A lack of desire wasn’t what held her back.
Fear and guilt. They kept her from doing what she wanted. Some kind of deference to what others expected from her, or whatever expectation she’d created for herself.
Sophie was always sacrificing, and while everyone appreciated her and relied on her, she ought to do something for herself.
He’d love it if that something was him.
Halfway through breakfast, the doors of the kitchen swung open. He didn’t look up from buttering a pan of biscuits, but he knew Sophie had joined them.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She lingered on the other side of the prep table.
He put the pan in the oven and began cracking eggs into a bowl. A table of four wanted four omelets, fully loaded.
Sophie stood back, out of his and Marco’s way, not saying a word.
With all of the eggs in a large bowl, he held it against his side and grabbed a whisk. “Can I help you with something?”
Her gaze shifted from where he whisked to his face to the bowl and back again. “Um . . . no. I got hungry. Thought I’d grab a biscuit when they’re fresh out of the oven.”
“It’ll take them a few minutes.”
“I can wait.”
Wright turned toward the range, hiding his grin. Sophie was more than welcome to hang out in the kitchen. Once upon a time, she’d loiter in the kitchen, off and on, throughout the day.
Before they hired Marco, Sophie was his extra pair of hands, if she happened to be around.
An idea came to him. “Hey, Soph? Would you grab a bag of onions from the pantry? I used the last one I had out here.”
“Okay.” With a spring in her step, she walked to the pantry.
This time of day was the slowest for her. If he kept her busy, she might stick around for the rest of breakfast service.
She returned with the onions and hung back as he chopped and diced and prepared four omelets. Once those were done, he checked the biscuits.
Perfect.
He pulled the pan from the oven, and Sophie hovered closer.
“You have to let them cool a minute,” he warned, using a spatula to separate them from the pan.
“I like mine hot.” She grabbed one from the pan, tossing it from hand to hand like a hot potato.
“Here.” He picked up the nearest clean dish and held it out for her biscuit.
“Thanks.” She put her biscuit in the bowl and clutched it close to her chest.
Wright chuckled. “I’m not going to steal it back from you.”
“Can’t be too sure. I’d steal one from you.”
He transferred the rest of the biscuits from the pan to serving baskets. “I know you would. You do it all the time. Because you’re greedy.”
Her mouth fell open and her eyes went narrow. “I am not greedy.”
“The other night at the Tavern, you ate your half of the sandwich, a quarter of mine, and probably two-thirds of the rarebit.”
“I was hungry.”
He grinned. “If I remember correctly, so was I.”
With a pointed look, she jerked her chin toward Marco, who was too wrapped up in his prep work for lunch to take any notice of them.
“I was talking about the food, Soph.”
She broke off a bite of biscuit and chewed.
Wright served up the omelets and set them on the pass for the wait staff. Next to them, he put the baskets of biscuits. He had about a three-minute break before the next order came in.
He moved closer to Sophie and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry. If you’re greedy, so am I. You’re hungry for food and I’m hungry for—”
“You said you’d cool it.”
“Dessert. I was going to say dessert.”
“Sure you were.” She glanced down at her bowl.
“For someone trying to do the right thing, you certainly have your mind in the gutter.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Okay.”
But later that night, he saw her again. He checked the time and it was almost midnight, yet she remained up, sitting at one of the few booths at the far end of the restaurant, typing away on her laptop.
She wore shorts again, God help him, and one of Honeywilde’s apricot-colored polo shirts. The shade should look awful with her red hair, but she did the damn thing justice. She was a warm, radiant light, with her bare legs pulled beneath her, criss-cross, the glow from her monitor illuminating her face.
He ought to walk right out of the restaurant and head on home, but that’d never happen. For years, he’d gravitated toward her like a moth toward light. Why would tonight be any different?
“What are you still doing up? And why are you working?”
With a heavy sigh, she dragged her hands through her hair. “The company we’ve been using for our coffee? You know, the coffee everyone loves so much?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re going out of business.”
Wright lowered his duffel bag. “Shit.”
“Exactly. The guy called me this afternoon. I felt so sorry for him. He sounded pitiful. It’s a family business, and they can’t compete with the huge roasters. I asked, but he said there’s nothing we can do to help. We were one of their biggest clients.”
He slid into the booth next to her. “And he’s definitely shutting down?”
“Definitely.” She uncrossed her legs, allowing him closer.
“Who are you thinking about using once he’s gone?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to go with a big corporation if I can support a local business. The markup on some of these places is astronomical, though. I want to help the little guy, but we can’t break our budget either. I’m coming up with nothing.”
“There’s this place I went to last summer, near Greenville. Here . . .” He reached for her laptop, turning it toward him. “You mind?”
“No. Please.”
As he typed in the name of the local coffee beanery, he caught a whiff of her perfume.
Almost midnight, at the end of an almost eighteen-hour day, and Sophie still smelled sweet. His arm brushed hers, her shoulder pressed near. When he shifted, moving minutely closer, she didn’t slide away.
He turned the laptop toward her. “This is the one. They specialize in fair trade Kenyan coffee.”
Sophie leaned closer, scanning the website. Her lips moved as she read, stirring the still-too-clear memory of what those lips felt like on his; how they tasted as sweet as she smelled, how delicately they parted as she gasped, climaxing, and how softly she spoke when asking him if they should stop this.
She kept reading, shifting in the booth. The longer they sat there, the smaller the gap between them became, until her leg rubbed his, practically connecting them at the hip.
“This looks . . .” She glanced up. “This looks perfect. Thank you.”
Her lips were so close. All of her was close, too close to resist. He struggled to respect her wishes. The two of them cooling off was a horrible idea, but being together needed to be her choice.
He didn’t intend for his voice to come out rough and barely above a whisper. “You’re welcome.”
Her gaze flitted to his lips, then back to look him in the eyes.
He angled himself toward her. “You know I’m always going to help you out and have your back, right? No matter what. Even if we’re just friends.”
Slowly, her chin bobbed. “I know.”
A beat of silence passed before she swept a strand of hair from her face. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I know I’m difficult sometimes. If everything wasn’t so complicated—”
“Eh. I’m used to you being difficult,” he teased, bringing a small smile to her lips. “Seriously though, I get it, Soph. You want everyone to be happy all the time. But the thing is, that’s not your responsibility.”
With a sigh, she tilted her head. “I know. I’m trying really hard to do better.”
“That’
s part of the problem.” He lifted his hand to touch her, not realizing until his fingertips brushed her hair that he was crossing the cooling-off line.
Screw it, though. This was Sophie, and even if they were only friends, he’d still comfort her.
He held her shoulder, rubbing it gently. “You try really hard at everything. You don’t have to try so hard. Just being you is enough. If you’re a joy to behold one day and an ill-tempered nag the next, that’s okay. You’re allowed to be who you are.”
She bumped her shoulder against him with a smirk. “I’m never an ill-tempered nag.”
“Never?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Not even that time you told me if I didn’t hurry up and get you the order for the apples from Stewart Farms, I could—and I quote—sit and spin on my apple crumble?”
She nibbled at her bottom lip. “Did I say that? I don’t think I said that.”
He laughed through his words. “You said those exact words, because I remember picturing myself spinning in a giant casserole dish of apple crumble. And then you told me, at the time, that the restaurant, and my talent as a chef, was what kept the lights on at Honeywilde.”
She stared into his eyes, her gaze swallowing him whole.
“That compliment meant a lot to me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so flattered, and yet so bullied, in my entire life.”
She laughed, covering her mouth.
Every knot of tension that’d built up within him since last night began to unwind.
“You’re right. I did say that. Oh my god, I’m such a witch to you sometimes.”
“You are not. You’re able to be yourself without trying so hard.” Wright moved his arm lower, holding her in a half hug. “Plus, I forgave you the second you called me a talented chef.”
Sophie startled him, putting her arms around him too, hugging him back. “Thank you,” she said again. “For tonight and the coffee reference, and . . . for knowing I don’t mean half the stuff I say when I’m stressed.”
He held on tight, savoring the feel of her in his arms. “You’re welcome. You should know I don’t pay any attention to anything you say.”
She laughed again, the sound causing a vibration that bounced around his body.
Letting her go wasn’t even an option. She’d have to be the one to pull away.
When she did lean away, she kept her gaze lowered, not letting go completely. Her hands drifted down his arms, and there she stopped.
The top of her head was only inches from his chin, her breath warm against his neck. When she finally looked up, meeting his gaze, he saw the crystal-clear edges of his own desire.
“Wright.” His name was a quiet plea, and he knew. He knew exactly how she felt, the conflicted yearnings inside. She wanted the same thing, but she was unsure. Scared of all that could happen, worried about how a relationship with him might affect others, thinking a thousand things could go wrong, because of her.
He wasn’t the least bit unsure. Sophie was who he wanted, and all the complications in the world weren’t going to change that.
Carefully, he reached up, brushing back a lock of her hair. “I am paying attention to what you said, about us cooling off, but I’m not going to lie. I’m not enjoying it. It’s damn difficult, trying not to want you.”
Again, she nibbled at her lip.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against her temple, letting his hand fall away. “Which is why I better go.”
Sophie leaned into the light kiss, her breath coming quick and low as she nodded.
Before he could go back on his word and ruin his recipe by pushing for more, Wright slid out of the booth and grabbed his bag. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. It was all he could do to resist her while not even looking at her.
The entire drive home he replayed the moment, minute by minute, dissecting their exchange, every second, questioning if he’d done the right thing.
Need told him to go for what they both wanted, push the issue, and maybe that’s what he should’ve done. But the part of him who cared about Sophie, cherished a friendship decades in the making, wouldn’t allow that.
And he knew her. He knew the apprehensive little girl inside her, knew what she’d been through.
Backing off was the right thing to do, but damn if he didn’t doubt his actions.
He kept on doubting them, right up until the knock on his door after one a.m.
Wright only got the door half-open before Sophie pushed her way in, her hair a tousled mess, eyes wide and slightly panicked.
His stomach dropped. “Is something wrong?”
“You mean besides me?”
He wasn’t going to answer that.
“You know what I said before? About how we couldn’t be together because of my family? That we had to stop what we were doing. Because I was freaking out.” She dug both hands through her hair, pushing it back.
His stomach flip-flopped, nerves thrumming on overload. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’m still freaking out, but . . .” She fisted her hands at her waist, then dropped them, looking everywhere but at him. Finally, she took a ragged breath and lifted her chin, her pupils darkening her gaze. “Can we forget what I said and go back to you kissing me again?”
Chapter 11
She’d never seen Wright move so fast. She’d never seen anyone move so fast.
In a rush of movement, he had her. His fingers in her hair, her back bumping the wall beside the door, his lips hot against hers.
“Yes.” His answer was a low-pitched rumble, and she clung to it. To him.
If Wright said they could forget her crisis of conscience, her irrational fear and all of the complications, then it was true.
They could have this, and to hell with everything else for now.
She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him and digging her fingers in the thick muscle of his back. She didn’t want to think or doubt. All she wanted to do was feel; feel Wright and the pleasure he promised to bring.
He swept her up into his arms, her feet leaving the floor.
At first she dangled there, tottering on the edge of bliss and a restless need for more.
Then Wright shifted his grip, scooping her up until her legs were around his waist, her back against the wall, harder than before.
Hot and greedy as he plundered her mouth. The sweetness from before, in the booth, was gone. No tentative brushing of his lips, no cool behaving.
Thank God.
“Soph.” He dragged his lips over her cheek, down her neck, rough sucking kisses near her collarbone.
She let her head fall back against the wall with a thump.
He took advantage of the surrender, licking and nibbling his way to the other side. “I didn’t want to stop. Not at all.” His voice was rough, thick with desperation.
“Me . . .” Her chest was so heavy, she could hardly breathe. Her heart thundered, making her pulse roar in her ears. Cowardice only slowed the gravitational pull. It wasn’t enough to stop something they both wanted. “Me either.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I thought we should, and I tried, but . . . I want you.”
Wright lifted his face, his lips full and wet from kissing her. A dark need filled his gaze, and though he didn’t say a word, she knew the level of longing all too well.
Without saying anything, he turned and walked down the short hall of his apartment. She tightened her legs around his waist to keep from falling, drawing an appreciative rumble from his chest.
He bumped open his bedroom door with his shoulder, a small table lamp left on, probably because he always came home in the late, late hours. It struck her; she’d never actually been in Wright’s room.
She had visited his apartment many times, but entering his bedroom stepped across some odd line she’d created. Years ago, she’d compartmentalized whatever they were to each other, and that included not going past the threshold of his bedroom.
Wright went straight to his bed, dropping her on it and climbing over her, obliterating her line
s and compartments. Above her, he glowed, the soft lamplight warming his rugged features.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, shifting his weight to one arm and using his free hand to brush his fingers along her cheek and down her exposed collarbone.
Her knee-jerk reaction was to argue with anyone who made such a claim, but right now, she felt a little bit beautiful.
He slid his hand under her neck, cradling the back of her head, and dove for another kiss. His mouth was gentle but persistent, his kisses leaving no room for debate.
Shifting beneath him, she parted her legs. Wright fit perfectly between them. He kissed her lower, and lower still, his other hand moving down her body, cupping her breast. A sharp inhale and he hummed at her reaction, a pleased sound that skated across her skin.
He worked the two buttons of her shirt open, tugging the collar wider to kiss her there.
She arched into the sensation, Wright cupping her breasts, kissing his way over her cleavage, gently kneading until her nipples hardened. He pinched one, hard enough to send a bolt of desire to her core. She squeezed her legs against him, her sex tightening.
In the lake shed, he’d touched her, even made her come, but they were going to have sex.
Something she hadn’t done in . . . she couldn’t concentrate long enough to tally how long it had been.
Too long.
Her nerves danced more toward eager than anxious, and still. What if she’d forgotten how to do it?
Wright moved his mouth lower, pulling at her collar until her shirt was going to be a stretched-out mess tomorrow.
With a puff of air, he leaned up, holding himself over her. “I want to put my mouth on you. All over you.”
The carnal edge in his eyes startled her, but in the most delicious way. Even at the lake, Wright hadn’t looked like this. Driven, a little bit dangerous. Her nice guy, gone off the rails.
All she could do was nod. She wanted his mouth on her too.
He tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling until he got it over her head and tossed it aside. He didn’t waste a second, stripping the straps of her bra down, working at the clasp, until she was completely topless, lying on Wright’s bed.
A Taste of Temptation Page 11