One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  Chrissy had wandered off some time ago in search of her colleagues from Zenith’s graphics department. She’d gathered quickly Shawn was preoccupied and hadn’t pushed, but when he’d seen her animated blue eyes shutter as a hulking Spiderman strode past, he’d pried out her tale of woe.

  Spidey had dumped her a couple days ago for the nubile Marilyn Monroe currently on his arm. Marilyn was Zenith’s star designer, and she knew her way around more than just Photoshop, judging from the tongue-heavy kiss Shawn had witnessed between her and her superhero moments ago.

  He was glad Chrissy hadn’t seen it, though he half-wondered if maybe she wouldn’t benefit from some painful shock immersion therapy to get over her futile obsession. After all, who would know better than a fellow obsessee?

  Then Rachel walked into the room, her short geisha girl outfit revealing a mile and a half of leg, and his muscles locked as if he were a wolf that had just scented its mate.

  She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the crowd. Wasn’t the most alluring or even the most striking. But to him, she was the only.

  She paused just inside the doorway, tossing back the springy dark curls that kept tumbling into her eyes as she scanned the room. Even as Shawn’s heart leaped for one ridiculous moment, Ryan sidled up beside her in his terribly unoriginal Dracula costume and wrapped his arm around her waist.

  Shawn turned his head away. “Great plan, Dad,” he said under his breath, knocking back his martini in two swallows. She didn’t care he hadn’t contacted her today, not when the man of the hour was at her side.

  The clutch of people nearest the door erupted into cheers and applause at Ryan’s entrance. Soon, he was swept away into the champagne spritzer-proffering throng. But Rachel stayed behind, wearing a smile as blank and emotionless as a pane of glass.

  Shawn forced himself to release his death grip on his drink. Ryan wouldn’t know she was putting on her game face, that she clearly wanted to be anywhere but here. He wouldn’t know that, because he didn’t know her. But he did.

  He didn’t take a bolstering breath as he unfolded himself from his chair. He didn’t need it. For the first time since he’d hatched this crazy plan, he knew what to do.

  Each measured step that brought him closer to her made his heart bump against his chest in expectation. She didn’t notice his approach, because she’d turned to accept a glass of champagne from a waiter. When he was a held breath away, Rachel shifted, her smoky gaze cutting through the milling guests to fasten onto his as if no one else existed.

  Awareness zinged between them, as tangible as the heat cascading off her body. He saw her lips part, heard some combination of syllables fall forth that hit his fogged brain as no more than a senseless jumble. Then she whirled around and disappeared into the crowd, leaving her summery scent to twine around him as he fought his way toward the exit.

  Rachel hurried down the short hallway to the door leading out to the courtyard. Her legs weren’t quite steady, but she managed to rush out into the oppressive heat without tumbling on the Aubusson runner.

  Or screaming in sheer pent-up frustration.

  None of this made sense. She’d known Shawn all her life, and until two days ago, she’d believed, perhaps naively, that she understood him better than anyone. She knew what to buy him for his birthday -- books on architecture or a gift certificate to his favorite art store, so he could buy his preferred brand of sketch pads and blue pencils -- and how to make his favorite kind of peanut butter sandwich, with strawberry jelly and banana on extra-dark toast. But she didn’t know this dangerously tempting man who’d just stared at her as if he wanted to swallow her in one greedy, finger-licking gulp.

  And she’d wanted him to. With every fiber of her being, she’d wanted to give herself to him right then and there.

  Once she reached the center of the courtyard, she sank onto a wrought-iron bench. Would he come? If he didn’t, how would she find the reserves to walk back inside alone?

  She sensed the moment he appeared in the doorway. Her fingers twisted around her bag, and she took a breath, surprised air still flowed through the tight walls of her chest.

  He’d begun to approach when her cell went off in her hand. The spell broken, she glanced down and saw Ryan’s name.

  “Don’t answer it.”

  Rachel tried to come up with a glib response to Shawn’s hoarse command, but she’d been struck dumb. He looked so gorgeous in unrelieved black, with that strangely prim, white ruffled shirt peeking out between the lapels of his long suit coat. Though his eye mask shielded half his face, the lights lining the winding pathways glowed in the deep green of his eyes and gilded his silky hair. And his lips -- full, aristocratic, and in perfect accord with his costume -- summoned urges she’d never imagined feeling in his direction.

  In this quaint, idyllic setting, with the wind rustling through the leafy green canopy above their heads and the moonlit darkness an enveloping cocoon, Shawn wasn’t her friend. He was her ideal lover, here to do her bidding.

  To be her fantasy.

  Rising, she took a step forward. He didn’t move as she shortened the distance between them, but his eyes stayed on hers, daring her.

  Gonna run? Or do you have the guts to stay?

  She shouldn’t. Giving in to lust -- or whatever the hell this was -- was wrong when a friendship was on the line. Wasn’t it?

  “No.”

  His features hardened, as if he perceived her whisper as a rebuff. Before he could speak, her hands snagged in his hair to drag his mouth down to hers.

  If he was surprised, no jolt reverberated through the rip-cord tension of his body, nor did she sense any hesitation in the slow, persuasive licks of his tongue.

  What she felt was heat. Thick, drenching waves of it.

  She explored his mouth, her yearning for his taste growing more crazed with each second. Mixed with the flavor that was uniquely his own, she picked up his preferred vodka on his tongue. And olives.

  Of course. Because she hadn’t been with him to steal them.

  Even as her heart warmed, his hands cupped her head in a mirror of her pose. Pins pinged on the sidewalk as he loosened her curls, his fingers tearing apart each carefully looped strand with the glee of a toddler wrecking a sandcastle.

  Rachel didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. Reflected in his eyes, she saw herself, and what they could be together. Even if that scared her like hell.

  As if he knew his way around her body already, he lifted her hair to skim his fingers down the side of her neck, somehow zeroing in on the one spot just above her shoulder that always weakened her knees. Her startled moan broke the tranquil stillness of the empty courtyard, shocking her, but she kept right on kissing him.

  At this point, only death could pry her lips from his.

  When his hands sought the tie of her robe, her mind shrieked that she wore only a thin chemise and panties beneath, but she voiced no objection. Had he pulled her down onto the concrete and driven into her, she would’ve done nothing but thank God.

  She’d wanted men in the past. Lusted after them certainly. But she’d never experienced this soul-searing need to be possessed by one. By Shawn.

  He flicked her nipples through the silk of her chemise almost casually, as if he knew the firestorm the gesture would cause and wanted to watch her implode. Indulging him, she tipped her head back, reclining like a supplicant in his arms until the trailing ends of her hair brushed the backs of her thighs.

  “Shawn…” His name was a silky moan.

  The cloud-smothered crescent moon flashed in the periphery of her vision as his teeth skimmed her collarbone. Then, with aching patience, he dipped the tip of his tongue into the hollow, mimicking what she yearned for him to do with his body.

  She wanted to do it here, in the courtyard of one of the city’s most exclusive hotels while publishing industry bigwigs danced only yards away. Where her date, and likely his, waited for them to return.

  This was wrong. It had to be. But why did
it feel so right?

  Before she could tell him exactly what she had in mind -- though she figured undulating her hips against his impossibly hard cock was a pretty good signal -- Shawn drew her up, catching her as she misstepped on her precipitously high heels. When he clasped her hand to lead her up the path, sweat broke out on her lower back. “Don’t even think you’re stopping now, Griffin.”

  Without replying, he led her around the side of the hotel, past a burbling fountain lit by crisscrossing multicolored streams of light. Laughter and voices reverberated on the breeze as they came to a halt in a shadowy alcove, but in this patch of darkness, no one could see them.

  Not that she would’ve cared.

  He hitched her legs onto his waist and bared her breast to his mouth in one lightning-quick move. Though his easy strength had always alternately annoyed and impressed her, that he could simultaneously pin her shoulder blades against the cool granite and ravage her burning skin with teeth, tongue, and lips only added another thrill. She struggled to grip both her purse and him, hating that she couldn’t do more than rake her nails down his shoulders. From his harsh pants every time her hips rocked against his, he obviously had no complaints.

  Rachel bowed to his mouth again and again, helpless to hold back her cries as he seized one painfully erect nipple. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against her while his tongue swirled around the peak. Abruptly, he changed the angle of his erotic kiss, drawing on her so hard she had to cut off a scream.

  Liquid desire coursed through her veins. In a second, she’d be begging him to take her, and she’d never begged in her life.

  Shawn’s head lifted, a groan slipping from him as her eager fingers fumbled between them for his zipper. She had trouble reaching it, so he jiggled her until he could. One more thing she could add to the file of stuff she hadn’t known about her best friend: he was amazingly dexterous.

  And thank the Lord for that.

  She gasped as his cock nestled into the liquid warmth soaking her panties. Her pussy ached for his hard length almost as much as she’d missed him during this ridiculously long day. But the hours apart fell away when he gave her one of those grins that lit up her heart like Christmas. The wicked curve of his lips teased her own smile free, though the darkness prevented her from seeing his eyes behind his mask.

  Would he leave that on when they…

  Yes, she realized a moment later as he started to release her so he could withdraw his wallet.

  “Wait.” Unwilling to unclench her thighs from his waist for even a moment, she uncinched the drawstring of her purse to pull out a condom.

  Without seeing his eyes clearly, she couldn’t be sure of his reaction, but his suddenly tense posture said volumes. Then he swiftly rolled on the condom and, without a word, buried himself inside her.

  Knowing he was pissed should have blunted the pleasure. Reduced the quaking in her thighs. Stifled the need to pump her hips against his to meet every thrust. But with each scrape of her bare ass against the cold stone as he pummeled into her, she tumbled closer to the point of no return.

  She moaned, and he silenced her with a rough, brutal kiss, his tongue surging deep into her mouth. Overcome, she threw her arms around him, channeling every long-repressed impulse she’d ever had in his direction into that single mating of lips.

  God, there were so many. So very many.

  His heart slammed against hers, beat for beat, and his fingers scored her hips as he pumped his cock deep into her snug channel. Her robe fell all the way open, her chemise twisting under her breasts. Still, she shoved at the material separating them.

  She craved the feel of skin on skin. His skin, his body heat, his muscles bunching tight under her hands.

  Her orgasm burst inside her, a bright flare of light that subsided far too quickly. Arching, she dug her nails into his shoulders, then dragged them down the back of his suit coat.

  “Come.” She needed to feel him climax. She’d never needed anything more. “God, now.”

  As his release shook him, she kissed him deeply enough that his groan rumbled through her as if they were one. But even the incredible sensation of him coming inside her didn’t soothe the ache or abate the emptiness she couldn’t seem to shake.

  A cold shiver crept over her skin. Fighting it, she rode him harder, driving him on as his still semihard cock pulsed within her. Even if he was mad at her for real or imagined slights, he couldn’t deny his body’s reaction to hers.

  Could he?

  She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the way his face tensed in the shadowy glow from the fountain. That wasn’t part of the fantasy.

  “More. I need more.” Her whispers were frantic. “Please.”

  It wasn’t until she’d ridden him to a second orgasm more blistering than the first that she realized Shawn had stilled completely under her hands, as if she were making love to a statue rather than a man.

  Rachel pressed her lips together as he lowered her legs, ever so gently, to the ground. While she wobbled on the one heel she hadn’t lost, he bent to retrieve its match from the dewy grass.

  He grasped her ankle, slipped on her shoe. Then her Prince Charming zipped up his pants and pivoted away, leaving her trembling in her drenched panties and her wrinkled chemise.

  Chapter Seven

  Damn his father and his stupid plan.

  Leaving Rachel had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, if not the hardest. But if it meant one day he’d get the opportunity to hold her after sex, to brush his lips over her hair and kiss her before she drifted off to sleep, then this would all have been worth it.

  If not, he’d played himself in a way he doubted he’d ever get past.

  In the men’s room, Shawn faced his bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror. He’d taken a few extra minutes to clean himself up, hoping the added time would level off his skipping heart.

  Hadn’t worked.

  He must’ve looked a sight when he wandered in a short while ago: hair mussed, mask crooked, and ruby red lipstick smeared around his lips à la the Joker. Luckily, he’d ducked into the bathroom before coming upon anyone he recognized from the gala, but imagining his father’s chagrin had him smothering a wince.

  Not only did he relish the idea of making love to Rachel in an actual bed, without handcuffs or similar accoutrements, he figured it would go miles toward keeping the heretofore sterling Griffin and Cooper reputations intact.

  Although he had to admit he’d begun to find adventurous sex addictive. Maybe they could enjoy themselves in a few more memorable spots before they retired to the bedroom.

  Shaking his head, Shawn pushed open the restroom door and peered out like a guilty child before strolling, hands in pockets, back to the grand ballroom. He scanned the dancing couples for Chrissy, telling himself Rachel was fine and had probably already met up with Ryan again.

  Ryan. The guy she was buying condoms to have sex with, in between furtively doing him.

  “Not going there,” he muttered.

  He hastily fastened two gaping buttons over his midsection. He’d known the parameters of this little op before he’d jumped in with both feet -- and other vital parts of his anatomy -- so he could hardly claim to be surprised she was double dipping.

  Being hurt was another story. Someday, he’d tell her the special kind of hell he’d endured while he was surrounded by the wet, rippling glove of her body, knowing she’d intended to suit up Ryan’s commander that very night.

  Maybe she still would.

  As he passed the bar, he nearly ordered another martini, which, naturally, made him think of his favorite olive addict. But he couldn’t think about her anymore, not if he wanted to maintain his facade of disinterest for the rest of the night.

  So he kept going.

  Shawn came upon his date sitting at their table, staring glumly off into space while she twirled a teardrop pearl earring that didn’t match her slightly slutty costume. He dropped down across from her, his guilt increasin
g tenfold when she didn’t spare him a glance. “Chrissy, I’m sorry.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Hey, shit happens.”

  “I caused this particular shit.” He rubbed his forehead. “Uh, I should explain --”

  “Please don’t.” She held up a pale hand that looked delicate enough to shatter in a stiff wind. “Just tell me this. Did you get lucky?”

  Just as he was about to deny it -- he wasn’t a complete jerk -- he noticed her plaintive expression, almost as if she hoped he had. “Yes,” he ventured, praying he hadn’t read her wrong.

  “Good.” She gave a brisk bob of her head. “After that scene I saw at Fielding’s today, if you hadn’t, I would’ve lumped you into the same sorry category I’m in.”

  Again, he massaged his temples. “Which is what?”

  “You’re in love with the geisha chick. I’m not totally blind, Shawn, even if I tend to be in my own personal life.” She sucked down a swig of her lime-garnished blue drink. “She’s hanging with Tall, Dark, Sex Machine, and you’re left hugging the sidelines, waiting for her to notice he only wants one thing.”

  “Uh…”

  “I understand. Denial’s my favorite river too.” She hiccuped and clamped her fingers over mouth. “I should lay off the blue pussies. They’re killing me.”

  “Might be a good idea.” In case she wavered in her resolve, Shawn slid her mostly empty glass toward him and took an experimental sniff. “What’s in this?”

  “Turpentine, I think.” She giggled. “Anyhoo, how’d you get her away from Tight Pants?”

  If he hadn’t already disliked Ryan for his misdeeds in Rachel’s past, hearing a cute girl like Chrissy fawn over him might have tipped the scale. Deep down, Ryan might be a decent guy, but from the way his gaze had roved over every woman in the room the minute he’d left Rachel’s side, Shawn had his doubts.