by Skye Jordan
“Mmm—hmm…” His thumb caressed her cheek, his eyes following its path, and the hunger there helped Olivia translate that hum into “Mmm-hmm, I need one too.”
His stubble seemed heavier now than when she’d first met him, and kept drawing her gaze to his lips. She knew from their quick kiss that his lips were soft. And they had body. She licked her own, imagining how they’d feel between her legs. Heat burst over her sex and she squirmed in his lap. Her hip bumped a prominent erection, releasing a surge of lust low in her body.
“Tate—”
“So you’re a chef.”
They spoke at the same time and Olivia realized her “unzip your pants” was way out of line with his “Let’s keep talking”.
“Sort of,” she answered, trying to realign her thoughts when her body was dying to get this man naked and horizontal. For an instant she wondered what he would do if she told him that and a little smile curled her lips.
“Sort of?” he asked.
When he lifted a brow, she pulled her mind from the gutter. At least enough to hold a conversation. “I’ve been cooking for years, but I’m starting culinary school in a month. When I graduate I’ll—officially—be a chef.”
“Do you just love to cook? Is that how you got started?”
“I’ve been cooking since I was a kid. My dad had me in the kitchen as soon as I could stand. It was a hobby we shared. When I first moved overseas after high school, I cooked American food in hostels and sold it to visitors. Word got out and soon I was selling to Americans living in whatever country or town I was in at the time. Along the way, I learned about local customs and cuisine.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t the least bit glamorous back then, and most of the time, it still isn’t, but it’s taken me on a lot of amazing adventures.”
“That sounds fascinating. I hope I’ll get a chance to hear about it while you’re here.”
She smiled. “If you’re just saying that to get me into bed, everything you’ve said after “Hi, I’m Tate” has been wasted.”
It took him a few seconds, but the smile that finally broke out across his face rocked Olivia’s world. Brooding he was handsome as sin, but smiling, flashing a mouthful of straight, white teeth, his dark eyes sparkling, a damn dimple in his left cheek, the man was heart-stopping. His laugh was rich and smooth and when he combed his fingers into her hair, Olivia was so blown away by the man, she was absolutely certain she’d never been so charmed in her life.
His laughter faded, but he was still smiling when he said, “You had me at “a little French anything cures jetlag”.”
Smiling, she stroked the backs of her fingers over his stubble and found it softer than she’d expected. “Then why the hell are we still sitting here?”
His expression sobered, his fingers flexed and clenched in her hair, and his gaze turned hot and serious. The array of emotion he showed on his face made her eager to find out if it transferred to the bedroom. She hadn’t had a multi-dimensional lover in…way too long.
“Want me to shave?” His question brought her gaze up. Such a simple question. And so direct. Yet so incredibly intimate it tightened her throat.
“Would you?”
“Hell yes.”
“No.” Her smile deepened. She shook her head, licked her lip, then dragged it between her teeth. She met his gaze and lowered her voice. “There’s good reason for the phrase ‘Bearded for her pleasure.’ I want to feel it between my legs.”
His jaw loosened and his eyes glazed over. But in the next second, he went all warrior with chiseled features, black eyes and a voice from Braveheart. “Tell me you don’t have a boyfriend back in Paris.”
Damn, this guy just kept serving up curve balls. She didn’t know one man in all of Europe who would give a shit at this point. A little laugh escaped her and she feathered her fingers through the hair at his temple. “I don’t—”
His hand slid all the way around her head and pulled her in, pressing his mouth to hers and turning her words into a hum of pleasure. “Mmm…”
The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun, but cool air barely had time to whisper over her lips before he tilted his head and returned with more pressure, more demand, and the warm stroke of his tongue over her lips.
A thrill raced down Olivia’s spine. She opened to him, and on the next hot, hungry sweep of his tongue, her mouth erupted with sensation. Her chest inflated with the excitement of tasting a new man. Her sex tingled with the promise of pleasure. He was a luscious mix of heat and need and man—exactly what Olivia needed.
She sighed and dropped her head back. Tate wasted no time taking over. He may not have been in the game for a while, but he certainly still knew how to play. His strong arms pulled her close, until her breasts rubbed his chest. One big hand cupped her head, holding her still for the pressure of his mouth. The other slid down her body, over her hip, to her ass and pulled her against the swell between his legs. His immediate, hot, aggressive show of passion surprised her—yet again. And damn, this man could kiss.
He was hungry and insistent. Serious and intent. A little dark. A little edgy.
Tate was starved.
And Olivia wanted to be the woman who fed him all night and left him completely satisfied and sleeping like a baby.
But she wasn’t near as patient as he seemed to be. She pulled out of the kiss and drew quick, shallow breaths. Tate lowered his lips to her neck and groaned, then kissed a path to her shoulder.
“I don’t want to be too forward,” she said, trying to catch her breath, “but to tell you the truth, I just don’t know how else to be.”
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. His were heavy lidded and hot. “Just be you.”
Thank God. She licked her lips. “How close do you live?”
A split second smile fluttered over his lips. “Ten minutes. Did you drive here?”
“Took Metro.” She scraped her lower lip between her teeth. “Told my mom I was going to visit a friend, not to wait up.”
He lifted a brow. “Thought you said you were sure I’d be gone.”
“Hey.” She gave him a look laced with attitude. “I have friends.”
He laughed, then kissed her again, and all the humor instantly evaporated in the sweltering heat. The slide of is mouth, the stroke of his tongue, the way he moved her body against his… Fuck he was way better than any alcohol, any drug.
He broke the kiss, dragging in air and breathing out, “Holy fuck. Your mouth is wicked.”
“Oh-ho…” she laughed the word. “Just you wait. You’ve barely begun to see what I can do with this mouth.”
He groaned, his lids fluttered closed and his fingers clenched in her dress. “When are you done here?”
“Now,” she said. When his eyes opened again, she continued. “I’m done now. This isn’t my gig. The kitchen staff can clean up. Are you close to a Metro line?”
“Two blocks. Why?”
“So I can take it home.”
“I’ll drive you ho—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. That whole waking up together-morning after-driving her home thing…got really messy, really fast. She’d learned that young. “I don’t want messy,” she whispered, praying she didn’t hurt his feelings. “I just want you.”
He exhaled and held her gaze. When she lowered her hand he asked, “Do you feel okay driving with me? I mean, now? To my place?”
“Why?” she frowned, studying him again. He didn’t seem drunk. She’d developed an eye for that. “How much have you been drinking?”
“I stopped drinking hours ago. I meant safe. We don’t know each other.”
“Oh.” She grinned. Laughed. Stroked his cheek. “I moved to Europe by myself when I was eighteen. Lived hostel to hostel for years. Learned Krav Maga on the streets of the countries where it was born. The question, Mr. Big Bad Hot Hockey Star, is do you feel safe with me?”
3
Tate was having a hard time focusing on the road with Ol
ivia rubbing on him like a cat in the front seat of his truck.
She was twisted toward him with her mouth on his neck, her right thigh draped over his and her hand under his shirt, roaming his skin. His mind kept jumping ahead—to getting her home and how he should handle that. It felt like forever since he’d treaded these waters and sex etiquette changed so fast now-a-days. She was so damn young and hot, he was feeling more on the old and slow side then he’d ever imagined.
Should he take it slow or fast? Should he be rough or gentle? Should he ask her what she liked or just go for it until she told him she wanted something else?
Every question tightened the muscles along his shoulders. His mind kept darting to his teammates and their locker room talk. If even half of it was true, those young guys did some nasty shit in the bedroom. Did Olivia expect that? Did Tate even want to go there? Maybe. With the right woman…
Olivia scraped his earlobe between her teeth, and chills ran down his neck and across his shoulder, and Tate shivered.
“What’s your last name?” her voice was soft and sexy.
“Donovan.” His voice sounded like sandpaper.
“Donovan,” she sang softly, “what’s on your mind?” The tip of her nose traced his rough jawline. “I see wheels turned behind those sexy eyes and if you keep clenching you teeth like this,” she massaged his jaw in small circles, making Tate realize how sore he was right there, “you’re going to need TMJ surgery in a few years.” She paused, pulled back and looked at him, waiting. He felt the warmth of her stare on his face. When he didn’t answer right away, her fingers combed through the hair on the side of his head again, her nails gently scraping his scalp. “If you change your mind at any point, I’m not going to be pissed. I know how bitchy some women can get, but I’m not—”
For the first time since they’d started the drive, Tate pulled his hand from the steering wheel and gripped the thigh lying over his. He cut a quick look at her before returning his gaze to the road. “I’m not changing my mind, baby.” He laughed at himself. “I’m trying to remember my moves.”
She laughed, the sound light and amused as she dropped her forehead against his shoulder and rolled it side to side. “Oh, Tate.” She lifted her head. “You are so…God, I don’t know how to explain it. You’re just so…refreshing seems like a strange word, but it’s true. You’re so different, so honest. I just love it. I want to eat you up.”
The last three words could have been taken in any number of ways. But her deep, raspy tone made it clear she was thinking of the phrase with more hunger than affection. She confirmed that assumption after he put the truck into park, when she pressed a hand against the opposite side of his face, pulled him toward her and leaned in to kiss him.
He moaned into her mouth, groped for the seatbelt release and sprung himself. Then he turned, took her face in both hands and kissed her. Hard and deep.
God, he could get so lost in this woman. Hoped he could let himself get lost in this woman. After what he’d been through, Olivia felt like fucking heaven. So he shut down that nagging good-boy corner of his mind. He tucked away all his misgivings over bringing home a woman he barely knew for the sole purpose of sex, and let his own needs roll to the foreground for a change.
And they roared in, taking over, like fire eating oxygen.
Tate shifted out from behind the steering wheel to get closer. The next thing he knew, he had Olivia on his lap, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her dress over her hips. She was warm and smooth and toned. And their tongues spiraled as his hands curved over her ass.
Tate broke the kiss to suck air. “Jesus Christ.”
Olivia’s hands were already working his belt open, yanking his shirttail from his waistband. Then her hands were on his skin and fuck he couldn’t think.
“Olivia…” He grabbed her hands, squeezing them tight, more to keep his own hands still them than to halt her movement. Because he wanted to feel her hands on him. Wanted to feel her mouth on him. Wanted—so badly—to feel her pussy around him. “God damn.”
She made an impatient whimpering sound, dipped her head and kissed him, hot and hungry. “Want you,” she said between licks and kisses, “Can’t wait… This is insane…”
Think, Tate.
Think.
“Let’s…” he said, breathing hard, “let’s…slow down…”
That sexy sound came again, this time against his throat, where her teeth and tongue created tingles along his skin and opened a faucet of lust straight to his groin. “Right…” she breathed. “Right…” She pulled back and her hair fell into her eyes. “You make me crazy, Donovan.”
“And you make me feel so fuckin’ alive.” He brushed her hair aside and framed her face. “The only time I feel this electrified is on the ice, during a game.”
Her smile softened and her body swayed into his. “That has to be the sweetest thing any man has said to me in…God…years.”
He couldn’t even fathom how that was possible. She had to have men all over her in Europe.
Chest to chest, arms wrapped around his neck, she leaned close and whispered into his ear, “Now take me inside where I can thank you properly.” She bit his lobe, shooting a sting down his neck, followed by the warm stroke of her tongue and tingles. “Or…not so properly. Which do you prefer?”
He closed his eyes, let his hands slide down her body, gripped her hips to hold her still while he gave into the urge to rock against her. Pleasure spilled between his legs and he gritted his teeth on a growl at the same time Olivia arched and echoed his pleasure. The synchronicity was electric.
When her lashes fluttered open and her pretty blue eyes landed on his again, he said, “I’ll take everything you’ve got, baby.”
He slid with her toward the passenger’s side, pushed the door open and stood, setting her on the ground and pushing her skirt down at the same time. When she was steady, he stepped back, looked down at the disarray of his clothes and laughed.
Grinning, Olivia buckled his belt and straightened the tail of his now-untucked shirt. She cocked her head and surveyed him with a look that made him grin like an idiot.
“Maybe just one last little fix right…” She leaned in, reaching for his head, but instead of fixing a few stray hairs, her weight shifted and she fell into him, pushing all ten fingers into his hair, laughing. With her face pressed to his neck, she murmured, “Yeah, right there. Perfect.”
Her breath tingled against his neck. Her sweetness warmed his heart. And for the first time in way too long, he felt full. Content. Happy. Tate circled her in his arms and held her against him. Her head tucked perfectly under his chin. Her curves heaven against his body. She felt so goddamned perfect in his arms it hurt. “Where the fuck have you been all my life?”
“Mmmm,” she stepped away then walked backwards while Tate steered her toward his townhouse. “You’d have to name the year. I’m pretty nomadic.”
“Okay…where were you in…” He named a year as she twisted out of his path and fell into step beside him. He swung an arm around her shoulders.
“I was a junior in high school,” she said, threading her fingers with his where they lay over her shoulder, then wrapped her other arm around his waist. She was so loose, so easy, so relaxed. So comfortable in her own skin. She didn’t worry about her clothes, her hair, her makeup. Didn’t seem nervous about the night ahead. Tate was both mystified and envious. “You?”
“First year of my minor career.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“So you’re about thirty? Thirty one?”
“Thirty one,” he said, pushing away the uncomfortable thoughts his age always brought. How much further along in his personal life he thought he’d be by now. “What about…”
He named his first year in the majors.
“Umm…” She had her eyes rolled to the sky as they walked through the gardens. “Must have been Yugoslav…no, that was the summer before…” She pressed a finger
to her lips. “Cairo? No, no. How many years ago is that?” She sighed. “I think I was somewhere in the Middle East. I have it all in a travel diary.”
“Fascinating.” He shook his head, again wishing they had more than two weeks to get to know each other.
But they weren’t on a date. As they took the path to his front door, Tate reminded himself they were here to fuck, not talk. And as he climbed the stairs with her by his side, that was beginning to bother him more and more. Because he was beginning to like her more and more. He didn’t know how the other guys did it—night after night. Woman after woman.
On the porch he paused, leaned against the railing in the warm night and drew her into his arms. She came to him exactly the way he’d already come to expect, easily, fluidly, happily. She pressed her body to his, wound her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. Tate brushed a strand of her hair off her forehead and ran his knuckles down her cheek.
He just wasn’t fucking built for one-night stands. And it seriously sucked to find that out here, now, with this woman, because he wasn’t about to let her go and he sure as shit couldn’t keep her.
“First thing tomorrow,” he said with a smile, “I’m sending that caterer the biggest damn bunch of flowers I can buy. Hell, I’m going to fill her fucking hospital room and the nursery with flowers.”
One of Olivia’s golden brows rose with a little shake of her head. “Why?”
“Because keeping you in the kitchen also kept you away from the party, where there were dozens of guys who would have eaten you up in a hot second.”
She chuckled low in her throat, her humor growing as the idea gelled.
“I’m serious.” He lifted the hand holding his keys and searched for the one to the front door, then pushed off the railing. “You don’t know my teammates. And, baby, you could have had your pick.”
Olivia pushed Tate back against the railing, holding him there with a hand at his chest. And she was looking up at him with a no-fucking-around expression he hadn’t seen yet. “I got my pick. I always get my pick. I never settle, Tate.”