by Foster, Lori
“Good,” she said. “I’m hungry.”
Chapter Three
The dinner table left her speechless.
Candles illuminated a lavish culinary array that was ridiculous for two people. An earthenware crock of polenta with exotic sautéed mushrooms on top. Eggplant parmigiana, the golden mozzarella that topped it still bubbling. Roasted peppers adorned with fragrant shreds of basil. Crusty Italian bread, three different kinds of cheeses. Tender salad greens, baby spinach, watercress, endive. A heap of artichoke hearts, with a ramekin of melted butter nestled among them. Tantalizing odors made her head swim, her mouth water, her knees weak. It had been eight hours since she’d eaten a cheese sandwich.
“It looks incredible,” she said. “It makes me want to cry.”
“It’s all simple stuff, really. Quickie recipes, except for the parm, and I put that together last night.”
His casual tone was belied by the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. She laughed at him, pointing an accusing finger. “You’re patting yourself on the back for scoring points, aren’t you?”
His lips twitched. “Maybe. We’ll see. You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“Go ahead,” she conceded. “Fifty bonus points for Jonah.”
He made a move to refill her wineglass, and she put her hand over it, stopping him. “Do you want a massage tonight?” she asked.
His eyes flashed hungrily. “God, yes, if I can get one.”
“Then I shouldn’t have any more wine.”
He frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re too buzzed to give me a massage, I’ll have only myself to blame. Let’s be informal, OK? Otherwise I’ll get tense and crabby, and the massages will be useless.”
She lifted her chin. “You’re a fine one to be making pronouncements and setting conditions.”
The frown faded from his face. He looked uncertain. “True. But you’re hungry, and we’re celebrating. Have some wine, Tess. Please.”
Slowly, she took her hand off the glass. The low gurgle of the liquid swirling into the gleaming bulb of glass was as tender and intimate as a kiss. He poured himself a glass, and set the bottle down.
They stared at each other in mutual shyness. “I’ve never met a man who can cook like this,” she told him.
He swirled his wine around in his glass and took a sip. “I decided a few years ago that I needed a hobby, or I was going to turn into my grandfather. A workaholic steam engine with no life. I like food, so cooking was the obvious choice. And like you said, it earns me points.”
“You made all this food just for me?”
He looked away from her, embarrassed. “Yeah,” he said gruffly.
She fought the feeling, but everything he did, every word he said drew her deeper into his net. How sweet of him, to try so hard to please, with such attention to detail. She was utterly charmed.
“I decided to play it safe tonight, just in case you were a vegetarian, but I’ve got fresh steaks and fresh salmon fillets in the fridge. I brought along my kitchen pots of fresh herbs, and I’ve got pasta, and veggies, and six different kinds of cheese. I’ll plan the menu around your preferences, of course. Whatever, you know, turns you on.” He looked suddenly awkward, and shot her a crooked, apologetic smile. “So? Any dietary restrictions that I should know about?”
She was dazed by the variety, accustomed as she was to a diet of sandwiches, toast, fruit, yogurt, and Lean Cuisines. “No restrictions,” she said. “It all sounds wonderful. I’ll eat anything.” The tense, meaningful silence that followed her words made them seem provocative, and she rushed on, blushing. “I do try not to eat too much chocolate, even thought I love it. But that’s my only restriction.”
His eyes slid over her appreciatively. “You don’t look like you need to restrict anything. You look perfect. And lucky for you, because there’s a hot chocolate soufflé with fresh whipped cream for dessert.”
“Oh, God,” she said weakly.
“I didn’t make it,” he hastened to admit. “I bought it at the Sensual Gourmet Bakery. I haven’t mastered pastry yet. Here, start with some peppers. They’re good spooned over bread. . . like this.”
She was a goner at the first bite. The peppers melted in her mouth, their sweetness set off by the spicy tang of the fine olive oil, the sensual hint of garlic, all soaked into the savory hot bread. She closed her eyes to savor it with a moan of pleasure, abandoning herself.
When she opened her eyes, his eyes were glowing with hot excitement. “God, I love it when you do that.”
“Do what?” she asked nervously.
“Give in to pleasure. Wow. Here, have some more. Do it again.”
She tried not to giggle and blush and slide under his spell, but she was failing, she was falling. The wine was making her giddy. Every new flavor, every succulent bite made her moan.
Jonah watched her decimate her loaded plate with evident satisfaction. “Tell me something,” he said, dipping a chunk of steamed artichoke heart in butter. “That thing that happens when you give me a massage, does that happen with everyone? Here, try this.”
She accepted the succulent morsel off the end of his fork and savored it with a murmur of appreciation. “What thing?”
“You know. That magic thing, like your hands are talking to my back. You do feel it, don’t you? Or is it just me?”
“Yes, I feel it,” she admitted softly. “And no, it doesn’t happen very often. It depends on how receptive the person—”
“I’ve never been particularly receptive,” he cut in. “Just ask any of my ex-girlfriends.”
The claw marks flashed through her mind. She toyed with the salad greens on her plate. “I’d, uh, rather not,” she murmured. “What you’re feeling is probably just a light trance state. When you achieve deep levels of relaxation, your brain produces—”
“Don’t spoil it for me by explaining it away.”
Her mouth closed with a snap. “You know, you have a really bad habit of interrupting.”
“Sorry. I’ll try not to do it, if it bugs you.”
“It’s jarring,” she said sternly. “Like having bad shocks in a car.”
He looked abashed. “Ouch. Sorry. I’m kind of, uh, nervous.”
She tried not to smile. “I thought that men liked scientific, logical explanations for things.”
“Yeah. Usually I do like them. Just not when it comes to you.”
Suddenly, there wasn’t quite enough air in the room to breathe. It was hot, immensely silent. Candles hissed and popped.
He got up and went into the kitchen, pulling something divinely chocolatey and fragrant out of the oven. He spooned steaming helpings of chocolate soufflé onto dessert plates and adorned them with towering mountains of whipped cream. He carried them to the table and laid them down, grinning. Immensely pleased with himself.
She giggled again, melting. “You’ve got to stop flirting with me.”
“Do I?” His eyes took on a predatory gleam.
“Yes. You do. This whole situation is getting out of hand.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, and almost knocked over her wine. Jonah’s hand shot out, just in time, and gently put it in its place. “The food, the wine, the candles, the chocolate soufflé. It’s over the top.”
He shook his head. “No, Tess. This is normal for me. I like to treat myself well, and I have the means to do so. That’s why you’re here.”
An image flooded through her mind. Herself, naked. Decked out in jewels and a sheer veil. Summoned to pleasure the lusty, sensual pasha. Commanded to fulfill his every erotic whim.
The image left her speechless. Her face felt damp and hot.
His glittering eyes seemed to read every thought that passed through her mind. “I like the way you massage me,” he said softly. “I want to indulge myself, for hours. Is that so terrible? What’s the crime? I’m willing to pay for my fun. I’m not stealing from anyone.”
The harem maiden in her dream image threw off the sheer veil, and drew closer to th
e beautiful, naked pasha. Eager to prove herself. Desire sharpened to a dagger point that pierced through fear.
Nervous tension made her voice sharper than usual. “You’re spoiled, Jonah. You’re used to getting exactly what you want.”
He smiled lazily. “I do favor that scenario. Who could blame me?”
The arrogant, casual entitlement in his voice made her angry. “I could,” she snapped. “The world’s not like that, you know.”
“It’s not?” He picked up her dessert spoon and scooped up a mouthful of chocolate soufflé. He dunked it until it was heaped with whipped cream and leaned closer, holding the morsel out to her.
“Try this,” he said softly. “Let yourself go. Open up.”
She hesitated. He was projecting an intoxicating cloud of seductive energy. Pulling her effortlessly into his trap.
She opened her mouth, as if hypnotized, and accepted a mouthful of perfect bliss. Rich, creamy sweetness exploded through her senses.
“Welcome to my world, Tess,” he said softly.
She sipped the espresso that Jonah insisted on making for her, but it did nothing to bring her back to earth. She was mellow and goofy from the wine, and trying very hard not to think about where this was almost certainly leading. If she thought about it, she would clench up and ruin it. She didn’t want to ruin it. She was having too much fun.
He wasn’t even coming on to her, just lounging his long, graceful self at the far end of the couch with a relaxed, lazy grin on his face, laying on the foolish flattery, exerting himself to make her laugh. It was working, too. She was giggling and snorting like a teenager.
She laid the espresso cup on the coffee table. “I’m a little tipsy, but I could still give you a back rub,” she offered shyly. “It won’t be one of those intense, mystical massages you like so much, though. Our stomachs are too full.”
His eyes lit up. “Great. Fine. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
She set up the table and draped one of her flannel sheets across it, carefully keeping her back to him as he undressed. When she dared to turn around, she was surprised to see his jeans still on.
“You’re going to leave on your jeans? I can drape a towel—”
“It’s my back that needs work. Believe me . . . it’s best.”
She squirted oil into her hands and stared down at him. She’d never been the target of a strategic seduction before. She’d been tempted by food and wine and chocolate, mountain and forest and moonlight. Now the choicest bait of all was stretched out on the table in front of her, eyes closed in anticipatory pleasure. He couldn’t wait to be touched. And she couldn’t resist for another second.
She placed her hands against his hot, smooth skin. A shock of awareness went through them both. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyelids fluttering. Far from relaxed. She could feel his tense, coiled eagerness. He was waiting, with the patience of a seasoned hunter for . . . what? What did he want from her? What did he expect?
She ran her hands over his powerful back, leaning low enough to smell his subtle, unique scent beneath the perfume of scented oil. Clearly, he was either leaving it to her to make the first move or simply biding his time. She appreciated his delicacy and restraint, but she didn’t have a clue how to begin. If only she could take a little time-out and call Trish for a quickie consultation. Should she follow her neck-kissing fantasy and find out where that led? Her heart pounded with excitement. Maybe she would hyperventilate. It would be so awful to flub this, to embarrass herself. To have him, God forbid, pity her.
She was monumentally untalented in the bedroom, after all. Larry’s voice floated out of her memories, snappish and tense. “Can’t you please at least try to concentrate?” She’d tried and tried to be less ticklish and tense, keep herself from floating out of her body and noticing odd, comical things that made her want to giggle—like the way Larry’s skinny shoulder blades stuck out like wings.
Jonah’s shoulder blades did not stick out like wings. He had the most beautiful, powerful back she’d ever seen. And she didn’t feel ticklish or tense. She felt hot. Inflamed. Her hands were sliding over him purely for their own pleasure, not for his. She didn’t have a therapeutic thought in her head.
She put both hands on his shoulders. She was leaning over, like she was actually going to do it, to just up and kiss that beautiful place on the nape of his neck that was so vulnerable and tender it just broke her heart and made her toes curl. She was inches away from the point of no return and drawing closer. Her breath came quick and fast and audible. He could probably feel it against his skin by now. The sense of anticipation, of waiting, swelled, like a wave about to crest.
She jerked back, and lifted off her hands. Damn lily-livered, scaredy-cat chicken. “What’s going on, Jonah?” she whispered.
His eyes opened. He looked unsurprised at the question. “A back rub?” he ventured, clearly just for the hell of it.
She shook her head. “I’m not buying it.”
He rolled onto his side and sat up, his legs dangling over the table. His erection strained prominently against his jeans. “Are we being truthful here?” he asked. “Totally honest and sincere?”
“I think . . . that’s best,” she faltered.
He reached out, very slowly, and seized her wrists, pulling her toward him. He lifted her glistening hands and held them up, close to his face, breathing in deeply. “What smells so good?”
“Almond oil.” She stared at the size of his graceful hands. “With a few drops of essential oil. I change the oil according to the client.”
“And what’s my oil?”
“Sandalwood and coriander.” She let out a silent gasp as he pressed her hands against his hot chest, splaying them out. Covering them with his own, sliding them around until his broad chest gleamed.
The clear purpose in his eyes made her breathless and giddy. “Jonah,” she said, almost inaudibly. “What are you—”
“It’s your own fault. You’re the one who blew the whistle. I was going to be such a good boy. I was going to play it cool, all polite and refined. Get my massage, and then show you to a guest room with a lock on the door. But no. You had to unmask me. So here we are, Tess. Now you have to deal with naked reality. Whether you’re ready or not.”
“Jeans,” she murmured. “Reality is wearing a pair of jeans.”
He pulled her hands away from his chest and cupped them inside his own, dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “Your hands are so much stronger than they look. You’re small, but I bet you’re pure dynamite.”
Larry’s disappointed face flashed through her mind. She tugged at her hands with a pained, nervous laugh, but he would not relinquish them. “Uh, wrong. Sorry, but I’m not. Don’t go building castles in the air about me. You’ll just be disillusioned.”
“How do you figure?”
She pulled again at her hands. “Past experience.”
“Forget the past. I want you. And you want me, too. I can feel it.”
It would be untruthful and undignified to deny it. “It doesn’t matter,” she said in a tiny voice. “It isn’t part of the bargain.”
“God.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “This is driving me nuts. Can we change the bargain? What would it take?”
She straightened up to her full five foot two. “Some things can’t be bargained for. Some things aren’t for sale.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting someplace,” he said, relieved. “I would never in a million years think that you were for sale, Tess. Why won’t you let me get close to you? I’m trying so hard. I’m being so good. I’m being so charming and patient and goddamn careful, it’s driving me insane. And I know that you want me. What is it about me that scares you so much?”
“You don’t scare me. And it’s none of your business.”
“It is now,” he said. He pulled her until she toppled against him, and trapped her between his thighs. “Nothing has ever been more completely my business. It’s just you and me, Tess, and this thing we have bet
ween us. Our mutual business.”
“We don’t have anything between us,” she protested weakly.
“We could. We could have something incredibly special.”
She longed so badly to believe him, but it would be so much worse for her this time, if she let herself fall. She could really care about Jonah. She could fall wildly in love with him. She was teetering on the brink already. And when he got bored and moved on, it would sting and sear like the very fires of hell. It would make her feel so small.
She wrenched her hands away. “I don’t need another rich, spoiled playboy walking all over me,” she blurted.
His face froze. He dropped her hands. “Rich, spoiled playboy?” She stumbled back, unnerved by the controlled anger that smoldered in his eyes. He advanced upon her. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
“Uh, s-sorry,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Sorry’s not good enough. I did not deserve that, Tess.”
“You’re absolutely right. You didn’t deserve it. Forget that I—”
“You can’t erase what comes out of your mouth,” he cut in. “Not in the real world. You have to face up to it.”
She swallowed and pressed her trembling lips together.
“Rich, yeah. That I’ll admit to. But I swear to you, I worked my ass off for it. Nobody handed it to me. Spoiled? I don’t know. If I see something I want, I take it. But I pay full price. And I never whine. And I never for one second thought that the world owed me a goddamn thing.”
“Jonah, I—”
“But playboy? What, do I come across like some pampered fop with a Ferrari and a pinkie ring? I work twelve fucking hours a day! I don’t have time to be a playboy!”
“Oh, you find the time somehow,” she lashed back. “I’ve seen the marks your lovers leave on your body. It wouldn’t do my self-esteem any good to be part of your harem.”
He looked bewildered for a moment, and then his eyes widened in dismayed comprehension. “Oh, God,” he muttered. He closed his eyes, and opened them again, looking chastened. “You mean to tell me that the day I asked you out, I had, uh . . . claw marks on me?”