One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “You’re an angel. I’ll swing by to get you soon. See ya!”

  After she hung up the phone, Kiki stood at the kitchen sink, contemplating her sad little living room over the long counter that separated the two areas. The whole place appeared barren and tired. She’d been planning on upgrading the hand-me-down brown sofa and chairs since she moved in, but it still hadn’t happened.

  She’d spent the last three years in a holding pattern, though she’d gotten over Nico quite a while ago. What she hadn’t gotten over was the way she’d given over so much of her control to him, just as she’d once allowed her well-meaning parents to guide her life.

  More than anything else, the possibility of losing control again was what scared her about falling in love. Well, that and the possibility that she was doomed to repeatedly pick the wrong guys. Why did she insist on always going for the impossible?

  Regardless of what did or didn’t happen with her love life, she needed to make her own choices. To be her own woman. That was probably why she’d spent the last few years in dead-end jobs. She’d hadn’t known which step to take next, so she’d bypassed the safe and predictable path to job security and done whatever she pleased.

  Well, times were changing. Now, she was all about making herself happy, come hell, eviction or indigestion. And dammit, she wanted Christmas lights.

  A short trip into the attic netted her two lengths of them. She also unearthed three colorful strands of matted garland, and four animated musical figurines she’d bought during her two Christmases with Nico.

  “Three Christmases,” she said aloud, blowing the dust off her drum-banging Santa.

  That was how many she’d ignored in her extended funk. She hadn’t bothered decorating the last few years because she’d been anti-everything. No more. This year, she would get everything she ever wanted. Fa la-frigging-la la.

  Wearing a grim smile, Kiki hauled out every decoration she could find. She draped garland around the windows and covered every available surface with singing snowmen and dancing elves. After adding the finishing touch, a spritz of evergreen air freshener, she faced her living room.

  Maybe she couldn’t afford a tree. Maybe she didn’t have—she grinned, remembering the title of one of Vincent’s books—a hot man in her stocking. But her house looked and smelled like Christmas, and she’d found hope again, one icicle at a time.

  Life was too short. Probably down the line she would regret sleeping with Vincent, but she intended to have a lot to regret first.

  Starting tonight.

  Chapter Eight

  Vincent was trying to hold on to hope. But in his case, he hoped his ex would stop crying in his arms.

  This was all Kiki’s fault. If she hadn’t left him a voicemail saying she’d be late because she had to help Lynsay, he wouldn’t be stuck making nicey-nice with Stacie, his former girlfriend and Comtek colleague. But it was nearing ten, and thankfully, his nightly guest was due any minute. So the ex had to go.

  “We were supposed to attend Comtek’s Christmas ball together.” Stacie whisked her thumbs over her damp cheeks. “I specially ordered my dress. Vincent, I just can’t go by myself!”

  He studied her. Despite the tears, her eye makeup had yet to smear. Either she applied the stuff with a trowel, or the sobfest was more looks than substance.

  Knowing her, he’d pick door number two.

  Stacie’s breezy manner and sexed-up wardrobe hid a calculating mind. Hadn’t he learned that the hard way when she’d started tossing around the word “marriage”—casually, of course—after only a few weeks of sexcapades?

  She hadn’t really wanted to marry him. The similarly-minded women before her hadn’t, either. But they wanted that gold band on their finger, and he was as good a candidate as any.

  Maybe he might have been willing to settle for that if he hadn’t witnessed the deep love between his grandparents. Lord knows there were nights he would’ve liked to have someone to come home to other than his mutt and his empty apartment. But now that he knew what real love felt like—

  Vincent jerked up in his seat, jolting his shoulder. Of course, he didn’t know what love felt like. But he’d seen it. That was what he’d meant.

  Man, he needed to start getting more sleep.

  “Did you hear me, Vincent? I can’t go alone.”

  “Why not?” He glanced surreptitiously, around Stacie’s nest of blonde curls, at his watch. Weird. Hadn’t it been 9:45 ten minutes ago? “I am. Hey, what time is it?”

  “But you’re a guy. No one will think anything of it. But, oh!”

  “What?” He was starting to get a headache, keeping one eye on Stacie’s suddenly perky smile and the other on the door.

  “We should go together.” She slid her hand up his leg, supposedly to grab the pink tissue that had slipped into his lap. But her fingers fumbled, drifting higher. Way too high.

  “Hold it.” Vincent snatched her wrist a millimeter short of glory and deposited it into her lap. “Not a good idea, Stace.”

  “Why not? Friends help each other out.” She scraped a long red talon up his left arm, setting off a nice chain-reaction in muscles that had spent too much time recently bunched in pain. “In lots of different ways. You must be hurting, sweetiepie.”

  He brushed Stacie’s hand aside. “I am hurting, but not in the way you’re implying.” Probably best he left that unexplained. “You know it’s over between us. It’s been over long enough you’re sitting here crying over some other guy. And I’m—”

  Damn, he couldn’t even talk in complete sentences anymore. All thoughts of Kiki had stilted his speech and corrupted his sense. Why else would he be so concerned about her whereabouts when she was barely late? She didn’t have to check in with him. Hell, maybe she was seeing someone else, too. He didn’t have any hold on her personally. Professionally, she was his for a short time longer, but that didn’t mean they had an exclusive sexual arrangement.

  Except in his head, they sure did. Because she was his. And he didn’t fucking care if that was irrational, since no one else knew his opinion on the subject and in the dusky shadows of his own twisted brain he could be as nonsensical as he wanted.

  “Vincent?” His ex peered up at him, clearly bewildered. “You’re what?”

  As if on cue, he heard commotion in the hall. Brent’s voice and Lynsay’s, if he weren’t mistaken, along with Kiki’s sultry laughter. His gut tightened. No mistaking that. He glanced at his watch, saw the arms hadn’t moved. “What time is it? My watch is dead.”

  “Past eleven.”

  “Eleven? She’s late.” At the sound of Brent’s laughter, he bolted to his feet. “I have things to take care of.” And my woman to yell at, he added silently, already heading toward the door.

  “Wait.” More tears spilled over Stacie’s cheeks. “Please. Whatever’s going on with you, just take me to the ball. I can’t walk in alone. Jag won’t be. I know it.”

  What the hell was going on in the hall? From the whoops of laughter, it sounded like a drunken orgy. “Stacie, I told you I’m not interested in starting anything up again. I’ve got something else…going on.”

  “I understand.” She waved that off as if she just hadn’t had her hand in his crotch. “Just the ball then. Nothing more.”

  Shit, it was only a couple hours. Besides, Stacie Jameson was like a bull terrier. If he didn’t say yes now, she’d yammer his ear off until he acquiesced. “Fine. If you don’t mind, I’m expecting a guest.”

  Stacie didn’t move. If anything, she snuggled farther into the cushions.

  Typical.

  Vincent crossed the room and unlocked the door, telling himself to be reasonable. Not to jump to conclusions or to let the jealousy-induced acid churning in his stomach cause him to act like an ass. Most likely, he’d regret it later.

  But when he set his eyes upon the scene in the front hall, he decided he’d take his chances.

  Kiki—his Kiki—and Brent were engaged in some kind of shimmy and swa
y that shouldn’t be performed outside a bedroom. His huge, muscular frame dwarfed hers as they moved together, and his meaty hands cupped her hips. Worst of all, she was grinning up at him, her pink cheeks glowing.

  “Hello.” Vincent kept his voice down, but he didn’t bother hiding the ice in his tone. Actually, he was rather impressed with his restraint. “Sorry to intrude on the party.”

  “Oh. Hey.” Kiki gripped Brent’s hand, spinning out and back into his arms with a fluid grace Vincent couldn’t help admiring. No wonder she had a dancer’s build. She was a natural.

  But she should have been dancing with him. Not that he danced. But still.

  “We lost track of time. Sorry. Cielo’s was slamming tonight.”

  That Kiki sounded breathless irritated him even more. He’d heard her sound that way before, when he was inside her.

  Too bad he couldn’t mark off that particular area of her body and declare it his. Plant his flag there, set up residence and build a damn fence to keep any other interested men—he glanced at Lynsay—or women away. He knew Lynsay and Kiki weren’t about that. Didn’t matter. His territorialism knew no bounds tonight.

  “Oh, no problem. It’s not like we have anything important to do.” Vincent gave Lynsay a thin smile, since she was the only one who appeared to be paying any attention to him. “Hope you had tons of fun.”

  “We did, thanks.” Lynsay arched a golden brow. “How about you, boss? Hi, Stacie.”

  The dancing stopped. Not that he witnessed that firsthand because he’d turned to glare at his innocently blinking ex, who now lounged against his doorjamb. But the click of Kiki’s heels on the hardwood floor ceased.

  “I’m sorry.” Stacie coughed delicately. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Yes,” Vincent began.

  “No.” Kiki marched over to Stacie with a swagger Vincent had never seen on her before. Just as he’d never seen her dressed so femininely, smoking-hot lingerie aside. But tonight she wore skintight black pants and a matching tank top that left her freckle-kissed shoulders bare, along with purple suede boots. Apparently, she considered a coat optional, since she was so hot.

  He slouched forward at the telltale tightness in his khakis. His cock obviously agreed.

  “I’m Kiki Wyatt,” she said to Stacie, extending a hand. “And you are?”

  “Stacie Jameson. Vincent and I used to date. You’re not…Vincent, she’s not the clerk who got you shot, is she?”

  “Yes, indeed. Bad habit of mine,” Kiki answered with a flirty grin. “Men’s triggers tend to go off around me.”

  Vincent laughed, but the frosty glance Kiki directed at him proved she wasn’t as happy with the situation as first appeared. Good. At least he wasn’t the only annoyed one.

  After a few choice remarks about “doing this again soon,” Brent led Lynsay toward his apartment. Vincent didn’t say a word when Brent stopped to pinch Kiki’s hip dangerously close to her butt, and Kiki said nothing when Stacie offered Vincent a murmured thanks and an air kiss on her way out the door.

  Once they were alone, Kiki cocked her head. She’d vamped up her eye makeup, and sweeps of sparkly purple decorated each lid. “Thanking you for services rendered, perhaps?”

  There were so many ways he could have answered her snarky question. But sometimes, direct worked best. Leaning forward, he hooked a finger in the waistband of her pants and tugged. She stepped forward without hesitation and met his mouth hungrily.

  Well, hello.

  Her lips parted on a muffled sigh, and heat swam into him as he fisted his hand in the silky fabric clinging to her back. Her shirt felt slightly damp—not surprising, since her dance performance seemed like one hell of a workout. But he’d never guessed a woman’s sweat could be so sexy.

  She wound her hands into his hair, arching against him so that her thighs pressed against his. With the added height from her heels, everything lined up perfectly. Center to center, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

  His lungs ached with the need to breathe, but he didn’t draw back. If he hadn’t heard Brent’s door opening above them, he wouldn’t have stopped at all.

  “Too quiet down there. Ah, okay, see why now.” Brent chuckled. “Just ignore me.”

  He already was. But he couldn’t dive in for round two because Kiki had retreated to catch her breath.

  Vincent rubbed his neck. What was up with him? Why did the very sight of her turn him into a possessive, horny jerk?

  Best not to wonder. Because wondering inevitably led to “exploring your feelings,” and then where would he be?

  Better to stick to safer territory. Like licking her from the tip of her chin down to the valley of her breasts to her soft belly and the mound of silky curls that hid so little and teased with the promise of so much more.

  “Been into the candy canes again?” He rolled his tongue over his lower lip to get more of her taste. Peppermint had never been so appealing before.

  “No.” She pulled up the sagging straps of her tank top. “Had a couple drinks at Cielo’s. Peppermint Schnapps.”

  “Drinking, dancing. How come I never had a friend help me out like that before?”

  “Maybe you need new friends.” Her mouth curled into an expression somewhere between a smirk and a smile. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I didn’t have my car, so I was stuck. I called, but your phone was off. Now I understand why.”

  The irritation that flared in her eyes ignited his own, but he struggled not to let it show. So much for telling her about taking Stacie to the Comtek ball. She’d never understand, no matter how much he explained. “I turned off my phone when I stopped by my rental property and forgot to turn it back on. Stacie was waiting for me here. I didn’t invite her over.”

  And why was he explaining, when he’d done nothing wrong? Kiki wasn’t his girlfriend. They were just passing time together while they worked on his book. Hell, she hadn’t asked his permission to hang out at a bar with Brent, had she? Which was probably completely different, but right now he didn’t care. Proving she belonged with him—at least in his own head and at least for the moment—trumped all else.

  But instead of questioning him further, Kiki whipped her head toward the window. “Oooh, it’s snowing. And it looks so pretty on the Christmas lights! Let’s go outside.”

  “What Christmas lights?” But she was already yanking him toward the door, her cool fingers clasping his.

  “Those.” She pointed as they emerged on the porch, but it was a tad unnecessary. Vincent doubted anyone could miss the multitude of multi-colored chaser bulbs adorning the railings. They weren’t spaced correctly, so some places had several bulbs, and other spots had none.

  Nothing he loved more than shoddy work.

  “Those weren’t there an hour ago.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock.” Her silver bracelets jangled as she shifted to grin at him. “Brent had a bag of them in his car, so I suggested we put them up. He said you’d be pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed.” Not exactly.

  Silly to be pissed about Christmas lights, or to be annoyed that it was snowing again, which meant he’d have to shovel his Wrangler out in the morning. His shoulder throbbed at the idea of the task.

  “You’re pouting. How cute.” Kiki leaned up to flick her fingers over his jaw. His pulse jumped at her touch, which ticked him off to no end. “How come you don’t like Christmas, Scrooge?”

  He tugged on a hank of her wispy bangs. “How come you didn’t ask me to come tonight?”

  “Nice evasion. I know you hate the bar scene. And I didn’t know if you’d want to, you know, advertise that we’re, uh, sleeping. Together.”

  Her stuttering helped buff away the worst of his anger. All right, so he wasn’t angry she’d ditched him to go party with her friends. He was jealous. It helped to know Kiki was as vexed by this situation as he was. “You’ve told Lynsay.”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  “And now Brent knows, after what he saw a couple minutes ago.�
� He slid his right arm around her waist, though she wasn’t looking at him. She appeared fixated on those damn lights. “I know the real reason. You’re embarrassed to be seen dancing with me.”

  That got her attention. “You know how to dance?”

  “No. That’s why you’d be embarrassed.”

  Her eyes softened. How he saw that in the dim red, blue, and green glow from the bulbs, he didn’t know. “How bad can you be? Some of your moves are pretty good.”

  He laughed, hugging her closer. This wasn’t the night to be standing around outside in shirtsleeves. Or in her case, with bare arms. “You’re freezing.”

  “So warm me up. You know how.”

  He started leading her toward the door, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Uh uh. Right here.”

  “On my front porch? With Brent, Lynsay, and my grandmother right upstairs?”

  “Not that way, silly.” Her laughter burrowed its way inside him, warming him from the inside out. Snow? Cold? Who could feel either one? “Let’s dance. Right here.”

  His mouth dropped open, just a little. He wasn’t a complete wuss. “But there’s no music.”

  Kiki smiled as the night breeze stirred his grandmother’s glittery snowflake wind chimes. “Yes, there is. The chimes are perfect.”

  “If you say so.”

  She guided him closer to the railing. Snowflakes fluttered over them, trapping them in their own little snowglobe. “Okay, now set your feet like mine, and stay limber.”

  “Limber, right.” Were his palms sweating? God, he hoped not. “Now what?”

  “Follow my lead.” She faced him, gripping his hands loosely. “Watch.”

  Watch. Okay. He could do that. But he got so wrapped up in studying the supple flow of her body that he forgot to copy her movements, until her spurt of laughter reminded him.

  “Gotta move to dance.”

  He took a couple tentative steps. This was a lot harder than she made it look.

  She cleared her throat, barely suppressing a laugh. “Suppose that’s a start.”