by Kim Law
Scanning the entire area, she took in a dirty broiler pan on top of the stainless-steel range, a top-quality skillet and another pot pushed to the side, and an apron tossed haphazardly in the corner behind a butcher block of knives. She stepped closer to the stove and lifted a lid to peek inside. The remains of the potatoes they’d eaten. Peering back at the door, she studied it as if she could see through the solid wood. Had Cat cooked all this for them before leaving?
Because surely it hadn’t been JP.
Not that she didn’t think men cooked, but men like JP? The last thing he would ever need to do was cook his own meals. He could afford anything he wanted, and probably never bat an eye at the cost. Plus, he’d brought her here for sex, not to impress her with a fancy dinner.
At the thought of sex, she remembered how much his simply looking at her turned her on. She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Despicable or not, the man was hot, and her body didn’t seem to care about his character. She needed to get out of there now, before she calmed down completely, lest she should find herself once again vulnerable to his charms. Because like him or not, it had been a long darn time, and her body was well aware it could have one heck of a night if she would just turn her mind off.
Her phone and purse were at the table. She couldn’t simply waltz back in and call for a cab without having to talk to the man. But if the cab were already here, she could breeze through, grab her stuff, and go.
Slipping another bite between her lips, she searched the room until she spied a phone tucked into the corner of a desk. Padding across the floor, she enjoyed the cool slate against her bare skin, then snatched up the receiver and dialed information. With a cab secured and the guard at the gate made aware to expect it, she turned back to the room and surveyed the area, looking for a way to spend the time waiting for the driver. Because she wasn’t going back in that dining room until she absolutely had to.
Just like she clearly wasn’t getting out of Savannah anytime soon. She’d go home, her figurative tail tucked between her legs, and explain to her boss how she’d stretched the truth just a tad. She’d assured him the interview was as good as in the bag. Bob had always been her biggest supporter, so no doubt he’d forgive her and hopefully do whatever he could to save her job. She simply wished it hadn’t all ended like this. She’d really wanted the chance.
Facing the mound of dishes before her, she gave a quick nod. Chores focused her, and she needed to pull herself back together. Plus, there was no need leaving such a mess for Cat.
Setting the partially eaten dessert beside the sink, she turned on the water and went to work.
JP eyed the kitchen door for the tenth time in the last few minutes. What was she doing in there?
His hands rested across his lap, fingers twined, thumbs tapping together, as one possibility after another played through his mind.
One: he’d ticked her off so much she’d bolted through the outer kitchen door and left. Eyeing the bag resting against his sister’s dining room chair, he didn’t think she’d leave without that, no matter how mad she was.
Two: she wanted him to follow her into the kitchen?
No.
He shook his head. It had become painfully obvious she wasn’t playing games. She didn’t want him anywhere near her at the moment.
Then three: whatever memory he’d caused to resurface had hurt her even worse than he’d thought.
Wide, panicked brown eyes flashed through his mind. That was it. Something had hurt her badly. He pushed back from the table and stood, reminding himself it was none of his business.
A quick shake of his head. Didn’t matter.
She was hurting.
He crossed the room and pushed lightly against the door until he could see exactly what she was doing.
It was neither his one, two, nor three.
With her backside facing him, he scanned the woman. Arms up to her elbows in a sink full of bubbles, her do-me-now shoes were tossed to the side, and her pink-tipped toes curled slightly inward. A soft song drifted from the high-end under-the-counter radio, and her long, lean, perfect body swayed, just the slightest, to the country song currently playing.
A warm gush of emotion JP didn’t recognize filled him. He stepped quietly into the room and held on to the door until it closed behind him. He then leaned against the wall and watched.
The chorus of the song started, and Vega began to hum so softly he at first wasn’t sure it was her. As the next verse began and the hum grew to singing, he cringed, recanting his thought. No one could honestly call that singing.
Taking a break he was very thankful for, she snaked one arm out of the bubbles and scooped up a bite of dessert, filling her mouth so no treacherous noise could escape.
And that was when he noticed the other dessert cup sitting on the counter as well. Empty.
The woman had snuck off to the kitchen and was eating his dessert as well as her own?
He silently crossed the room to stand directly behind her. “You’re eating my dessert.”
A squeak came from Vega as she turned, bubbles floating up between them. She looked as sweet and innocent as one of the Disney characters Becca loved so much, and he was suddenly flooded with conflicting thoughts. Kiss. Hug. Devour.
Protect.
“What are you doing in here?” She breathed the words into the space between them.
He wanted to close the distance and bury himself so deep he couldn’t find his way out for a week. Instead he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers and willed his desire down to a flicker. “I came to apologize.”
Her eyes fascinated him. They went warm with his words, then immediately reversed to cold. “Apologize? I doubt you even know what the word means.”
She didn’t trust him. Good. She probably shouldn’t.
And he couldn’t help but touch her again. He traced a fingertip over the line of her jaw, to the point of her chin. “I’m sorry I was playing games, Vega,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m used to with women. It’s what they expect.”
“I didn’t come to play games.” Her voice trembled. “I mean…I suspected you were toying with me, but I wasn’t just…I didn’t just…” She huffed then, her warm breath bathing his jaw. “I really came for the interview, JP.”
“I know.” He nodded. “And like I said, I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously. I should have made my stance on the interview clear before and not pushed for anything more.”
Her body relaxed as if all the air inside had been released. She leaned against the sink. “Thank you.”
He studied her, more than a little interested in what made her tick. He hadn’t expected her to admit she’d known he was playing games but came anyway, and now she’d said as much twice. Such forthrightness was rarely found in his world. The thought reminded him of their earlier conversation and made him wonder what kind of situation she’d gotten involved with that had hurt her so deeply. “I’m also sorry for whatever happened in your past that I reminded you of tonight.”
And the dark eyes once again closed down. Vega shoved her arms deep in the bubbles and began to scrub. “You have nothing to apologize for there. The past is just that. Over. Finished. No discussion needed.”
“No?” He tilted his head and studied the stiff back off sign she was posting in every direction. “If I’m not mistaken, it isn’t over for you.”
Silence.
“You can talk to me about it if you want.” He shrugged and picked up a clean pan, suds still clinging to it. He held it under running water. “I’ve had my own hurts.” Not that he would be sharing them. “Maybe I can help.”
She didn’t reply, just watched him through shut-down orbs.
But if the posture read correctly, along with the pain he’d already witnessed, she definitely wasn’t over whatever it was. She hurt, and she hurt right now because of something he’d said. The fact that she wouldn’t let him help riled him. Not that she and he were anything other than acquaintances,
but for some reason he wanted her to let him in.
“Okay, then,” he began. “Let’s talk about the more important topic of the moment.” He grabbed a dish towel and dried the pan, then couldn’t resist leaning into her as he reached around her to snag the spoon from the dessert. As their bodies brushed, his tensed in accord with hers. Uncomfortable awareness arched between them each and every time they touched.
With a bite of chocolate now on the spoon, he straightened and blanked his own eyes to match hers. He held the utensil between them, moving it slowly back and forth, smiling as her gaze flickered between it and his face. “Why are you in here eating my dessert, Vega?”
Before he could guess her intentions, her mouth covered the chocolate, her eyelids closing along with her lips. She moaned as he stood rooted in shock. He wanted that sound to come from her throat at his touch.
He had to get a grip. The evening was over. Otherwise, his apology meant nothing.
Vega licked her lips and smiled a tight, frightening smile. The curve of her mouth said she had herself completely back under control, and therefore felt she once again held the upper hand. “I’m eating your dessert because you’re a cad and don’t deserve it.”
His body went instantly from a flicker to a full-blown blaze, and no matter what his dwindling brain told him, he couldn’t stop from trying one last time.
“I’m a cad, hmmmm?” He started with the top of her head, now a few inches lower without her shoes, and trailed his gaze over the hair pulled smoothly back into some sort of sexy, messy style. Then he moved over her face, his gaze grazing the smooth forehead, cheeks, the edge of her nose, but barely alighting on her eyes or full mouth, no matter how they called to him.
Tilting his head, he eyed her long, slender neck. He dipped forward, as if to press his mouth to the spot pounding beneath her ear, but stopped inches before touching her. He was rewarded with her own body swaying forward on a soft gasp of air.
“Mmmm,” he murmured. Leaning back, he continued his perusal down her body. He’d perfected the technique years ago. Seduction by touching every part of a woman’s body with nothing but his gaze and the thought of what he could do to her. Only this time he was having a heck of a hard time not simply reaching for what he wanted. This time he honestly wasn’t sure if he was the one in control or not.
He tightened his hands into fists when his gaze crossed over the hem of her skirt, wondering what her thighs would feel like against his palms, and couldn’t contain the movement in his slacks. Although he wasn’t looking, he felt her gaze clinging to his crotch, and he surged higher.
A soft whimper hit his ears, but he trudged onward, dragging over every square inch of her long, long legs until he ended at the toes curled under her feet.
Slowly, he scanned back up to find her lids heavy and her lips parted. Whatever this was between them, he had to explore it.
Shifting, he leaned back against the counter. “Come here.”
She tensed, her intent to deny him obvious. Then something changed.
Uncertainty flashed across her face. Her shoulders widened, and she studied every part of him. But it wasn’t the physical scrutiny he’d given her so much as it seemed she was studying his insides. Trying to figure out if he was worthy of her, maybe? No doubt he wasn’t.
The question was: Did it matter? Did she want him enough to push aside their differences and indulge?
After what seemed like hours, her eyes darkened and melted. She reached for the spoon hanging from between his fingers and dipped it back into the cup. Coming up with the last bite, she brought it to her mouth, her tongue darting out to swipe along the edge, barely lifting anything off.
He quit breathing, his gaze following the speck of chocolate as it disappeared between her lips, and realized something he’d never thought he’d acknowledge, even to himself. He was desperate for this woman. This woman he’d barely met, who so blatantly wasn’t looking for fun and games.
She set down the flute and held out her arm, offering him the last bite. After a gulp, he opened his mouth and let her feed him the decadent dessert he’d learned to make from the best chef money could buy.
He fought everything inside him that wanted to moan, both at the taste and at the thought of the woman feeding it to him. When he remained silent, she angled her head in concentration as if trying to figure out what she could do to get him to lose control. Finally she took a hesitant half-step toward him, one arm whispering against the side of his hip with her movement.
And he snapped.
Wrapping a hand around her waist, he dragged her flush against him, yet not nearly as close as he needed her. Every soft curve fit perfectly against his harder planes. He wanted their clothes gone. Now.
Without asking, he gripped her chin and brought her mouth up to his. He slanted over her, intending to ravish, but he couldn’t do it. She wasn’t like the others. With ragged control, he hovered there, lifting his gaze, silently begging for permission.
Her eyes didn’t answer. They merely stared, daring him to make a choice.
Then a horn outside the house made it for them.
The sound stiffened Vega’s desire-melted body, and she shoved out of his arms. “My cab is here.”
“Stay,” his voice was hoarse. “Let me take you back to your hotel.”
She shook her head, not looking at him. “I can’t.”
“Vega,” he murmured. He reached one hand out for her, but she skirted away. Shoes in hand, she pushed the door open to go back through the house.
“Thanks for dinner.” Her voice, muffled from the other side of the swinging door, startled him into action, and he followed. He had to see her again.
“Vega.” His sharp command stopped her as she reached the front door.
She turned to him, her features cool and blank.
He eyed her as he crossed the room to stand before her. If he hadn’t just seen her seconds earlier, every inch of her plastered to him, he wouldn’t believe she’d ever been aroused. He sighed. “You’re going to pretend that was nothing in there, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, suddenly looking less unaffected. “We shouldn’t…I mean I…”
“It’s okay.” JP closed his hand gently over hers, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. “I’m confused, too. But we’ll figure it out. Let me send the car away.”
She shot him a mixture of sadness and regret. “He’s already here.”
“So tell him to go away.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s best if I go. This can’t go anywhere, JP.”
Frustration flared in him. His intuition told him she was right, it was best if she returned by herself and they both forgot they’d even met. That way he didn’t risk once again trying to talk her into something she wasn’t ready for, and also didn’t risk getting shot down twice in one night. But what if tonight was all she gave him?
Unable to accept the idea, he silently pleaded for her to be unable to walk away so easily. This thing he felt, whatever it was, she felt too. He had no doubt about that.
He stepped forward, backing her into the door, his body barely brushing hers. A soft breath touched his neck. He used a knuckle to nudge her face up, letting her see his certainty.
“I will see you again,” he murmured and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.
The horn outside honked again, and emotions danced over her features. Sadness, regret, acceptance. “You won’t see me again, JP. Other than behind the camera at the gala tomorrow night. And since it’s the last event for the fund-raiser, I go home early Sunday morning.”
“No.”
“No?” One perfect brow edged upward as she gave a husky chuckle that sounded way too final. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. You may be the great, almighty JP Davenport, but you don’t always get your way.” She shrugged against him and he pressed harder into her. “Since I didn’t get the interview, my job here will be done at the conclusion of the gal
a.”
Blinding fear he didn’t understand gripped him. She couldn’t leave. He wasn’t done with her. He roved his gaze over her perfectly unmarked skin, as clean as the day she was born, and wondered what it was about her that made him desperate to know more. “It’s Friday night. Surely you don’t have to return to Savannah until Monday. Stay for the weekend. Let me take you out. For real this time.”
She shook her head. “I already told you. I won’t go out with—”
“Dammit, Vega. One dinner.”
She remained silent, the back of her head resting again the front door, her polite, controlled expression pissing him off as much as her refusal to go out with him.
“Why not?” he growled.
“It’s simple.” She pushed at his chest and he let her create space between them. “There would be no reasonable explanation for me to be seen with you. Therefore anything we do would be caught and displayed in some trashy paper.”
“So? It happens all the time.”
She chuckled, nodding. “I know. Probably every single time you step outside your door.”
He didn’t understand what the big deal was. Yes, the paparazzi were an inconvenience, but it wasn’t like showing up in the tabloids with him would ruin her life. He hated to be a jerk, but considered pointing out that it would more likely open more doors for her than shut them.
Before he could share his thoughts, she held up a hand. “Stop. I can see what you’re thinking. But what you don’t get is that the people who show up in those magazines—the normal people—often get dragged through the mud for no reason of their own, no matter who they get photographed with. And if there isn’t a story to be found, one gets made up. So no, I have no interest in that.”
“The articles can get shut down.”
“Maybe. And maybe it would already be too late. But unlike you, I don’t have the unlimited means to snap my fingers and have a lawyer put a stop to it. Plus, I value my privacy enough not to put myself in the situation to begin with. I won’t risk having myself plastered all over the tabloids, talked about as if anyone has any right to discuss my private life and drag me through the mud, simply for a good time.” She shook her head. “With anyone.”