Christ. With all this anticipation, he wanted Cate so badly she just might get the fast path to sex that she’d asked for.
No, Owen thought at the same time a knock sounded off from the front of his house. They might have agreed not to attach any commitments to tonight, but he could still do this properly. Go slow. Take all the steps to ensure she’d enjoy herself.
But then Owen opened the door, and screw proper.
He wanted to do things to this woman that would make her forget her name, then remind her who she was just so he could do them all over again.
“Hi,” Cate said, her red-lipsticked mouth curving into a smile that made his cock stir against the fly of his jeans. She’d ditched her braids—a fact Owen would mourn if she hadn’t replaced them with a loose, sultry twist that rested just behind her right ear. Her plain white button-down blouse was anything but plain on her body, with its short, fitted sleeves and fabric-covered buttons undone just low enough to give up a glimpse of her cleavage, surrounded by—good Christ—just a hint of a lacy, powder-blue bra. She wasn’t wearing her slim black pants so much as surrendering her curves to the material that hugged her hips and legs before stopping mid-calf, and from her head to the poppy-red toes peeking out from her high-heeled sandals, Cate McAllister took his damned breath away.
“Hi,” Owen made himself say, because the lift of her brows told him he’d already waited a beat too long to reply. “Ah, come on in.”
“Thanks. Here’s dessert, as promised.” She tipped her chin at the foil-wrapped plate that he just now noticed she had balanced between her palms, her heels tapping a delicate riot on the hardwoods as she crossed the threshold.
He should have known better than to think she’d meant it metaphorically when she said she’d bring dessert. “You really didn’t have to bake anything,” he said, taking the plate from her and leading the way to the kitchen.
Her laughter spilled past her lips, so open and honest that it eased Owen’s adrenaline-fueled nerves.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked, coming to a stop at the island. “I had almost three hours to kill and all I could think about was sex. Of course, I needed to bake something. Anyway, since you’re so intent on feeding me, I’m really just returning the favor.”
Owen laughed, too, his curiosity getting the better of his mouth. “What did you make?”
“Chocolate lava cake. You?”
Nice. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”
Cate closed her eyes and inhaled, her breasts swelling perilously close to the deep V of her neckline, and, fuck, she was stunning.
“Tell me you made the sauce from scratch,” she said, her lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes.
He let one side of his mouth kick up into a half-smile. “There’s no other way to make sauce.”
“You know, I’m starting to not regret this dinner-first thing.”
Her words snared his attention, re-setting his determination to take the evening slow. “I did nearly all of the prep ahead of time. The sauce and the meatballs are done, but they can simmer for hours, so just say the word when you’re hungry, and I’ll put the water on for the pasta. In the meantime, do you want a glass of wine?”
“I’d like a gallon of it.” Cate capped her reply with a tart laugh, and even though he didn’t stop smiling, he also shook his head.
“You’re determined to rush this, aren’t you?” he asked, taking the bottle of pinot noir from the fridge.
Her brows furrowed. “I agreed to dinner,” she pointed out.
“You did.” Owen paused to grab two wine glasses from the cabinet where he kept them, then the corkscrew from a drawer in the island. Cate might balk at his next question, but still, something made him ask, “Are you going to enjoy it, though?”
“It smells fantastic,” she said slowly, her guard inching up. “I’m sure I will.”
Yep. It was time to start speaking her language. “You don’t eat.”
She barked out a laugh, but there—there it was, the wall he’d bet she didn’t even know she’d put up. “Of course, I eat.”
“No, you don’t.” Calmly, methodically, Owen removed the foil from the top of the wine bottle, sliding the corkscrew into place. “Not the way you should.”
“Okay, fine,” she said, taking the glass he offered her a minute later. “So, I maybe have a thing for junky cereal on occasion, and I can’t say I’ve never turned wine and Doritos into a meal. But it’s only a couple times a year. Nothing to get judgey over.”
Owen lifted his glass of wine, clinking it against hers. “I’m not talking about what you eat, although I might judge you a little for the wine and Doritos, because, ugh.”
“Okay, then what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the way you eat. Or, more specifically, the way you don’t.”
Cate took a large sip from her glass, arching a brow at him. “You’re not making any sense, you know.”
“And you’re not slowing down to enjoy what’s on your plate.”
Ah, that got her. “I am, too.”
“Okay,” Owen said, putting just enough mustard on the words to turn them into a dare. “Prove it.”
Without waiting for her to reply, he moved back to the refrigerator, tugging the door open for a quick search. Come on, come on, there had to be—yes. Perfect. He pulled the cardboard container full of the strawberries he’d washed and hulled earlier off the shelf and placed it on the island in front of Cate.
“You want me to eat some strawberries?” she asked with a laugh. “That’s not exactly a hardship.”
She plucked one from the top of the pile and went to pop it into her mouth. But Owen reached across the island to capture her wrist, stilling her movements and speeding up his heartbeat.
“Uh-uh,” he said, rubbing one finger over the soft skin on her inner wrist, right where her pulse jumped. “Eyes first.”
“I’m sorry?”
The question rode out on a velvety exhale, and Owen had to tamp down the hard, hot urge to say screw everything else and kiss her.
Focus. “The other night, when you were baking, you said people eat with their eyes first, right?”
She nodded, a tendril of hair falling loose to frame her face. “Yes.”
“So, do it.”
Keeping his fingers circled around her wrist, he reached for the strawberry with his other hand. She gave it over freely, watching as he held the sun-ripened fruit between his thumb and forefinger. He kept it steady just long enough to create anticipation, letting her gaze move from the strawberry back to his eyes before continuing.
“You can taste it, right? In your mind.” Owen lowered her wrist, keeping his eyes steady on hers as he rounded the island to stand directly in front of her. "The way the flavors will burst over your tongue, sweet and citrusy, with just enough bite to make it perfect."
"Mmm hmm." Cate's murmur came out as thick and decadent as honey. His breath tightened in his lungs, daring him again to forget the food, to forget everything that didn’t involve stripping Cate naked right here in his kitchen and fucking her until she came undone, but he refused to give in. She needed this more than sex.
And he needed to give it to her.
18
Cate stood perfectly still even though her body was vibrating with enough want to steal her breath. Less than an arm’s length separated her from Owen, yet she was keenly aware of the distance, of the fact that he wasn’t touching her, just standing inches away with that strawberry in his hand like a dare she was dying to take. The way his callused fingers gripped the delicate fruit with both intention and care sent a shiver over her, and oh, God, how would a touch like that feel on her nipples, which were now tight peaks behind the lace of her bra? What would it do to the sensitive skin on her thighs, or deep in the spot where they came together, where she ached to have him most?
“Go on,” Owen said, his voice low and rough. “Taste.”
She opened her mouth at the same time he lift
ed the strawberry to her lips. The berry was perfectly sized, and she closed her lips over it and started to chew. Flavors rushed over her tongue, first sweet, then heady and slightly tart, and the more she chewed, the more she wanted.
Please. Please, make me feel good.
Cate gulped down the bite, greedy for another. But Owen didn’t move, just made a noise that was part protest, part something else she couldn’t name yet still found unbelievably hot.
“No.” He grabbed another strawberry, running the soft curve of the fruit over the edge of her lower lip. “Don’t eat it. Taste it.”
“What’s the difference?”
God, she should feel self-conscious at how she sounded, so full of breath and need. But then Owen’s pupils flared, filling his gray stare with a darkness that sent a jolt from her belly to her clit, and she held on to his stare even though she knew what he’d see when he looked at her.
“Tasting it is an experience,” he said, holding the strawberry over her lips. “You focus on the flavors. The feel of the food on your tongue, the vitality of it. When you taste something—really taste it—you’re surrendering to the flavors. You’re letting yourself enjoy it. That’s the difference.”
Cate bit into the second strawberry without thinking twice. A moan caught in the back of her throat, and oh, God, how could such a simple experience make her feel so much?
“Oh,” she whispered. Looking up, she realized how carefully Owen had been watching her. He stood close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, to see the tension humming in the hard, roughhewn muscles beneath his T-shirt and jeans, and, impulsively, she reached up to touch his face.
“What about you? Aren’t you hungry, too?” she asked, her heart pounding faster as his heated exhale filled the scant space between his chest and the rise of her breasts.
“Oh, I’m plenty hungry, sweetheart. But the only thing I plan on tasting tonight is you.”
Cate pressed forward to kiss him, but he was already there, pulling her close and slanting his mouth over hers. Their lips crashed together, parting in a tangle of tongues so deliciously hot, she nearly cried out. Searching desperately, she latched on to Owen’s upper lip, holding it between her own for one decadent second before gliding her tongue along his smooth, soft skin. But as quickly as she’d taken the lead, he took it right back, hooking his fingers in her hair to hold her steady as he turned her back to the island and pushed deeper into her mouth. He kissed her hard, but without urgency, as if he had an endless well of intensity and the only thing he wanted was to focus it on her. Their tongues slid together, lips tugging and taking and tasting in an erotic back and forth that sent a tremble through Cate’s belly that quickly became a demand.
“Owen.” His name spilled from her mouth as he parted from her lips, trailing a firm, hot path of kisses over her jaw to her neck. Cate reached for the hem of his T-shirt, surprise sparking through her chest when not only did he not protest, but he lifted his arms over his head to help her pull the thing off in one quick yank.
Whoa. She’d already known his body was gorgeous, thanks to the T-shirt mishap/miracle on her first day of work. But this close up, with his tanned skin and work-sculpted muscles and the dusting of dark hair leading from his chest to all points south, Owen was a work of freaking art.
Cate reached out to touch him, but she realized—too late—that he’d maneuvered his hands over her hips, angling closer to bring their bodies completely flush. Even in her heels, he still had a good four inches on her, which gave him the perfect leverage to splay his fingers over her ass and lift her to the countertop with ease.
“Oh!” she exclaimed at the same time he murmured, “That’s better.” The change in vantage point brought his mouth in line with her collarbone, and he transferred his grip to her hips, hauling her close as he settled between her thighs.
“These freckles are incredibly sexy,” Owen said, tracing a finger from the hollow at the base of her throat into the deep V of her blouse.
Her nipples tightened at the nearness of his touch and how badly she wanted him there, but still, she managed to laugh. “Are you serious? They’re freckles.” In truth, she’d always hated them.
The edges of Owen’s mouth moved just enough to hint at a smile, taking the tightness of her nipples to a needy tingle. “I’m always serious, remember?”
Leaning in, he pressed his lips to her neck, sliding the edge of his tongue from one spot to the next, tasting her just as he’d promised.
“Oh.” Goddddd. Cate’s head fell back. “Okay, maybe they’re sexy after all.”
“They’re definitely sexy,” he said, his lips parting over her skin in a wicked smile she both saw and felt. “I’ve been dying to find them all for weeks now.”
Her heartbeat shifted from the steady pound of arousal to a pang of pure surprise. “You have?”
Owen pulled back to pin her with a stormy gray stare, his eyes glinting in the soft, pink-gold sunlight around them. “You really don’t know how stunning you are, do you?”
Cate drew in a sharp breath. In all her life, no one had ever used that word to describe her. Yet standing here, all hot and bothered in the middle of his kitchen, when Owen looked at her, that’s what he saw.
Hooking a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up until their gazes met. Held. “That’s okay,” he said, brushing a kiss over her lips. “I’m going to show you.”
And oh, he did. One by one, Owen freed the buttons on her blouse, each rustle of the fabric sending heightened want through her body. Finally, thankfully, he reached the last one, sliding his hands between the two sections of fabric to part them over her body.
“Christ,” he bit out. But the curse was reverent, more like a benediction than a swear, and he slid his thumbs over the satiny straps of her bra. “Your body is perfect.”
The irony caught Cate right in the center of her chest, so hard she nearly balked. The reality was, her body was far from perfect. Silvery stretch marks she’d kept covered for years, the C-section scar she’d earned by default, all of it had always made her a lights-down-low kind of girl.
But when Owen said she was perfect, she believed him. Even if it was just for this moment, this night. Right now.
Cate let go of a shaky exhale, letting him look his fill. “Then take it,” she said with a defiant lift of her chin.
His laugh moved through her like a living, breathing thing. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Do you think I’d ask for it if I wasn’t?”
“No,” Owen said. Still, he shifted back to put some space between them—not much, just enough for her to see the seriousness in his stare—and she hooked her legs around his hips to haul him right back in.
“I’m very, very sure,” Cate murmured against his lips, “that if you don’t keep undressing me, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Ah.” He kissed her deeply, just once before his fingers found the lacy edges of her bra. “That’s where you’re wrong. Because I’m going to keep undressing you.” He slid her shirt from her shoulders as proof. “And then you’re going to lose your mind.”
Owen dropped his mouth back to her neck, and, just like that, she was lost. His fingers—clever things—hooked beneath her bra straps, moving them just far enough out of the way for him to kiss an unimpeded path from her neck to her shoulder, then the flat expanse of her upper chest. Cate’s mind spun, the voice that always told her she wasn’t meant for things like this lurking in the periphery of her thoughts, and she closed her eyes to try and stay in the moment.
Owen froze into place, his lips just above the curve of one breast. “Cate. Open your eyes.”
“What?” she asked, blinking down at him in confusion.
“Eyes first, remember?” He raked his gaze to the spot where his mouth hovered over the hardened outline of her nipple behind the powder-blue lace, waiting for her to follow suit before saying, “Leave them open and watch. See how beautiful you are.”
The idea was s
o provocative, so deliciously dark and dirty, that it sent a thrill all the way through her. Her position on the counter offered a perfect view of Owen’s dark head, his strong, firm mouth, his callused fingers on her achingly sensitive skin, and she nodded, keeping her eyes wide. Lowering her chin, Cate watched as he splayed one hand beneath her rib cage, reaching between her shoulder blades with the other to release her bra with an economical turn of his wrist. Owen swept the lace away from her body, moving the hand on her rib cage up at the same time his mouth moved down.
A noise came from the back of his throat, primal and low. Cupping her breast to hold her steady, he closed his lips over her nipple, and the warm, wet friction made her moan.
“Ah.” Cate’s hands found his bare shoulders, her nails curving into his skin. But despite the sensations sailing through her and the fact that they should make her feel vulnerable, she watched. Arousal grew, hot in her belly, as Owen gripped her tightly and began to suck. He alternated slow, open-mouthed kisses with hard, fast swirls of his tongue, repeating both until her body was pulsing with pleasure and want. Her clit throbbed, her core clenching with the building need to have his cock buried between her legs, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes from what he was doing to her, from how it made her feel.
And Owen refused to rush. He worked her body with his mouth and hands, licking and tasting and taking and giving, until finally, he pulled back to look at her.
“See?” His fingers skimmed her breasts, then the top of her waist, his smile growing dark at the sight of her nipples, dark pink and glistening from the attention of his mouth. “Fucking beautiful.”
“I want more,” Cate said, her body humming like a live wire, full of energy in need of a place to go. “Please, Owen. Show me more.”
As quickly as he’d lifted her to the countertop earlier, he unseated her, his arms around her until her feet found purchase on the hardwood floor. He moved with purpose, his muscles bunching and releasing as he reached for the button on her pants.
Crossing Promises Page 17