by Sylvie Kaye
He twirled a blonde strand of her hair around his fingertip, letting the curl spring loose to brush her cheek and neck while he gauged his next move and her response.
With a shiver, she swallowed hard. He dipped his head and licked at the throbbing spot on her throat. Tension lay just beneath the surface of her creamy flesh. She arched her neck, urging his mouth to kiss her throat, but he resisted, denying himself the pleasure of sucking her silky skin between his teeth and nipping.
Instead, he flicked at the front closure of her bra with his index finger, teasing her. Her eyes glimmered with heat and want. Her lashes fluttered, shadowing her cheeks. She wavered, swaying forward, nudging the plastic snap onto his finger.
He retreated and trailed his finger down her torso, stopping at the waistband to her slacks. Gently, he let his fingertips crawl beneath the material until he stumbled on a narrow strip of elastic.
Thong panties. His interest sparked. His fingers yanked the elastic band upward to her belly button with just the right amount of pressure to stimulate her clit and make her spread her legs. She emitted an audible sigh from deep within her throat.
Nudging his knee between her thighs, he rubbed against her with a slow, grinding motion. She spread her legs wider, gyrating against his leg, pressing harder, moving faster, thrashing.
He cupped her bottom in his palms and lifted her against his rigid groin. His erection and balls tightened, heavy with his desire for her. The green numbers on the digital clock-radio flickered, catching his attention. He'd lost track of time. He had little more than a moment before he had to leave to meet Google.
She gasped, stilling her hips to ward off her apparent spasm.
"Go for it,” he coaxed, slipping his hand down her pants to hurry her orgasm along. “We're out of here soon."
"But I want to come with you inside me."
"We don't have the time."
"What about you?"
"I can wait,” he said.
She stilled his hand. “Then I'll wait, too."
Damn soft-hearted woman.
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Chapter Twenty-two
Once they were back in Spence's truck, Mercy checked her cell messages. “There's a text from Cindy. Jay cancelled their date."
So Mercy got dropped off at the condo. No sooner did she unlock the door and flick the light switch than Cindy stumbled into the foyer, wearing her pajamas and a pair of pink, fuzzy, wedged bedroom slippers.
"Did I wake you?” Mercy asked. “I'm sorry."
"No. I must've fallen asleep on the couch. Looks like I had a four-hour nap.” Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Cindy cracked a grin. “But that means I can stay up four hours later and we can chat. What with me settling in at the San Antonio office and meeting my new coworkers, and both of us dating, we haven't spent much time together this visit."
Mercy heeled off her shoes and smoothed her hands together in glee. “I'll get the ice cream and spoons."
"And I'll find an old movie on the TV. A black-and-white one."
Once they were settled, they scooped ice cream from the carton, watched the flick, laughed, cried, and gossiped about old friends from back home during the commercials.
When the show ended on a schmaltzy note, Cindy wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her pajamas. “This was fun. Like old times."
"Uh-huh. I'm glad Jay cancelled."
"Me, too. We needed this time together.” She grinned. “He's coming by tonight, though."
"Of course. I figured as much.” Mercy stretched and yawned. “I guess my Uncle Parker didn't call, or you'd have mentioned it."
Cindy shook her head. “He didn't, but your mother did. She wanted to know if you'd heard anything. I told her you'd let her know as soon as you did. Despite her frequent calls, I think she's trying not to ruin your vacation."
"Thanks for handling the situation. I don't know what to say to her anymore about her absentee brother."
"I told her to think positive.” Cindy stood and gathered up the spoons and empty carton, tossing Mercy an encouraging glance. “I'm sure your uncle will show up by flight time with a fat check to secure your future and get your mother off your back."
"I wish I could assure her sooner. Save her the long-distance phone bill.” Using the remote, Mercy flicked the TV off.
On her way out of the room, Cindy pivoted at the doorway. “Where did you and Spence go?"
"Spence took me to a movie. Later we ended up at my uncle's place.” An idea took root. “We should have dinner there this evening. Spence hasn't had a home-cooked meal in ... in a long time."
"Since jail time.” Cindy arched her eyebrow.
Ignoring her friend's cynicism, Mercy asked, “Can you cook?"
"Grilled cheese and scrambled eggs. I have one special chicken recipe for company."
If Cindy could prepare the specialty, how hard could it be?
"Could I borrow your recipe? You know my mother. She barely let me near the kitchen. Microwave dinners and toast are the extent of my cooking."
Cindy laughed. “And I know you like your toast smokin'.” She crinkled her nose and quoted, “The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. You're falling for him, and don't say I didn't warn you."
"Repeatedly,” Mercy muttered.
"Why him, Mercy?” Cindy whined. “He's a convict."
"He's not a criminal, just a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's a victim in all this."
Cindy shrugged. “All I'm saying is that you're kidding yourself if you think it's still only about the sex."
"I have a lot of years of sex to make up for."
Her friend shook her head before nudging her chin toward the kitchen. “If you must, there's a wooden box next to the blender. The recipe's easy to find. All the other index cards are blank."
* * * *
What Mercy had with Spence was purely carnal. Cindy was wrong.
As if to stress her point, Mercy dabbed perfume to her pulse points and an extra dash to her inner thighs. Slipping into a low-cut sundress, she pushed aside Cindy's warning and concentrated on her grocery list instead. Recipe in hand, she took a cab to the market and then to her uncle's house.
In the daylight the place looked more spacious. The foyer was high and airy, the hallway wide, the kitchen compact with a well-planned work area with industrial appliances and heavy-lidded pots and pans. Her uncle must've liked to cook at one time, but the kitchen looked like it hadn't been used in a while.
While unpacking the perishables from her grocery sack and stashing them into the refrigerator, she noticed his under-stocked supplies. Soft drinks, bottled water, aged cheese. He obviously ate out or at the club.
Mercy moved on into the oh-so-familiar guest bedroom to strip the bed and freshen up the musty sheets. Upon opening the door, she caught a hint of Spence's familiar male scent lingering in the closed-up room. Heat rushed to her belly. Everything about the man turned her on. His smell, his look, his touch, his voice.
She jerked the linens from the bed before she was too hot and bothered to concentrate on making dinner. After tossing them into the washing machine, she decided to acquaint herself with the rest of the house. With a soft slap, slap of her sandals, she wandered through her uncle's masculine living room with its bold-colored stripes and nailhead-trimmed leather chairs.
From there she entered his den and sat down behind his large mahogany office desk. While she rang Spence's number, she studied a picture of her uncle, standing next to a taller, broader man on a fishing boat called Mermaid. Both were smiling with their arms clasped around each other's shoulders. She wondered if the hearty-looking man was her uncle's now sick friend.
"Hello.” Spence's deep voice reverberated through her body like a spasm, causing her sex lips to shiver and cream.
Shameless. And in front of her uncle, too. She flipped the framed photo face down.
"Can I tempt you?” She paused for a provocative effect. “With a home-cook
ed dinner?” Twirling the phone cord around her finger, she bobbed her foot up and down in a sensual rhythm.
"Will you be wearing an apron?” His voice dipped low, sounding salacious and intoxicating.
"Nothing but.” Her nipples tightened, and she untwisted the cord while conjuring up all the possibilities of kitchen sex. Textures and temperatures of food, from smooth, hot sauces to cold, hard cubes of ice. Bodies positioned against the counter, on the tile floor, or straddling the armless, chrome chair.
"Aprons are an unfulfilled fantasy of mine.” He sounded sexier and grittier than usual.
Her clit quivered. “What time?” Mentally, she was already searching the kitchen for an apron. If the cupboards turned up empty, she'd need to take another cab ride, to the mall this time.
"Hmm,” he said, thinking.
The throaty sound of his voice sent more scorching excitement through her body, centering in the very core where she sat. She uncrossed her legs and hoped she could learn how to cook while in such an aroused state.
"Is six o'clock okay?” he asked. “A man who's helping investigate Mark's murder didn't make our meeting yesterday. He left a message on my machine to be there tonight at eight."
"Oh.” Even though she knew any lead into who killed his friend was important, disappointment sank her voice.
Could they eat and perform both of their kitchen fantasies in so short a time?
"I could come back afterward.” His tone sounded steamy and suggestive, like she was hot-fudge fondue and he had a sweet-tooth fetish.
"Yes.” Her hand tightened on the receiver as her wayward heart trembled in her chest. Spence was coming back to spend the whole night with her.
Spence, sleep-mussed with his dark, liquid eyes half-lidded. Her waking, cradled in his strong arms. She'd never woken up with a man before. Her heart fluttered at the idea of Spence being her first.
Her grip loosened once he hung up. She was reading too much into their affair, into him. She squeezed her eyes shut on the image of lovers entwined in the blush of morning light.
She wasn't falling in love with him, as Cindy so often persisted. She merely desired a little romance with her lust for a change of pace.
The meltdown around her heart had more to do with his fight against injustice than love. She was a sucker for a heartfelt cause and an underdog.
Although, Spence was anything but.
He may be a victim, as she'd pointed out to Cindy, but he was still tall, strong, proud, and tough. He'd come out a winner. With or without her heart's entanglement. Or any other involvement on her part.
Resolve in place, she bucked up her chin and marched toward the kitchen to find an apron and somehow prepare chicken cacciatore.
* * * *
At six sharp, Spence rang the doorbell. Mercy let him in, wearing the denim, bibbed, barbecue apron she'd found in a kitchen drawer and nothing else.
"Wasn't exactly what I had in mind.” But his smoky gaze slid over her, simmering and slow.
In a flash, even the skimpy covering of material felt too hot and heavy next to her skin. The coarse denim aroused and peaked her tender nipples while the tie at her waist begged for release.
Holding her arms away from her body, she gestured. “This is the best I could come up with on short notice.” She smiled, sure visions of a French-maid apron had danced in his head. But he whistled all the same and spun her around, stopping to plant a succulent kiss between her shoulder blades. Chills rippled down her spine. She hadn't been aware that the spot was an erogenous zone of hers.
"Can you cook as well as you wear that apron?” He patted her bare butt.
"You'll have to take your chances and taste test for yourself.” With a twist of her torso, she latched onto his thick, muscled arm and led him into the dining room.
"You set a mean table.” His dark eyes took in the fresh pink carnations she'd bought earlier and the shimmering pastel candles she'd lit.
His tall, lean frame, standing near her in the candlelight, looked so devilish and handsome. She brushed her hip and breast against him to prove to herself he was real and she had the right.
"Sit here.” Moving away, she pulled out the wooden, armed chair at the head of the linen-covered table.
He smiled at her, affection warming his dark eyes to a milk chocolate.
An unprecedented impulse not to jump his bones on contact coursed through her. To enjoy a leisurely dinner instead. How strange. Especially after the past two sexless evenings they'd spent together. Oh, not that she didn't have fantasies she wanted to explore, but she wanted to relax and dine with him, first. Indulge in his humor and his companionship.
She ducked into the kitchen, puzzling over what it all meant. She liked Spence. She cared about him. But love? She shook her head. Cindy couldn't be right?
Lust or love? She rolled the words around on her tongue, coming away with ‘lusty love.’ Was there such a beast?
The stove's timer went off and she jumped. Donning a pair of clumsy, silver oven mitts, she pulled the oval casserole dish from the oven and gingerly carried it into the dining room.
Spence leaped to his feet and jockeyed both the mitts and casserole from her, plopping the hot dish onto its serving cradle in the middle of the table with ease. He lifted the lid and sniffed, glancing at her curiously.
"It's chicken cacciatore. I may've added too much spice and herbs and not enough chicken.” Suddenly, she wasn't sure cooking dinner for him had been the delicious idea she'd thought it would be.
He flicked the silvery mitts aside and sat back down. “I like chicken."
Good, because she was feeling chicken at the moment.
Exposed and vulnerable in too many ways, she slipped her naked butt onto the cold, hard, wooden chair.
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Chapter Twenty-three
Spence looked down at the contents of his gold-rimmed china plate. The aroma of the chicken and spices wafted up warm and pleasant. Mercy had gone out of her way to prepare the meal for him. Hell, she'd taken a cab to the grocers and then out to her uncle's house. She'd fussed big time.
"I may have added too much wine to the sauce,” she apologized with a smile, seeking his eyes.
With a clinkety-clink, her knife and fork hit the edge of her plate. She was nervous. She cared what he thought. His heart clenched at her concern. Picking up his fork, he dug in.
"It's delicious,” he said after several mouthfuls.
Not bad. After prison food, even his boot would taste good with enough salt and pepper. But he bit back the remark. This wasn't the time to rag her.
"Thank you.” She fingered the stem of her goblet, her wine untouched. “I've never cooked a meal from scratch before."
He lifted his wineglass and with a ting touched the delicate crystal to hers. “You do everything beautifully."
Especially make love. He studied her over the gold rim of his glass. The way her lashes fluttered and her lips pursed. The way her throat tilted as she drank. Through lowered lids, she looked at him with a gaze that shot pangs of want through his body.
He leaned across their plates and kissed the sheen of wine from her lips. She tasted from grapes and her own flavor of sweetness mixed with sexiness. The combination heated his blood, along with his heart.
And muddled his brain more than any glass of wine could. He settled back and downed the remaining alcohol.
She sipped again before she seemed relaxed enough to taste her food. “Mmm.” She looked up, surprised. “Not too bad for a beginner."
With a smile, Spence returned his attention to his plate. He intended to tamp down any urges she stirred in him until he'd eaten his last bite. He'd keep his mouth and hands off her until he showed his appreciation by finishing the meal she'd prepared especially for him.
He ate with the proper amount of gusto to keep her grinning. When he had his fill, he stretched out his legs and sat back, watching her pick at her plate. She was cute in her sauce-splashed apron. Hea
rt-softening cute, and his heart wasn't immune. Warmth spread through his chest, thick and syrupy.
When she put her fork aside, he hastened to get the rest of dinner out of the way. “What's for dessert?” Afterward, he'd strip her of her adorable apron and get his sappy emotions under control by replacing them with lurid ones.
She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don't know how to bake."
But she sure could cook. She was the hottest and at the same time the sweetest woman he'd ever met.
"You can be dessert.” When he clasped her hand in his to help her from her chair, an agreeable glint lit her eyes. “Now where's that bedroom you showed me last night?” He winked, but the hammering of his heart was giving his baser emotions a race for their life.
And his libido was losing. All of a sudden, something had changed. He wanted more from Mercy than just sex.
He wanted to make love to her.
With each stride, he came closer to his amorous objective. But his booted steps didn't falter as her silken hand led him into the dimness of the guest room. He resigned himself to follow his heart and brood over the outcome of the foolish endeavor later.
In the cool darkness, he let his gaze flicker over her face and form. Her no-frills apron was all she wore, covering her in the front while exposing her from behind. He pulled her up against his body, cupping her naked bottom in his hand and kneading her pliable cheeks. She moaned in response. Pressing herself against his groin, she rode him with slow, tantalizing movements.
"I need you,” he admitted. His mouth touched hers ever so lightly before nibbling her lush bottom lip, teasing the flesh between his teeth. When he broke away, he licked her lip to ease the sting he'd caused there.
She arched her back, fitting herself tighter against his fly and meeting his eyes. “How?” Her sexual appetite for adventure was apparent in her slurred word and the darkening of her blue eyes.
"Straight, plain, old-fashioned, missionary style.” He watched her eyes widen with each of his proclamations. “No fantasies, no tricks, no gymnastics."