High Heels and Haystacks: Billionaires in Blue Jeans, book two

by Erin Nicholas

  Ava felt her mouth drop open. Had he just said the word orgasm to her? And asked about her vibrator? But yes, he definitely had. The humming in her body, like echoes—or memories—of said vibrator, told her he had. But he didn’t look surprised that he’d said it. Or apologetic. He was just watching her, almost as if challenging her.

  “I really don’t think my orgasms or vibrators are any of your business,” she told him coolly.

  But his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Vibrators. As in plural. Well, that’s something.”

  “I’m not saying I have more than one!” she protested.

  “But that means you do have at least one,” he pointed out. “Thank God.”

  She started to argue that as well, but it was more a knee-jerk reaction because she did, in fact, have one. She had three, actually. She’d even brought one with her to Bliss.

  But, if she was being honest—not that she was going to be with Parker—she kind of used it more to get to sleep than for just the pleasure of it. Of course it was pleasurable and all of that. Who didn’t enjoy a good orgasm? But it also helped her fall asleep more quickly. It was a lot like spinning, come to think of it. She fell asleep faster the nights she went to class too.

  She frowned. She’d also happened to bring the vibrator that seemed to get the job done the fastest of the three.

  Well, damn. She was multitasking even with her vibrator. And doing it as quickly as possible. That was probably a sign of something. Or…something.

  “Which date is the sex date for you?” he asked.

  Her eyes flew to his, and she realized she’d been a little lost in thought about vibrators. She felt her cheeks heat when she also realized that he knew that’s what she’d been thinking about. Dammit. She did not blush. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m about ninety-nine percent certain that you have a plan for dating,” Parker told her. “You have a checklist of things you look for in a guy.”

  “My dad told you that,” she interrupted. She did have a kind of checklist. It was simply a waste of time to date men who didn’t have a few of the basic things that she was looking for. They had to be in a certain age range, for instance.

  “He did,” Parker agreed. “But I bet it goes beyond that. I bet you have a blueprint of how things should go. For instance, what point you should be to by date three. Which date you have to get to before the guy meets your family. Which date you have to get to before you sleep with him.”

  Well, that was ridiculous. She hadn’t introduced a guy to her family in forever. Of course, her dad had usually known them already. Or of them. He’d known their fathers or grandfathers at least.

  She frowned. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d introduced a guy to her mom. Why was that? Her mom and dad had never married. The story went that Rudy had seen Jennifer at a big fundraiser and been immediately smitten. They’d had a brief, romantic affair, but even after she’d become pregnant with triplets, Rudy couldn’t talk her into walking down the aisle.

  Rudy had always adored Jennifer though. At least it had seemed so on the few occasions the girls saw them together. They’d lived with their mom and had seen their father very sporadically until they were about ten. He’d become a more regular fixture in their lives then, but the one who’d truly raised and parented them had definitely been Jennifer.

  And Jennifer was still a big part of her daughters’ lives. They didn’t see each other as often as they’d like. Ava was a workaholic. So was Brynn. Though their work was incredibly different, with Ava running a huge company and interacting with people around the world every day, while Brynn preferred being stuck in her lab with only her test tubes for company. And Jennifer did a lot of charitable work that required evening and weekend fundraisers and events. But they talked regularly and had lunch at least once a month. But no, Ava hadn’t introduced Jennifer to any boyfriends since, possibly, high school. But they were always guys Rudy would have known and approved of…

  Ava quickly shut that down. She did not have Daddy issues. She didn’t. Had she respected and admired her father? Yes. Had she tried to emulate him in business? Yes. But that just made sense. He’d been successful in a business and a company that she wanted to be successful in.

  So why had she only dated guys Rudy would have approved of? Didn’t girls go through a period where they rebelled and went for the bad boy? Or at least a guy who their fathers wouldn’t approve of? Ava had never done that. Not once.

  She looked at Parker. Rudy had loved Parker. But he was completely different than the men she’d been dating. The guys she’d been so sure Rudy would like. She lifted her chin, suddenly annoyed with Parker. And not because he was digging into her love and sex life. But because her father had loved him…and if this was the kind of guy her dad respected and liked, then she’d been missing the boat all along.

  “Date six,” she told him, to show him that he couldn’t rattle her. That he had no upper hand here. “If they make it that far.” Fine. So she had a blueprint. So what?

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Parker’s mouth. “How many do?”

  “About twenty percent,” she told him honestly. Not many. She went long periods without dating anyone, actually. And when she did, it was unusual for a guy to keep her attention for six dates. Some of them only made it past date three because she needed an escort to something.

  Parker nodded as if not surprised.

  “I suppose you would have bet on that too?” she asked. She didn’t know everything her father had shared with Parker but she got the impression the diner owner knew more about her than she was comfortable with.

  “I would have,” he confirmed. “And I’m guessing a much smaller percent gets to date seven.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That I’m guessing you have a checklist for the bedroom as well.”

  Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Mostly because she couldn’t tell if he meant that as an insult. Or a compliment. And she didn’t want to accidentally admit that she did. Kind of. It wasn’t a written checklist, of course. That would be crazy. But she might have a few things that she was looking for in that department as well.

  Nothing wrong with having standards.

  She did, however, accidentally say that out loud.

  The laughter her response pulled from Parker surprised her. But also made her smile.

  “Just tell me your standards include dirty talk and leaving the lights on,” he said.

  Leaving the lights on? Um, no. And she’d had some bad experiences with “dirty talk”. “I actually prefer they just focus,” she said. “No talking necessary if they know what they’re doing.”

  Parker didn’t look surprised. But he didn’t stop smiling. “Well, Boss, that’s one place we’re going to have to disagree.”

  She cleared her throat and crossed her arms, even though she knew it was a hugely defensive move. “You’re not a big talker outside of the bedroom. Are you telling me that’s different inside?”

  She did not want to know this. She really didn’t. She didn’t want to even think about Parker Blake in a bedroom.

  Except that she already had. A few times.

  But she hadn’t thought about him talking. Right now, though, she could definitely imagine some gruff demands from him. And that had her clearing her throat again and shifting her weight.

  His gaze seemed to be burning into hers when she finally got brave enough to meet them again, and she braced herself even before she knew for what.

  “I would think a woman like you would appreciate the praise,” he told her, his voice rougher than before. “You know, the yeah, like that and the your mouth is perfect and the you feel fucking amazing stuff.”

  Holy. Crap.

  Ava felt her body erupt with hot shivers—that was the best way to describe them—as she stared at him. Or rather at his mouth. That had just said a bunch of stuff that no one had ever said to her. Inside the bedroom. Or out. Certainly
not standing in a small-town diner’s kitchen with fennel in between them.

  “Praise?” she finally managed, her voice sounding bizarrely breathless. Or maybe not so bizarrely, considering she hadn’t taken a breath in several seconds. “I don’t need praise,” she told him, trying to insert some offense into her tone. And failing. “For anything.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah, Ava. You do. It’s why you only do things you know for sure you’re good at. It’s why the pies are making you nuts. It’s why this whole pie shop is something you resent. You want to be back in New York doing what you know you’re good at. What you knew your dad was proud of. He’ll never see you here in Bliss, making pies, running the shop. And so it doesn’t have any meaning for you.”

  Ava sucked in a deep, quick breath. How had they gotten here? How did he feel comfortable saying that stuff to her? How the hell did he know that?

  Just then the timer on the oven went off, jerking her out of the stare down with Parker Blake. The guy who had so easily talked about orgasms with her and who knew things about her that made her feel even more itchy and restless than she’d felt before.

  Parker didn’t say anything—certainly didn’t apologize—as he removed the mortadella and cheese pocket from the oven and set it on a cooling rack. She watched him retrieve dishes and silverware and plate a piece.

  “Okay,” he said, returning to the island. “Try this.” He held up a forkful.

  As if he hadn’t just said all of those things. As if he hadn’t just shot her awareness of him up to level critical.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to show you the difference between food and food.”

  8

  Ava blew out a breath. Her options here were: turn and stomp out, offended by the things he’d said, or stay and learn about food, and hope to hell that some of this rubbed off for the pie shop.

  That was still her end goal. Making the pie shop profitable and stable was the whole reason she was doing this. So yeah, she had to stay. She was tough. She’d been in smaller rooms with far more offensive people in the course of her career. She could handle being in the kitchen—a room that, admittedly, made her more uncomfortable than even those tiny conference rooms—with a man who knew her on a level that probably only her sisters knew. Probably.

  Feeling incredibly aware—the best word to describe how Parker affected her—of everything she was doing and everything he was doing, she leaned in and opened her mouth.

  He slid the fork between her lips, and she closed around the tines. She took stock of everything—him pulling the fork back, the slick metal prongs sliding over her lips, his eyes on her mouth, how dark brown his eyes were…then the taste hit her. The combination of salt and spice. The buttery flakiness of the crust. The gooey cheese with the nutty flavor. She felt her eyes slide shut, and she sighed as she chewed. It was so good. Right up there with the soup. And the chicken salad. And…dammit.

  She did like food. At least, she liked Parker Blake’s food.

  She opened her eyes as she swallowed. “Huh.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “It’s good,” she allowed. “Really good.” She frowned at the fennel remnants still on the countertop. “It’s good when it’s like this.”

  He smiled. “I’ve found that a lot of things that aren’t so palatable on their own can be downright amazing when combined with the right other ingredients. And even ingredients that are awesome on their own can be made better.”

  It was strange, but she thought maybe he was talking about more than food. She nodded. “It’s the same in business,” she said. “I have a lot of people on my team that are capable and creative and smart and reliable. But when I bring them together in one room and give them a project, the results can be absolutely brilliant. And I have a few that are hard to work with one-on-one, but who really contribute well in a group.”

  He seemed very pleased that she’d made the analogy. And maybe slightly surprised. “How’s this compare to the soup earlier?”

  She frowned. “How can you compare a meat pie thing with soup?”

  “It’s about flavor and texture, temperature, flavors on their own and in combination, your preferences. Once it’s in your mouth, you can definitely compare.”

  She hadn’t realized how sexy cooking could be. There was a lot of talk about mouths anyway. Which of course made her flash back to his your mouth is perfect thing from a little bit ago. She cleared her throat. And actually thought about his question. “I would still choose the soup. It was creamy and smoky. Then there was the spice at the end. It felt…” She trailed off, realizing what she was about to say was going to sound strange.

  “It felt what?” he asked, leaning in slightly, clearly very interested.

  “It felt better in my mouth.” She almost winced. That definitely sounded weird. She shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just liked the feel of the soup better.” She had never thought about how food felt. She was aware of textures and such, she supposed. On a subconscious level. But she’d never tuned in and really thought about food having a feel.

  Parker seemed to be having a hard time coming up with a response.

  “I know that sounds weird,” she finally said. “But that’s—”

  “Hang on.” He turned and strode to the fridge, withdrew a covered container, and quickly put it in the microwave. “I want to see something,” he told her as he hit buttons and started reheating whatever it was.

  More food. Ava rolled her eyes behind his back. She had never given food this much thought. And she’d never seen someone as into it all as Parker was. She looked down at the mortadella and cheese pie thing. He was really good at it too. He was clearly into far more than burgers and fried chicken. Why didn’t he put some of this on the menu? He said this was a burger town. Okay, fennel and dill pickles weren’t exactly in the same class when it came to additions to meat and cheese. But maybe he just hadn’t given them a chance to really try these other things.

  The microwave beeped and Parker poured from the container into a bowl. His back was to her as he added some things to the bowl, then slid it into the oven, so Ava snuck another bite of the meat and cheese pie. Yeah, it was good. Really good.

  Was he right that she just hadn’t found food she really liked before and that was why she thought she didn’t care about it? Or was it because she’d never tuned in and taken time with her food? She’d definitely been focused on it today. With Parker’s questions and conversation. And his…intensity. It was really hard to not focus on him and what he was doing and talking about, frankly.

  Did she do the same thing in other areas? She really felt like she focused at work. But she also always had a lot going on. She was a master multitasker. She had to be. And yes, even when she was with her sisters, she was doing other things.

  With that, she realized she hadn’t checked her phone once during her time in the kitchen with Parker. In fact, her phone was next door in the pie shop. Damn. She had never left her phone for this long. But she hadn’t checked it during her time with him yesterday either.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as Parker removed whatever he was making from the oven, then carried it over to her. Rather than handing it to her, however, he came to stand directly in front of her, dipped a spoon into the contents, pushing it through what appeared to be melted cheese—which she could honestly say she was a fan of—and held it up.

  For a moment, the aroma of beef and onion touched her nose, but it was followed immediately by the scent of…Parker. Laundry detergent, and lemon, and man. How that scent beat all of the others out, she had no idea. It was a kitchen, after all. There was garlic and bacon and any number of other strong scents hanging in the air. But this close, with his brown eyes watching her intently, and the air around her heating from his body, all she could smell was him. It was probably exactly what he’d said—focusing on something allowed you to fully appreciate it.

  “Ava.” His voice was husky. “Take a bite.”

&
nbsp; She suddenly wanted to sink her teeth into his bottom lip and make him moan for a change.

  She opened her mouth instead, and he slid the spoon past her lips. She tasted the broth, the onion and beef, the French bread and melted Swiss and provolone. She knew she was tasting French onion soup. Amazing French onion soup. But all of that registered at the back of her mind. What was at the forefront was the scuff along Parker’s jaw and how she came to exactly the right height to brush her lips along that jaw and how his whiskers would feel against her cheek and how his skin would taste. Yeah, if he wanted her tuning in to sensations, this was working.

  “How is it?” he asked gruffly, not moving back an inch, though he was quite firmly in her personal space.

  She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  A slight line creased between his brows. “The soup? How does this one taste…and feel…compared to the other?” He used her own words and he clearly wasn’t mocking her. He wanted to know. He understood her thing about how the soup felt.

  But she honestly couldn’t answer. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “I’m…distracted. It’s hard to taste and appreciate food when I’m not paying attention to it. Just like you said.”

  “You can’t shut your mind off for even a few minutes?” he asked. But he didn’t seem perturbed exactly. If she didn’t know better, he almost said it with a touch of affection.

  Again she shook her head and decided to be totally honest. “Not with you standing so close.”

  Heat and surprise flickered in his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. He did, however, do something. He lifted a hand and put it against her cheek. Then ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

  She sucked in a quick breath. She was used to numbers and schedules and tables and colored tabs. Parker was trying to get her to focus on feelings and sensations. Well, this was definitely helping.

  “Yeah, there’s no way for me to have any idea about soup right now,” she said softly as his thumb rested just below her bottom lip.