit. They’d parted on amicable terms. If Emily Kate would give him a little more of her trust, he could call his old fling and probably talk her into displaying a few of these hidden treasures.
Except he wasn’t sure he wanted her trust. He sure as hell didn’t deserve it. He’d already lost count of the number of lies he’d told tonight, and he hadn’t even known the woman a full day yet. So, no calls to the gallery in Detroit.
He probably shouldn’t even be here, in Emily Kate’s house, seducing her on her couch, either. Especially since he fully intended to play the role of executive chef at her restaurant until he figured out what to do with the other bullshit going on in his life. What if she was a lousy lay, and she wanted him to sleep over again after tonight?
What was he thinking? The woman couldn’t possibly be a lousy lay. She was hot as Hades, and she had all the right moves, with a tantalizing edge of innocence that was driving him mad—in a good way. He was more concerned he wouldn’t live up to her expectations at this point.
Besides, spending the night at her house was the perfect solution to his current homeless status. Homeless, moneyless, ID-less. Considering he’d also stolen a boat, he probably shouldn’t call the cops to report his missing wallet.
Forget about all that crap, Rikeland, and focus on the feast laid out before you.
He shimmied down her body until his mouth was level with her breasts, and then he lowered his body onto the couch so he could use his hands to unzip her dress and push it off her shoulders. He kissed her collarbone and then leaned back to admire the breasts that were encased in red lace and heaving and flushed from her arousal. His hardened dick gave a jump while he reveled in the anticipation.
He let his fingers trail along the edge of the lacy bra, enjoying the way she sucked in a ragged breath as he did so. Damn, it had been a long time since he’d been the one in control in the bedroom. Or on the couch. The women he usually slept with had no qualms about making demands to that respect. Every last one of them had read that series of books everybody called mommy porn, and they seemed determined to be the polar opposite of the heroine. While there was certainly no hardship in letting a woman have her way, Connor was far more turned on by the idea of her letting him have his way. And since his way entailed ensuring Emily Kate had at least one spectacular orgasm tonight, he figured it should be a win-win situation.
“Mmm. I’ve heard southern girls are tasty.” He dipped his head, let his tongue tease at her cleavage. She arched her back and gasped.
“It’s true,” he murmured as he nibbled his way along the scalloped edge of the bra. She was panting heavily, her fist gripping the edge of the couch as she lifted her chin and squeezed her eyes closed.
He cupped her breasts, covering the lace. He could feel her nipples pressing against the material. He deliberately brushed his thumbs across them and watched her face contort almost as if she were in pain. He paused, waiting until her pretty, pale blue eyes fluttered open and widened when she realized he was watching. He gave her a lazy smile and locked gazes with her, keeping the eye contact as he lowered his mouth over the bra and her nipple. He blew hot air and she arched again, squeezing her eyes shut as she threw her head back and moaned with pleasure.
Oh, yeah. It had been far too long since he’d been with a woman who would let him do whatever he damn well pleased. He hoped he was able to hold out long enough to do everything he wanted to do tonight. Already he felt as if he would explode if she touched him in any way.
Connor slid one hand underneath her body and expertly unclasped the bra, and then he slowly slid each strap off her shoulders, laving her breasts with kisses as he did so. After he tossed the contraption over the back of the couch, he cupped both breasts again and lowered his head, eager to taste the prize without the impediment of the bra. He licked and then suckled, tweaking the other nipple with his fingers as he did so. Then he switched breasts.
She bucked underneath him, rubbing herself against his leg and panting and making noises like a damned pornographic flick. It was driving him nuts. He struggled to remember why the anticipation was the fun part, because all he could think about was lifting her skirt and unbuckling his belt and shoving himself into her, hard and fast. He felt desperate for release already, which was weird for him. Normally, this was the best part. Normally, he could take all the time in the world, building slowly to an intense crescendo. Normally ...
Emily Kate arched her back and froze, all but suspended in the air, while Connor kept his mouth latched onto her nipple. And then she let out a small shriek, her entire body tensed, and he realized she just had an orgasm.
Hot damn!
She fell limply back onto the couch, breathing as heavily as if she’d just swam home from the restaurant instead of driven, and Connor released his hold on her nipple to look into her face. She looked mystified and faintly ... frightened?
“Hey,” he murmured, giving her his best seductive smile as he stroked his hand against her cheek.
“Wow,” she responded. “That was ... that ... I ... Wow.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.”
“I’m not sure I can handle the good stuff. It’s pretty embarrassing that I couldn’t even handle that much.”
Connor arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the point? To give you pleasure? Aren’t you supposed to have an orgasm?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“So let me enjoy the moment, Emily Kate,” he said as he cut off her protest. “You’re giving me a big head here. Let me be smug.”
She gave him
a surprisingly catlike smile as she rolled her hips. “I think you definitely have a big head,” she said, and then she burst into a giggling fit.
Which Connor found utterly endearing.
• • •
Oh God! How embarrassing! Not only did she have a freaking intense-as-hell orgasm just from dry humping his leg while he fondled her breasts, but now she was resorting to incredibly lame jokes to boot. She was making a debacle out of what should be a spectacular evening.
Thank God Connor had a sense of humor, because he chuckled at her stupid joke and informed her he had every intention of giving her more than one orgasm tonight.
More than one? Good Lord, at this rate, she was going to pass out. Her heartbeat was so accelerated at the moment, she was half afraid she was having a heart attack. Shouldn’t it be slowing down by now? She had no earthly idea. She could hardly remember the last time she had sex, which told her it hadn’t been nearly as spectacular as what she’d just experienced. And they hadn’t even had sex yet!
Hot damn.
By the time she realized his intent, he was halfway down her body and his lips teased at her belly button. She squirmed and slapped her hand over her mouth when another giggle escaped.
“Ticklish?” he asked, and she opened her eyes and realized he was looking up at her. Again. She must look a mess, with her crazy, kinky hair and practically no makeup, since she sweated it all off in the kitchen earlier. In fact, she should have figured out a way to take a shower before they ended up in this situation, because she was certain she must—
“What are you doing?” she blurted, even though it was perfectly obvious what he intended to do.
Connor had that adorable, lazy grin on his face again. His eyes were half closed, as if he were drunk. Maybe he was. Although she didn’t feel like it, she figured she had to be, to even be in this current situation.
“I told you,” he said. “I heard southern girls taste sweet. I want to decide for myself.”
“Oh no,” Emily Kate exclaimed as she tried to squirm out from underneath him. “I don’t taste sweet. Not right now. I’m all ... all sweaty and...”