One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “Get out of here?” he finished and nodded.

  She reached back for his hand and ducked under arms and darted through holes like a pro until she reached the huge red door. They burst through with a handful of other concertgoers and laughed as the cool night air blasted them.

  “It’s not much,” he said and untied his shirt, dropping it over her shuddering shoulders. “Sorry if it smells like beer.”

  She slid her arms into the holes and laughed as the cuffs fell long past her hands. “No, I appreciate it.”

  She was quiet, looking anywhere but at him.

  “Do you want to go somewhere and get something to eat?”

  She looked down at her toes, which brought his eyes back down to the wicked-heeled boots that hugged her calves and made little muscles tighten and loosen in her thighs as she swayed from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Nate.”

  “Didn’t you have a good time?” He hoped she did, after the initial slow start. He could feel the awareness arcing between them. She could ignore it if she really wanted to, but when there was a connection like this, why would anyone want to stop it?

  “No— I mean, yes, I had a great time.” She looked up at him, then quickly away. “Maybe too good.”

  “Is there such a thing?” He frowned down at her. Man, he just didn’t get her.

  “Oh yeah, there is,” she mumbled. “Look, Nate, I’m sure you’re a great guy, and if I was a—”

  “If you were what? Not married? Not engaged? Not taken? What, Miranda? If you were what?” He dug one of the water bottles out of his pocket and took a deep swallow, hoping to calm the urgency that pinged around in his system. He wouldn’t force himself on her, even though he knew that all it would take was a kiss to make her own up to the chemistry charging the air between them.

  He wasn’t that guy. God, he wished he was though. He wanted to know what she tasted like; each time he got close enough she shut down. The lone freckle that teased the corner of her mouth drew him a step closer. He wanted to start there and move over to those full lips of hers. The sheen of gloss was long gone, leaving them a pale pink. Would they be cool or warm?

  “If I was a normal woman who could date. I run my own business, Nate. I don’t have nights to myself. That distracted woman who answers the door when you make your deliveries? That’s my life, fourteen-plus hours a day.”

  He didn’t know if it was frustration or denial, or even downright disinterest. How was he supposed to tell when she wouldn’t look him in the eye? Something told him it was denial. The way she touched him when she was in the moment certainly couldn’t be called disinterest.

  “Look, I’m not going to beg. There’s something between us.” He waved his finger between them when she finally lifted her eyes to meet his. “I want to spend time with you, see if it’s anything other than just crazy chemistry.” He stepped closer to her. “You gotta feel it, Miranda.”

  She closed her eyes, sucking that lower lip in to do the nibble thing that was quickly driving him crazy. “I’ve done the physical thing.” She opened those pretty eyes that looked so different without her glasses. “I don’t want that and I can’t devote time to anything else.”

  “So, just nothing.” He frowned at her. “It’s all in or nothing? Haven’t you heard of this little thing called dating? You know, where you figure out if there’s something more?”

  She sighed, folding her arms over her chest, the cuffs hiding her hands. “I barely have a day and a half to myself in a full week.”

  “Then give me part of one of those days. Don’t just ignore it. What if it’s awesome?” He cupped her face, his belly tightening as she instinctively pressed her cheek into his palm. It was right there, he could feel it riding the surface. “I know about crazy schedules. Just one more day.”

  “I-I’ll think about it,” she said, stepping back. “Just let me think about it.” A rare smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “You know where to find me.”

  “At least let me walk you to your car. It’s late.”

  She pointed around the corner. “My car’s right over there. It’s not necessary.” She shrugged his shirt off.

  “Nah, keep it. It’s too chilly not to have it.”

  “But you’ll get cold.”

  He smiled down at her. “I’ve got Tin Can Annie to warm me up.”

  Instantly her brows knitted together. “What?”

  He laughed. “My ’87 Ford pickup. I inherited the name and the truck from my Pops.” He gestured across the street. “At least let me watch you get to your car safely.”

  Sighing, she nodded and crossed the street, their strides in sync as they walked. He stopped at the corner as she kept walking. She turned around, walking backward with her heels clicking in the alleyway. “Have a good weekend, Nathan Cross.”

  Well, at least she got his name right this time.

  Miranda pushed her fingers through her hair. Email after email contact told her they were moving their business to Declan Thorne Studios. Even long-standing clients like Daniel McKay were abandoning her.

  No matter how many emails she opened, there was another one waiting for her. The insistent buzz of her doorbell jerked her out of her trance. She swung the door open. She had a client meeting in a few minutes. It had to be—her breath stalled as Nate’s broad shoulders filled the doorway.

  She looked down at her watch. It was too early for Nathan. He never came in the morning. She wasn’t ready for him. She hadn’t had time to figure out a way to answer the door and not act like a jerk.

  “Remember me?”

  His navy polo shirt hugged his rock-hard shoulders, open at the collar so a little notch of skin showed. It was just above her line of view—teasing her to check a little lower. Was he completely smooth under the boring blue? When had a polo shirt become that delicious? And why hadn’t she noticed his bulging biceps before the bar?

  She saw a flash of white at the lowest button. Was he wearing one of those white tanks again? Like he had at The Gryphon? She had the strongest urge to tug on the darker shirt until she could see for herself. There was something about the way the cotton hugged him to perfection. God, she wanted to see that again. To touch him again.

  She licked her lips as he lifted a box for her to sign for. The weight of it was enough to make those already impressive muscles shift and tighten under his smooth skin. He crouched to set the package inside her door. He looked up at her. “Miranda, tell me you remember me,” he said. Her mouth went dry as his hair fell forward, shagging around his eyes and cheekbones.

  Her fingers traced the line of his jaw as he kicked the box and pushed her through the door, closing it with his foot as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She gripped the front of his shirt, his warmth radiating through the cotton. “Yes, of course I remember you.” The voice didn’t belong to her. Not the her she’d become.

  He lowered his head until there was nothing but Nate infusing her space. “I just needed to make sure before I kiss you.”

  The chime from her computer distracted her, kicking her heart into a gallop. Another email? She looked up to see his lopsided grin, that little twist to the eyetooth making his smile even more charming. Another bell chime had her turning toward her office.

  Nate, so solid and hard under her hands, but her company falling apart behind her.

  “Miranda,” he breathed against her neck, “tell me you know who I am.”

  “I do. You’re Nathan.” Her voice lowered, the sexually charged tone created to arouse, to make a man wild. “Nate.”

  He swiped his hand up the curve of her spine until his fingers tangled in her hair. He angled her mouth until she was on her tiptoes and his fresh-cut-oranges scent swarmed her.

  The chimes bled into the moment and she hesitated.

  Her company…

  The chirping bell kept getting louder until she had to let him go and cover her ears.

  “What do you want, MJ?”

  No. He did
n’t know that name. No one knew that name anymore.

  He stepped closer, his boots bumping the tips of her toes. His lips brushed her ear. “You feel so good, MJ.” Her body hummed, and still the bell rang. “No!”

  Miranda arched off her bed, wrestling with the sheets that tangled around her. She heard the crunch of papers and caught her laptop before it crashed to the floor. She pushed sweaty hair out of her face and slapped a hand to her roaring heart.

  Not MJ.

  Miranda.

  Just Miranda.

  Hot, it was so hot.

  She swung her legs off the bed and leaned forward, sucking in a deep breath. The cool night air fluttered the sheer curtains in her reading nook, bathing her face in much-needed reality.

  The darkness seemed to echo Nate’s voice, bringing her past careening into her bedroom. “No.” She shuddered. She clutched at the strangling t-shirt neckline of her PJs, her nipple straining against the flimsy cotton, practically burning her forearm.

  She shoved her sheets and blankets aside, stumbling into her bathroom to twist on the taps until cold water splashed over her wrists. Drawing handfuls of water to her mouth, she drank deeply, rinsing the dream away with the chilly water to her eyes, cheeks and neck.

  She stared at her shadowy reflection, water dripping down her chin. She couldn’t take much more of these stupid, erotic dreams of him. Days…no, scratch that, nights of him visiting her dreams, each one just a little more intense than the last. And oddly he was always in his uniform.

  The one thing that always made him so forgettable before.

  But his rumbly baritone saying MJ was equal parts horror and turn-on. That part of her wanted to come out, she could feel it under her skin like a rash. MJ was her past. She didn’t have to be that girl anymore. The thought of Nate’s curling espresso-colored hair under her fingers made her want to climb on and find out just how much stamina he had.

  Like pistons in a Mustang GT, or even better, a bull ready to buck.

  She drowned out MJ’s voice with another splash of cold water. She’d hooked up with a race car driver and a bull rider, as well as a host of other men in another lifetime. Seeking one thrill after another until even the sex hadn’t been enough. It led to parties and more sex and then came the drugs. Anything to feel something.

  Anything to drown out the numbness.

  Palming her breast, she moaned as the sensitive tip brushed against the comfortable cotton. She was going to go mad if she didn’t quit with the dreams. And now, adding MJ into the mix. She cursed and dropped her hand.

  She stepped into a pair of yoga pants and exchanged her nightshirt for a tank top. Even pulling cotton over her skin made her nipples throb until she wanted to cup them and make the ache go away. But another solo orgasm was not going to kill this buzz. She’d been there and done that in the shower that morning and before bed that night. The quick pop of release usually set her straight when she was feeling the itch, but not now. It just left her feeling even more restless.

  It was Nate’s fault. End of story.

  They’d teased around the idea of a kiss for most of the night at The Gryphon, not to mention the club incident a few days prior to that. She was still wound up with just the idea of his body brushing against hers, but she’d denied herself a taste of him. The familiar buzz of lust and recklessness scared her. Was that why her subconscious wouldn’t turn it off?

  “Stop pouting, Max.”

  “I’m not pouting, only children pout,” Max growled at Ryleigh.

  Miranda tabbed through a few screens. She’d been tweaking a website for a new client since three that morning. Sleep had been a nonexistent commodity that weekend. Three nights of wrestling with her sheets had left her achy in mind and body. Even a day at the pier with Stella hadn’t settled her down. Hell, she was so waterlogged from dumping herself in the shower she was about to grow a tail. Her skin felt too tight and her brain had to be made of taffy.

  She loaded the page she’d been working on for the whole day and snarled. It looked like a two-year-old’s scrawl on a chalkboard instead of the charming teacher forum she’d envisioned.

  Disgusted with herself, she jammed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and brought up her Rated by Randy email. She’d been neglecting her blog, using up her pre-written articles instead of taking the time to write new ones. She had twenty comments waiting for approval in her email and only a few of them were spam. It wasn’t like she had enough to do or anything, but this was her little pet project.

  Feeling a set of eyes over her shoulder, she toggled her windows. There were too many prying eyes to do any work on her blog.

  “Max, go make some calls or,” she turned to him with eyes wide, “work.” She turned back to her screen. “Stop hovering.”

  Max passed his magnifying loupe from hand to hand. “Why won’t you tell me about your date with Nate the Knockout?”

  “Because there isn’t going to be a second date, so what does it matter?”

  He sat on the corner of her desk. “There has to be a reason why there’s not going to be another. Did he have bad breath?” He frowned. “I sat right in front of him, minty fresh.” He gripped her shoulders, turning her toward him. “Sucky kisser?”

  She sighed, resolving herself to the idea that he just wasn’t going to let it go. Max had been quizzing her all damn day. “He’s a really nice guy, but we just have nothing in common.”

  “Who cares? He’s delicious, sweet and built like a swimmer on steroids, woman!” Max leaned in and stared into her eyes. She stared back. Suddenly he smiled. “Oh, he got to you.” He hopped off her desk. “You don’t want to go out with him again because little—well, not so little actually—Mr. FedEx made your hormones dance the cha-cha.”

  “Max.”

  “No, it’s all right. Just because you’ve got a man interested in you that puts half the men in North Beach to shame, that’s fine.” He turned to Ryleigh with a wide and knowing grin. “The man has shoulders that make gay men weep for the other side, mind you.”

  Ryleigh propped her chin on her hand and sighed dramatically, as she was supposed to. His attention back on Miranda, Max gave her a pained look. “Honestly, Miranda. What’s holding you back? And if you answer me with a snide comment I’m going to make you swallow this loupe.”

  She sighed. “It’s not all about looks, Max.”

  “No, but it’s a damn fine place to start.”

  “I agree,” Ryleigh called out, rounding her desk. “If you don’t want him, can I take a crack at him?”

  Miranda turned to face her. “Have at it,” she said through clenched teeth. She didn’t want him. Who was she to stop Ryleigh from going out with him? She took in her assistant’s sparkly dumbbell stud in her eyebrow today and her compact little body that would probably enjoy climbing all over him. Nate and his broad shoulders and ropy arms, his crooked smile and that shaggy dark hair that made her fingers itch. Ryleigh would look perfect with him.

  Max smirked. “I think she’s going to scratch your eyes out.”

  Ryleigh leaned against his shoulder. “I think you might be right.” She cleared her throat as Miranda gave her a bland look. “But that’s okay, I am quite happy with the four men I’m juggling right now. Five isn’t my lucky number.”

  “Four?” Miranda couldn’t stop herself from asking. God, just the thought of one man in her life part time was horrifying. Even when she’d been a party girl, she’d been happy with the hook-ups, not keeping track of a damn harem. “How on earth do you find the time?”

  Ryleigh shrugged and shoved her binder into her bag. “Jason likes to go to lunch with me on Tuesdays and Fridays.” She flipped out her thumb, then her first finger. “David likes dinner on Sundays with my parents so they think I’m finally settling down.” Her pretty face split into a huge smile. “We usually end up having sex in my parents’ neighbor’s driveway on the way out.”

  Max’s jaw dropped as he slumped onto the corner of his own desk for a change
. “Ryleigh! I called you a trollop in jest, but you so are.” He grinned and held up his hand for a high five.

  Ryleigh slapped his hand. “David doesn’t want anything other than great food and sex, it’s perfect. I think I might be dumping Jeremy tonight. Two J names isn’t a good idea when you’re juggling. Then there’s Adam on every other Wednesday and Thursday. He needs two nights to be fulfilled.”

  Miranda slammed her hands over her ears. “God, Ryleigh.” It wasn’t that she was disturbed by her actions…it was the memories it invoked. She’d once been just like Ryleigh. She had a man for every night of the week and sometimes two in one night. She just hadn’t kept track of the names and didn’t usually go for repeat performances.

  And it was amazing. You could sleep through the night because you had an orgasm, you prude.

  “Sorry.” Ryleigh laughed. She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m heading out. I’ll have the numbers for you tomorrow morning on the Shelby account so you can make the callback.”

  “Thanks, Ryleigh. Have fun,” Miranda said with a shake of her head.

  Leo rose from his desk. “I’m heading home too. I have a client meeting across town first thing tomorrow, so I won’t be in until late morning.” He waved his BlackBerry. “Text me if something crazy happens.” He leaned down on his way back. “Take a chance, Miranda. It’s good for you.”

  “You too?”

  Leo laughed and scooped up his suit jacket on the way out. “I’m always telling you to take the big bet, Miranda. I just don’t have it in me to beat my head into a wall like Max.”

  “The big bet doesn’t include the fact that you don’t go out with a woman more than once?”

  Leo looked over his shoulder. Thick, honey-blond hair was swept back in a perfect cut except one stubborn lock that fell forward. His perfect blue eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’ve already won, where’s the chase?” He waved. “See you tomorrow.”