by Day Leclaire
He fought to remain impassive, to allow the kiss, but not participate. That lasted an entire ten seconds. Maybe he’d have managed to survive long enough for her to give up, if it hadn’t been for two things.
First came the tiny, breathless moan that seemed to slip from her mouth to his, filled with irresistible feminine pleasure. And second, she followed it with a hungry, nibbling bite that surprised him just enough for her to tease apart his lips and slip inside.
Tasting her was the final straw. He groaned in response, his arms closing around her. She tasted amazing, warm and honeyed. Her kiss deepened. A suggestion. A temptation. A promise of incandescent heat.
He took control, took her under in a tumbling wash of need. She shifted against him, her full breasts heavy against his chest. An image flashed through his mind. He could see her spread across satin sheets, arms holding him tight, her legs wrapped around him, taking him into her snug, moist sheath.
Yes, take her.
He cupped her breast, finding it nestled perfectly into his palm. Her nipple hardened, pressing against the silk of her dress. He eased the draped neckline aside, freeing her, and ran his thumb across the turgid peak. She felt amazing, her skin like velvet, smooth and supple and warm. She shifted closer, her belly soft against his erection.
He wanted to imprint himself on her. To stamp her with his possession in the most primitive way possible. He’d never experienced such basic and carnal thoughts before, but something about Lucia brought them to the fore.
The words came again, more insistent this time. Take. The. Woman. Make her yours.
He could barely think over the roar of the demand. It was as though she’d bewitched him, weaving tendrils of desire around and through him, the web of passion tightening with every passing moment. It filled him, overriding thought and intellect, consuming him.
He maneuvered her backward until they bumped up against her desk. She slid onto the surface and he stepped between her legs, her dress riding upward to accommodate him. A demand ripped through him, to tip her backward and splay her across the wooden surface. To rip the dress from her curves and worship every inch of her body.
He thrust his hand into her hair, the loosened curls winding around his fingers and clinging. The tidy knot at the nape of her neck surrendered to his gentle tug, unraveling and spilling down her back to just brush her hips. Dear God, he’d never seen anything more glorious. His hand fisted in the mass. Why did she hide this? Comb it into ruthless submission? The tumble of ringlets bounced, shivering in excitement at being loose and free. If he had his way, she’d always wear her hair loose.
He almost barked out the order, as though she were a junior officer under his command, but the words resounded in his head a split second before he spoke and he bit them back. One tiny splinter of sanity saved him, kept him from loosening a wealth of masculine aggression and demand on an innocent.
It didn’t change how he felt. He’d never felt less civilized, never experienced such a crude imperative. But another part of him, a more rational part, spoke louder than the irrational. More than any other drive, his need to protect Lucia surpassed everything else. He’d listen to that voice. He had no other choice.
He dragged his mouth from her, nipping at the creamy sweep of her neck. Planting a lingering kiss at the sweet curve of her shoulder. Lower to the hard, tight pucker of breast. Another nip. And then another.
She moaned, shifting in his arms. “Ty, please.” The soft cry drifted between them, sounding more like an order than a plea.
The words finally brought him to his senses. “This is insane.” He kissed her to pull the sting from his words, passionately, then gently, before easing back. “We can’t take this any further, sweetheart. Not here. Not now.”
She reacted as though he’d plunged her into a bath of ice water. She surfaced with a gasp, shuddering within his hold. “What am I doing?”
He put a few inches between them so they barely touched and carefully straightened her clothing. “The same thing I am. Wondering what the hell just hit us.”
For some reason, his comment caused her gaze to shy away from his, almost as though she knew precisely what had hit them. Not that it took much thought to figure out the reason.
Lust.
She was a beautiful woman and any man would be crazy to pass up the opportunity to hold her in his arms. Kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her. He’d just never before experienced such a swift, intense reaction to a woman, any woman. Never experienced their coming together so explosively within minutes of meeting.
“Should I assume that was a ‘yes’ to dinner?” he dared to joke.
To Ty’s surprise, Lucia hesitated. She moistened her lips and he nearly groaned, tempted beyond measure to kiss her again. “No, that wasn’t a yes.” She paused a beat, flicking him a glance from beneath dark lashes, her eyes a flash of Caribbean ocean beauty. “That was a hell yes.”
He grinned. “Should I pick you up?”
“Please. Seven.”
“Casual,” he countered.
“That sounds perfect. Why don’t I give you my contact info?”
It only took a moment to exchange numbers and obtain her address. He should leave now. But he couldn’t seem to convince his feet of that plan. Catching a tumble of curls in his fist, he drew her closer. “Until seven,” he murmured.
And then he kissed her again, sinking into passionate warmth. As much as he wanted to deepen the embrace, he stopped himself. Barely. Drawing back, he released her. All the while, his inner voice snarled and complained.
Mine, it insisted. She’s mine.
Lucia jumped in the shower the minute she hit her apartment, but refused to fuss over what she’d wear for her date with Ty. Casual, he’d said. Casual didn’t require a lot of thought. It certainly didn’t require trying on an endless number of outfits.
It did require a brief debate between jeans or a simple knit dress topped with a sweater. Black jeans and a dark bronze blouse won out. The blouse matched the mani/pedi she’d gotten in anticipation of the gala. Her one indulgence for the evening was a sky-high pair of black ankle boots that gave her some much-needed height. She kept her jewelry simple, as well, tucking away the diamond necklace Primo had given her and sticking to simple gold earrings.
That just left her hair and she pulled it back into a loose knot. Her hair had always been a mixed blessing. The curls were challenging to control and she’d often been tempted to go for a short cut. But Andrew had hacked off her hair, almost to the roots, during a particularly violent rage. After she’d left him, she’d grown her hair and kept it long ever since.
Right on the dot of seven, a firm knock sounded at her door. After checking the peephole, she unlocked and unbolted, trying not to appear as overwhelmed as she felt. Lord, but Ty was all male.
Although the word “gorgeous” leapt to mind, it lacked accuracy. Male models were gorgeous. Pretty boys were gorgeous. Ty didn’t fit either of those categories. He towered over her, impossibly tall and broad, and exuding a toughness that left gorgeous and pretty in the dust. He also possessed a hardness about him that warned he didn’t suffer fools gladly, yet an awareness of his own strength and the ability to keep it tightly reined.
Abruptly aware she’d been staring for a long minute, she swept her arm toward the inner sanctum of her apartment. “Would you like to come in?”
“You don’t often invite people in, do you?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “No.”
“Nor do I.”
She tilted her head to one side in consideration. “I’ve found that makes relationships difficult.”
“Is that what you want? A relationship?”
She hesitated. Was the question a trap? “Why don’t we just start with dinner and see how that goes.”
He tilted his head to one side, mimicking her stance and attitude, though not in a mocking way. More in an assessing manner, similar to her own. “I can’t quite figure you out,” he admitted, his
dark eyes narrowing in consideration. “One minute you kiss me, and the next you close all the shutters. Was the kiss an aberration?”
“Would it help if I admitted you’re the first man I’ve kissed within a few minutes of meeting him?”
“I’m not sure. You asked—hell, you demanded—I kiss you before you’d agree to go out with me.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Why?”
He deserved an honest answer. At least, as honest as possible, without mentioning The Inferno. He’d really think her crazy if she dared bring that up. Besides, he hadn’t felt what she had. So, how did she explain the Dante curse if he hadn’t experienced that bizarre burning when they’d first touched?
“I asked you to kiss me so I could see whether I’d imagined my reaction to you.”
For some reason, her answer relaxed him. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I assume you didn’t imagine it.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.
Lucia grinned. “Nope.”
She must have given him an acceptable answer. He gave an abrupt nod. “Come on. Let’s go to dinner.”
“So, that’s a no to coming in?”
“Later. It’s a later to coming in.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Depending on how dinner goes?”
“As you said, let’s start with dinner and see how it goes from there.”
Lucia nabbed her leather jacket from a rack by the door and slipped it on, then grabbed her phone and door key and tucked both into her pocket. “I’m ready.”
“That’s it? A phone and key?”
“Well, and a coat,” she replied cheerfully. “My phone case has my credit cards and some cash. What more do I need?”
“I don’t know.” His brow crinkled. “Female stuff?”
“Ah, female stuff.” She leaned in. “Well, just so you know, I have all my female stuff on me.”
As though unable to help himself, his gaze swept over her, before returning to her face. “So you do.”
“Not missing anything?”
“Not that I can see.”
“That’s a relief.” She stepped over the threshold and closed and locked her door, checking it carefully. “I’m ready.”
“I’m glad you take security so seriously.”
Thoughts of Andrew flitted through her head, thoughts she firmly dismissed. He’d been gone for a full decade. She refused to let him steal any more of her life. “I take security very seriously.” She linked her arm through his. “Where are we going?”
“Dinner.”
She chuckled. “I assumed. Where are we going to dinner?”
“My place.”
She hadn’t expected that answer and her steps faltered. “Your place?”
At least her voice sounded even. She wished she could say the same for the rest of her. Maybe that kiss had been a mistake. She could understand if he’d misinterpreted it. She didn’t entirely understand it herself.
But she’d had to know. Know if she’d really felt The Inferno when they’d first touched. Know if she experienced the instant connection and overwhelming desire when they kissed. Unfortunately, since she couldn’t explain any of that to Ty, her motives were open to interpretation. Or rather, misinterpretation.
“I have a friend who’s in town this week. Joe Milano is Seattle’s premier chef and wanted to try out a new recipe. We’re the guinea pigs.”
She relaxed minutely. “Milano’s on the Sound, right? I’ve heard of him. I think Gabe might have taken me to his restaurant when I lived in Seattle.” She paused mid-step. “Just one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“Why is he coming all the way to San Francisco to try out his new recipes on you?”
“Because I bribed him.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “How do you know him?”
“I did a job for him.”
“Really? What job?”
“A private job.”
“Got it.” She’d let that one pass, especially since she had a few secrets of her own. There was one thing she understood and understood well, and that was privacy. “Well, I’m looking forward to trying his recipe, even if you did have to bribe him.”
To her surprise, Ty lived in a gorgeous Seacliff home overlooking the narrow section where the bay met the ocean. She immediately crossed to the bank of windows that spread across one entire wall of the living room. The November sun had set over two hours earlier and a sweep of lights glittered like fireflies across the Golden Gate Bridge and on out into the bay. She’d caught a few words of his conversation with Juice, before Primo had distracted her, but clearly not enough to explain all this. What in the world did he do for a living that enabled him to afford such an incredible place?
“This is gorgeous, Ty.”
“Thanks. Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink?”
A stillness settled over him as he waited for her response. She found it intriguing. She’d observed the characteristic when they’d first met. Then, there had been a watchfulness, quiet but alert. Within the confines of his home, she noticed a slight difference. He relaxed. Settled, perhaps because his home was a safe place. She could totally relate.
“Perhaps a glass of wine?” she suggested.
He crossed to a mission-style liquor cabinet. A bottle of wine sat open and breathing. He poured two glasses of a deep, rich cabernet. He handed her one, then gently clinked his against hers. A sweet, high-pitched tone sounded, as though in celebration.
She sipped, the flavor exploding across her tongue. “Oh, this is amazing. Where is it from?”
“It’s a Tuscan wine from one of the Dante vineyards. They’re renowned for their cabs.”
Before she could take a seat, a man appeared in the doorway. At a guess, he was their chef, Joe Milano. Now here was a gorgeous man, one who dripped charm. Not in an insincere way, but in a deeply masculine, wholly Italian manner.
“Welcome, welcome.”
He greeted them as though he were the host and they the guests. Her mouth quirked upward. Perhaps that was how he saw them.
Ty stepped forward. “Lucia, this is Joe Milano, our cook.”
Joe practically hyperventilated. “Cook?” he roared, his voice heavily laced with the accent of his homeland. Then catching Ty’s grin, he slowly calmed and shook his finger. “Very funny, Ty Masterson. You should show more respect when you know I have full control over every bite you eat this evening.”
Ty crossed to shake hands. “You’re right, I should. I’d worry about what you might put in there to get even, but you care about food far too much to deliberately serve something you deemed less than perfect.”
“That is the only thing that saves you,” Joe retorted. He turned to Lucia. “You have a beautiful Italian name. Are you Italian?”
“Yes, both my parents were. Second generation.”
His brows drew together and sympathy swept across his features. “Were? How sad.”
In two swift strides he reached her side. Grasping her hands in his, he lifted them to his mouth and kissed first one, then the other. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so familiar with Italians, she’d have thought the gesture affected. But after working for Primo, she’d discovered such gestures came as naturally to them as drawing breath.
“I will give you a fabulous reminder of your roots tonight, cara. By the time you finish you will be so pleased and relaxed that no sorrow could possibly find room inside.” He swept a hand toward an archway at the opposite end of the living area. “When you are ready, have a seat in the dining room.”
“Thank you for preparing our meal,” she told him. “I hope Ty didn’t put too much pressure on you.”
“He threatened me with my very life.”
Lucia inhaled sharply, only to release it at Joe’s teasing grin. “Ah, you’re one of those.”
“Handsome? Brilliant? One of the world’s best chefs? Why, yes. I am guilty of all of those.” He winked, then left them with an elegant nod.
L
ucia glanced at Ty and lifted her brows. “He’s great. Really funny. Not to mention charming.”
“Yeah, I suspect if he burped, it would come out rainbows and champagne bubbles,” he said drily.
She grinned. “Come on, admit it. You wish you were Italian, too.”
“I might be,” he replied lightly. “My mother never told me much about my father.”
Before Lucia could ask any questions, he caught her hand in his and drew her toward the dining room. Stepping into the intimate room, she caught her breath. The table had been beautifully decorated. Crystal sparkled. Fragile china sat on a lovely leaf placemat in fall colors. Silver gleamed beneath candlelight. And a low flower arrangement provided a lovely centerpiece featuring a cluster of roses in shades that complicated the placemats.
“Did you do this?”
“Joe did,” he replied shortly.
“Got it.” She slanted him a teasing glance. “It’s very romantic.”
“That was the idea.”
He turned toward her, leveling her with the full power of his gaze. She considered Joe charming and sexy, but in a harmless way. At least, in her opinion. Ty hit another level altogether. Instead of charm, he radiated a powerful, masculine vibe. Sexy? Not even close. He exuded a fierce, smoldering passion that left sexy in the dust. Joe was harmless. Ty threatened to drag her under with just that single look.
She fought to breath normally, to hide the small hitching gasp those black, black eyes incited. If Joe weren’t in the kitchen, she’d strip off her jeans and blouse and beg him to take her.
As though sensing her thoughts, he stepped closer. “Don’t,” he warned in a low voice. “Don’t look at me like that or Joe will be eating dinner by himself.”
“I can’t help it,” she whispered. “I can’t explain why you affect me this way. You just do.”
He jerked out a chair. “If you’ll sit here, I’ll get us more wine.”