One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “Well, go get her.” Lily went back to the table and ripped a piece of the white craft paper and scribbled on it. “That’s Bells’s address.”

  He leaned down and planted a kiss on Lily’s cheek. “Thanks.”

  “Be careful out there!”

  He waved back at her and rushed through the door only to slip his way into the railing. Taking a steadying breath, he threw out another scoop of rock salt from the fat planter Kendall hid the bucket in.

  He peeled down the driveway, fishtailing once before the chains on his tires gripped the icy road. The bend sparkled with fresh ice. Suddenly he spotted her green Outback inching up Heron Way.

  Not taking any chances, Shane yanked on his wheel and blocked off the road. He got out and went around, leaned on his truck door, his arms crossed.

  She held up her hand against the glare of the sun on snow and slowed to a stop. She opened her door. “Did you get into an accident? Or are you just insane?”

  “I was coming after you.”

  She skidded over to him, her chin raised; a ridiculous purple knit hat sat slightly crooked on her head. “Why? So you can actually tell me to my face that you want to sell the Heron? I would have appreciated knowing before the appraiser came and made me look like a jerk. I thought—”

  “I love you, Kendall.”

  “What?”

  With his plan shot to hell, all he could focus on was making sure she knew just how wrong she was. “I love you. I don’t want to sell the Heron.”

  “You…” Her huge brown eyes were filled with confusion. “How?”

  He opened the passenger side door and gathered the papers he’d thrown back into the truck. He slid over to her, pushing the loan documents at her. A few papers fell to the ground.

  She bent to retrieve one, but he pulled her back up. “I was going to surprise you tonight. Mr. Clark wasn’t supposed to be here until next week, and we were both going to talk to him. I don’t want to sell. I want to build.”

  She looked down at the stack of papers. Then back up at him, then again at the brochures. She quietly leafed through them. “You don’t want to sell.” She stopped, a fan of pamphlets clutched against her chest. “Wait. Did you say you loved me?”

  He took the pile and shoved it back in the truck. “I love you, Kendall. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you boosted yourself out of the window of my truck to look at the damn mountains.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides, then skidded into him full tilt, slamming him into the truck. The door clomped shut, and then it was her mouth on his chin, her mittened hands tugging at his coat until he lowered to find her mouth with his.

  He slid his hand into her hair, flipping off her hat until her curls twined around his fingers and wrist. Until she was in his arms and not going anywhere. Until he could breathe in her apple scent and he knew she was his.

  She slugged him in the gut. “You’ve loved me since California, and you’re only telling me now?”

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “I just figured it out two days ago.”

  “On the dock?”

  He cupped her cheek. “On the dock. I think we should get married on that dock.”

  “You want to get—”

  He silenced her with a kiss. When she melted into him, he finally let the last of his doubts go. Under the bright light of a winter sun, surrounded by ice and snow, he held on to his own bit of sunshine.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  “Mom, I don’t have time to go find the wreath. I’ve got to make three beds and still have to go to the store for you before Shane gets back.”

  “It’s Valentine’s Day, Kendall Marie. I want that lovebirds wreath up for the Wilsons. It’s their honeymoon.”

  “Fine.”

  “Don’t sass me.”

  Kendall swallowed a snarl. Her mother was making over the whole house into a frigging retreat for this couple. Why the hell should they care about a damn wreath?

  She stalked across the porch and down the stairs. Thanks to a few warm days, a lot of the snow had disappeared, leaving a muddy trail between the B and B and the barn.

  Stomping her feet at the threshold—heaven forbid she bring mud into Shane’s domain—she reached for the switch. Shane didn’t usually shut off the lights.

  In the middle of the workshop was a huge mahogany four-poster bed. It had to be Shane’s handiwork. The headboard was exquisite. Slatted in the simple Shaker style she loved, it was embellished with a simple carved notch under the flowing lines. The footboard matched it with a more detailed design on the front panel that looked vaguely familiar.

  She slid her hand along one of the four posts built into heavy bases giving the bed a grounded look. It was solid and masculine with the most subtle of feminine curves.

  It was pure Shane design.

  The king-size mattress was a lake of pale gold. She smoothed her hands over the expensive sateen sheets pulled back in invitation. A red-and-gold brocade duvet was folded down at the foot of the bed.

  He must have been taking pictures for his Web site.

  “Like it?”

  She turned at Shane’s voice. He came up beside her, swiping his hand down her braid. “It’s gorgeous. I never saw you working on this one. When did you finish it up?”

  “Last night.”

  “I don’t think it will be on your Web site long. It’s too gorgeous not to get snapped up.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  She frowned. “Was it a commissioned piece?” Everything inside her wanted to slide into it and drag him in with her.

  “Nope. I thought we should have something nice for the new house.”

  “For the…”

  “I know we’ve had some setbacks in getting the plans for our house settled, but I think you might want to look a little closer at the pillows.”

  “The pillows?” She turned back to the bed and noticed there was a tube along the pillows. She’d thought it was a bolster, a decorative pillow. She rounded the bed and took the tube. “No.”

  He smiled, leaning his hip on the bed. “Open it up.”

  Kendall pried the lid off the end of the tube. Her heart stopped. A roll of paper inside with a perfectly amazing blue tint stared back at her. She shook it out on the bed and unrolled it. “We’re good to go?”

  “Finally got the loan to finalize yesterday. Kain overnighted the plans—” He grunted as she vaulted into his arms.

  “We get to start on the house?”

  He laughed. “We get to start on the house.”

  “Holy crap.” She wrapped her arms and legs around him. “This is the best Valentine’s Day present ever!”

  “And first anniversary present. I think it’s paper, right? For the gift?”

  Tears pricked as she buried her head in his neck. She peppered his neck with kisses, then his jawline and pushed back the hair he’d let grow out. “God, I love you.”

  “I love you too, Kendall Justice. I’d hoped to have you in the new house by our first anniversary, but at least I could do this.”

  “Our anniversary isn’t until the twenty-eighth.”

  He snorted. “Kain’s crew is good, but they’re not that good.”

  She shook her head. “I mean as an anniversary gift.”

  “Oh, well, that’s the blueprints. I couldn’t wait. Besides, it’s only your first gift. The bed is for Valentine’s Day.”

  “I wholeheartedly approve.” She kissed him softly, drawing out the humming passion that was never far away. “So how are you supposed to top the bed next year?”

  He scraped his teeth down her throat and tumbled her onto the sheets. “I’ll think of something.”

  Let Your Voice Be Heard

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  Also By Taryn

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  Double Dare (KindleWorlds w. Carly Phillips)

  Virgin Territory

  Network analyst by day, erotic romance writer by night Vincent Buonfiglio is dealing with a work-in-progress that has gone colder than winter in his hometown of Ridgley, North Dakota. So what does a man who needs to write hot do to get cranking?

  Search out a woman for a night of no-strings sex, of course.

  But his choice of partner, Katherine "Kiki" Wyatt, manager of the Quikky Snak Gas & Lube, isn't biting. Flirting over his nightly chili dog is one thing. But a date? Sex? Not happening. Vincent reminds Kiki way too much of her cheating ex-fiancé, and she's learned her lesson—dangerously sexy geeks with lots to offer outside the bedroom are off-limits. Until they're held up at the gas station, and Vincent gets shot protecting her. Then all bets are off.

  With a painful shoulder injury and four weeks to get his book written, he turns to Kiki. She agrees to help him with his novel, but she doesn’t expect to end up naked in the reformed womanizer’s arms—or that helping Vincent write the spiciest book of the year will allow her to pen her own happy ending.

  EBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  VIRGIN TERRITORY

  © 2012 Cari Quinn

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Second e-book edition: March 2016

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  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  “I said I’m not interested.”

  “You will be. Rod’s a kind, gentle man.”

  Kiki Wyatt rolled her eyes and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. Kind and gentle? What she needed was rough and tumble, preferably one who would roughly tumble her onto a bed. That she could handle. “Kind and gentle and does what for a living? Let me guess. He’s a lawyer in your firm. No? Tax accountant? Rocket scientist?”

  Her father expelled a breath. “Rod is a neurosurgeon, but his career doesn’t define him.”

  She slammed the cash register drawer closed. Two hours until the Quikky Snak Gas and Lube’s closing time, and already her patience had frayed as thin as the pile of singles in her wallet. “I’ll pass, Dad.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  Yeah, right. Her father’s last attempt at matchmaking had ended with Kiki’s fiancé declaring, in front of a packed church, that he was in love with another woman.

  Not a good track record, Dad.

  “Just one date, Katherine. That’s all I ask.”

  She caught herself grinding her teeth and made an effort to relax her jaw. “Can’t you just call me Kiki like everyone else?”

  “Your given name is Katherine. And Rod’s willing to—”

  “Willing to what?” As much as she loved her father, she’d had enough of him telling her what to do. And whom to do it with. For God’s sake, she was almost twenty-eight. “Date your lovelorn gas-station-manager daughter?” Her voice dropped at the jingling bells that signaled the door opening, but from her customer’s knowing grin, it was too late.

  Customer. As if she could label Vincent Buonfiglio that easily.

  Her heart sank somewhere between the patched hole in the knee of her puke-green uniform pants and her battered red Keds. Just what she needed.

  Hello, Vincent. I know I flirt with you every night—okay, attempt to flirt—but please don’t let my last statement bother you. Truth is, I’m a sexually active, totally confident chick.

  Yuh-huh.

  Vincent headed toward the personal care section of the store, still grinning. Kiki whirled around and pressed her back against the counter. Good God, she could barely grip the receiver. She’d broken out in panic sweat.

  “Katherine? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  This was all her father’s fault. Not that anything was going on between her and Vincent, or that she even wanted anything to go on. No way. She knew better than that.

  Her best friend, Lynsay Paulsen, worked with Vincent at Comtek Associates, a computer networking firm, and had given her the scoop on exactly what kind of man he was. Sure, he was smart, and funny, and managed to make wireframe glasses sexy. But he’d also slept his way through a good portion of his colleagues and didn’t hang around long enough to help mop up their tears.

  Or pick up their panties. Whichever.

  She’d learned her lesson about falling for a player. No matter how much she enjoyed their nightly chats while he picked up his dinner of chili dogs and cheese fries. No matter that his mind was as intriguing as his body. And especially no matter if her pulse bumped into the danger zone every time Vincent’s dark eyes roamed over her as if she weren’t wearing the ugliest uniform in all of North Dakota.

  Nope. After her ex-fiancé, Kiki Wyatt could no longer be swayed by the promise of sexual stimulation of the highest order by a sexy geek who had a hell of a lot to offer outside the bedroom.

  She’d matured.

  “Katherine, Rod’s not like Nico. I promise you.”

  Her father’s voice intruded into her sidelong perusal of Vincent’s activities in the corner of the store. He stood about a foot taller than her five feet, and she could see the messy tuft of his black hair above the aisle dividers. He must’ve been running his hands through it again. She’d learned to gauge his stress level by the condition of his hair. Straight, easy day. Unkempt, rough.

  But it was just past nine, so he’d left work early by his standards. Maybe he was having another sort of trouble. Women? Wouldn’t it just figure. Here she was, fending off her father’s well-meaning attempts to get her married, and her crush had a case of the jitters over some hot ticket he wanted to bed.

  Or worse, already had bedded.

  Kiki frowned hard enough to multiply the three wrinkles she’d noticed yesterday under her eyes. Damn Vincent. Couldn’t he keep his rocket in his pocket for one night?

  “Katherine, your silence tells me you’re mulling this over. You need to be proactive, honey. To take charge of your destiny. It’s been three years since Nico, and meeting Rod may just be the first step—”

  “To what?” She kicked the mop beside her to try to keep hold of her temper, but it was no use. Her father had hit upon three of her trigger words in one sentence. Nico, proactive, and destiny. “And so what if it’s been three years since I’ve had a date? I’ve had plenty of sex, believe me, and plenty of men are interested. I’m the one who’s not interested. Got it?”

  She ran out of steam just as her brain clicked in to what she’d yelled at her stern, upstanding lawyer father. I’ve had plenty of sex? Nice. Just what any daughter should brag about to her daddy.

  If that weren’t bad enough, she glanced up to see her own personal Waterloo standing in front of the counter, holding his dinner, an armful of votive candles, and a box of condoms.

  Industrial-sized. Ribbed for her pleasure.

  Heat raced up her neck. “Gotta go, Dad. Talk so
on!”

  She pressed the disconnect button on the phone and flashed Vincent what she hoped was a cool smile. Hard to do when her face was incinerating, but she hadn’t studied acting for nothing. “Cash or charge?”

  God, Kiki was cute when she blushed.

  Vincent didn’t know how many more times he could use the buying condoms trick to knock her out of her comfort zone, but it had worked twice before. True, buying condoms might not be the proper way to woo a woman, but Kiki Wyatt wasn’t a normal woman. Nor did he have unlimited amounts of time to woo.

  Besides, it was freezing outside. November in Ridgley wasn’t known for being balmy, but this one had been particularly brutal. All the more reason he wouldn’t mind having someone to snuggle up with.

  And that sounded like a line from one of his romance novels.

  Bottom line? Lame reasons aside, he needed sex. Fast.

  His drought had lasted seven months. Under ordinary circumstances, that would be okay. But when he had an erotic book to write in less than a month and his muse had fled to parts unknown, it was time to come out with guns blazing.

  Operative word being come.

  Hell, using sex to spark his writing had always worked before. Who was he to mess with a winning formula? Maybe his subtle attempts to get Kiki to go out with him hadn’t worked thus far, but he’d decided to lay it all on the counter, so to speak. And if things went as planned, their romp in the sack would lead to his cranking out a novel of hot holiday goodness.

  Vincent winced at the carol that pumped through the store speakers. It figured his career revival hinged on Christmas, even if his current preoccupation at the moment was next Christmas and what he needed to do to ensure the joyous season would lead to lots of green. Who needed snow when a contract was on the line?