by Gina Conkle
“After the truck arrived, I figured you had second thoughts.” His insides tightened painfully at the thought of not seeing her again.
“I like talking with you.” She gave him a quirky smile. “Okay, the truth is I like talking with you as in conversation and I like kissing you.”
How was that for forthright?
Darkness blurred the lines. He’d savor this moment, pretty Jennifer in her elegant summer dress and expensive shoes sitting in his dented truck practically mooning over him. Shit like this never bothered him. Not until tonight.
“Women like you don’t date men like me. Not for long anyway.”
Her wide-eyed fluster was so adorable he laughed.
“Don’t worry.” He winked at her, slapping the truck twice. “We’ll have some fun, and when it’s over…” He stepped back and dug his keys out of his pocket.
There was no right way to finish his sentence.
CHAPTER TWO
“The entry code is three, nine, one, five,” she said, as AJ’s truck pulled up to the gate.
“A gated community,” he mused. “Imagine my surprise.”
He punched the code into the number pad, and the gate rolled open. Headlights shined on an island in the middle of the road with life-size nymphs, water spraying from their upraised hands. Time had left a green patina on the metal sculpture. Without a word, AJ steered his truck on the road around the center island. She told him how to get to her house and tried to see the grounds through AJ’s eyes.
His Women like you don’t date men like me rattled her.
Wind stirred her hair as they passed one neatly trimmed street after another. Up lights gleamed on tall palms. No parked cars on the streets. Luxury SUVs claimed a driveway or two. Guests probably. Residents kept their cars tucked behind garage doors fashioned like old English barn doors trimmed with wrought iron. All the houses were consistent. No coloring outside the lines in this community. Her house up ahead was no different.
“That one. There. Just pull into the driveway.”
AJ turned into her driveway and killed the engine. He stared at the beige house. “You sure this one’s yours?”
“The number by the front door says its mine.” She hopped out of the truck, laughing. “Come on, AJ. This way.”
She unlocked high Norman arched doors and swung them wide. AJ was behind her, taking in high-beamed ceilings and mahogany floors. Her house oozed money…expensive furniture, expensive décor, expensive artwork. It was what, Peter, her late husband wanted, a showcase reflecting success.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said, her heels clicking fast.
AJ stopped and checked himself in the high-gloss finish on a cabinet door. “It’s so glossy I can see myself.” He grinned, rubbing his overgrown five o’clock shadow reflecting back.
She popped into the picture, her face beside his. “You’re right. I never noticed that.”
“It’s your furniture.”
“I didn’t pick any of this. Not my style.”
“What is your style?”
“I don’t know.”
His gaze darted sideways but she was off to the kitchen. AJ’s boot crunched plastic in the kitchen entry. He bent over and picked up a palm-sized airplane, almost snapped in two.
She pulled two bottles from the fridge. “Beer?”
“Sure,” he said, sauntering into the kitchen. “I broke this.”
“It’s Jason’s…my nephew. Don’t worry.” She cracked open the beers. “Leave it on the counter.”
He accepted the bottle and took a drink. She sipped hers, watching AJ’s Adam’s Apple bob. Two dark love bites smudged the side of his neck. Shame burned in her chest. What possessed her to act like a teenager in heat in a parking lot of all places? The fine man in her kitchen. All six feet two of him. Washboard abs. Crystalline blue eyes that devoured her through the bar’s smoke-filled room. She’d felt his stare ranging over her body before she saw him.
And, oh my, his butt when he checked under her hood…
She gulped more beer, the wet rush cooling her. AJ was not a man a woman could manage. He probably never worried about his cloths making a statement. He was all man. Rock hard and a bit soft-hearted.
“This nephew of yours. Sounds like you see him a lot.” AJ was checking out another hallway leading out of her kitchen.
She winced at seeing a third smudge under his ear. “I do. My sister Karen is a single mom. I try to help whenever I can.” She sipped her beer. “I’d just dropped off Jason and was headed back to Hidden Valley when my car broke down.”
AJ prowled around her kitchen. If she was honest with herself, he looked more like one of the construction guys who did maintenance—a hot construction guy with close-cropped brown hair, strong arms, and scruff on his jaw.
Long masculine fingers wrapped around the beer bottle. Veins roped forearms corded with tendon and muscle. Her gaze wandered higher, colliding with blue topaz eyes. Sharp. Smart. Nobody’s fool, yet endearing. The corner of his mouth twitched in a half smile. AJ raised the beer to his lips, watching her watch him. Her nipples pinched inside her too thin bra. She licked her lips and wet her throat with more beer. It’d be unwise to underestimate AJ simply because he worked with his hands for a living. He made it easy to pour her heart out to him.
And her damp underwear? He made that happen easily too.
“Are you hungry?” She dug containers of food out of her fridge and yanked an apron off a small hook. She slipped the apron over her head and tied the waist strings behind her.
“Sure.”
“Have a seat at the table, and I’ll put something together for us.” She braced a hand on the counter and slid her shoes off grateful he didn’t make a crack about being hungry for her. When they touched, she got dizzy with desire. But, she genuinely wanted his friendship, and friendship required conversation and fun.
AJ sat at her table, sipping his beer. She hummed, grabbing a red frying pan from an overhead rack. There was no awkwardness. It was easy. Natural. She took a cutting board from a white-washed cabinet, and started slicing carrots. Whipping around the kitchen, she started an Alfredo sauce, her enthusiasm leaving sprays of white sauce on her apron.
“You look like you know what you’re doing.” AJ stretched his legs and crossed one ankle over the other.
“Thanks. I like cooking.” She crunched a carrot and chewed fast. “Even better to have someone to cook for.”
Her large kitchen shined with stainless steel gadgets. Cooking magazines cluttered one corner. Index cards were taped to a computer monitor at a built in desk. This was home, not the glossy showroom that was the rest of the house. She reached into a bowl of raspberries.
She turned to AJ, the fruit touching her bottom lip. “You want some berries?”
He shook his head, a wolfish smile on his face. Her heart thudded as she held the fruit on her bottom lip. A little juice dripped on her fingers and mouth. She licked the juice, and AJ homed in on her mouth. It’d be easy to pick up where they left off.
Her skin flushed. The gusset of her underwear nestled in the wet crack between her legs. She trusted AJ, but could she trust herself? He’d hiked up her skirt in a public place, yet she was the one who wanted her skirt to stay up…all the better for AJ to touch her.
Nothing about tonight was normal.
Keep moving.
Cooking let her go through rote motions, taking the heat off AJ watching her cook. Sliced chicken breasts sizzled in the pan. Water boiled and she dumped in penne noodles. Conversation would be tough with all the noise. She padded over to her kitchen window and snipped some herbs.
AJ got up, scraping his chair. “What’s this?”
She sniffed the leaves in hand, leaning against the counter. “Thyme. Italian parsley.” She touched two empty pots. “Mint and basil was here, but they died.�
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He showed genuine interest in the row of pots. “You like to grow things.” He took in the kitchen with its splashes of red, yellow, blue, and green and not a single glossy wood finish. “This is where you’re happiest.”
“Yes.” She loved the chaos of color. The smells. The plants. Her late husband had argued for a showcase kitchen. He’d wanted it sleek as the rest of the house. He’d even argued the broken design flow diminished the resale value, but for once she put her foot down.
“And the table. What’s the story there?” AJ nodded at bumps of dried model glue on the scratched walnut surface. “Your nephew?”
“Very perceptive of you.”
The table didn’t match the rest of the house. She’d brought it with her from her single, starving artist days.
AJ tucked both hands in his front pockets. “I can imagine a lot of living here. A lot of love too.”
***
His chest squeezed when he said love. A man didn’t use the word when getting to know a woman. It sent the wrong message. Shit. Nothing about tonight was normal. The house he was in, the table, the barefoot utterly kissable woman beside him. Jennifer wasn’t some uptight, don’t mess me up rich—
He stopped himself. When it came to Jennifer, he’d not use that word.
Go slow, walk the tight rope carefully.
Food sizzled but Jennifer went quiet on him. She reached into a cupboard and retrieved two plates.
“Can I do something?” he asked. “I’m just standing here.”
“You can set the table. Silverware’s in there,” she said, pointing at a drawer. “As far as the helping with the food, I’m glad to cook for someone who’ll eat something more exotic than hot dogs.”
Her pasted on smile told him she shut part of herself down for safekeeping and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. She walked to the stove and resumed stirring the sauce.
“Do you have a favorite beer? I can make sure to buy what you like.”
A sense of calm came over him. Her question suggested future visits.
“I like cold beer,” he said, digging out two forks.
He set both plates and the silverware on the table. Jennifer drained the pasta and poured her white sauce over the noodles, chewing her bottom lip.
“How does this work, AJ?”
Soulful brown eyes pinned him. “How does what work?”
She scooped the chicken onto the platter, steam clouding her cheeks. “This is not like muscle memory...dating.” She set the platter on the table one overhead lantern lighting her shiny skin. “Crazy as it sounds, I’ve forgotten how to be with a man. All the dating nuances and the does and don’ts.”
Laughter rumbled up from his chest. “I’d say you know how to be with a man.”
“I’m not talking about that.”
He reached out and tucked loose hair behind her ear. “First rule of dating is you make up your own rules.”
She laughed softly. “I’ve never heard that. Is it Dating Rules According to AJ?”
“Works for me.” He turned her slowly around and played with the apron’s tie resting on her ass.
“I don’t want to make a mistake.” She paused. “With you.”
Her tender-hearted, verbal stumbles warmed his heart. It scared him how easily Jennifer could twist him around her little finger if she wanted. It was the little things. The apron ties bouncing on her ass. Her softly worded wishes to get this right. To please him.
And call him a cave man, but he liked her cooking barefoot for him.
Jennifer angled her head to see what he was doing behind her. He needed a few seconds reprieve from her brown eyes watching him to digest what was going on. His knuckles rubbed the swell of her ass. He could lose himself with Jennifer. A flush spread over the fine lines of her profile. Her shoulders rolled as his knuckles made slow figure eights over her ass cheeks. Goosebumps sprinkled her arms.
“I’m easy. Don’t worry about making a mistake. Just be.” He pushed the curtain of hair off her neck and kissed damp tendrils stuck to her skin.
Her head lolled sideways. “How does this work?”
“How does what work?” He breathed the question into her flower-scented hair. His arm wrapped around her waist.
Jennifer gripped the counter’s edge. She tipped her head back, resting it on his shoulder. Calloused hands roamed over pin up girl hips. One hand cupped her tit. The flesh was high, plump, and firm. He kneaded her, working his hand slowly to the center peak. Erect nipple fit perfectly between his thumb and forefinger. He gave it the barest pinch.
She moaned, arching her breast into his hand and ass into his groin.
“You like how this feels?” He nuzzled her neck.
Air hissed in Jennifer’s throat. She closed her eyes.
Talkative Jennifer was speechless. He laughed low on her neck, tasting her warm skin. His teeth grazed the rim of her ear. “This is how it works…you and me figuring it out as we go.”
Her body quivered. The tender quake made his balls ache. She strained against him, her breath huffing as if she’d sprinted uphill.
“You smell so good.” His lips swept up and down her neck.
Jennifer’s hands reached behind her and grabbed his thighs. His muscles tensed under her hands. Bodies melted into each other. Her fingernails scratched denim covering his legs. With an impatient sound, Jennifer whirled around and yanked up his T-shirt. She gasped in frustration as if she couldn’t get to his skin fast enough.
Heavy lidded, Jennifer pushed his T-shirt above his nipples, her dark eyes glittering under her lashes. The light was possessive. Wanting. As hungry for him as he was for her, less controlled.
French manicured nails scraped hair arrowing into his jeans. His skin pebbled from the pleasure.
Jennifer started to say his name. “A—”
His mouth swooped down on hers, tugging the fleshy center of her upper lip. She whimpered. Whatever she was going to say was lost as he gently nipped one lip before moving onto the other.
“Would you like it if I did this to the rest of you?”
Jennifer groaned. She swallowed hard. He tipped his forehead to hers, touching nose-to-nose, mouths skimming.
“You wanted to talk.” Softly, he rubbed his face against hers. “I think you have a nice way of talking.”
Her pelvis bumped his. His dick lengthened in his jeans. He could still string together words despite his heart and lungs fighting for space in his chest. It’d be easy to lift her skirt again in the privacy of her kitchen. He’d rub deeper into her underwear, find out how wet she was between her legs.
“My stubble too scratchy?”
“N…no.” Her mouth mimicked his, opening for air, closing for deeper kisses.
“You kiss nice,” he said.
Jennifer’s hands wandered over the ridges of his obliques, the ruts of his abdomen, up to his pecs. She fondled him, lifting his shirt to his collarbone. She opened her mouth and bit his pec. It wasn’t hard, nor was it soft. A pleasure-pain. Her tongue traced a line from one nipple to the other. Jennifer nosed the bite mark on his chest.
Breathing hard, she kissed the red rim on his flesh. “You smell—”
“I smell?” Two fingers tipped her chin up.
“—like a man.” A tremor shook her voice. “Your chest is…is perfect. You’re hard…like a marble sculpture.”
He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her. “I thought men were supposed to sing the praises of a woman’s chest, but you’re close to making me blush.”
Acrid smells of blackened food filled the air.
“Did you leave the stove on?” he asked.
“The stove? Oh! The stove!” She rushed to the stove and turned it off.
A thin line of smoke rose up a burner. She scraped off a chunk off food stuck to the bu
rner and held up the charred evidence. “Parmesan got on the burner.” Her sex-hazed eyes sparkled. “I forgot to turn the stove off. Not something I usually do.”
Jennifer was barefoot, her naked calves silky smooth, and both nipples jutting hard against her dress. He’d never seen a more fuckable woman in his life.
She glanced over her shoulder, cleaning the burner. “You’d better have a seat, or I’m liable to burn down my house.”
Better to have the table hide his erection.
“Looks good.” He took a seat and scooped a serving onto her plate and two scoops on his with Jennifer on the other side of the table.
“What do you do to have pecs like that? I mean you can tell through your clothes that you’re in shape. But, really, you’re an artist’s dream.” She winked. “If my sister saw you naked, she’d insist on doing you.”
He almost choked on his food. “’Scuse me?”
“My sister Karen’s a sculptor. She’d probably ask you to sit for her.” Jennifer waved her fork in the air, her eyes flirty. “She loves to do the human form. Totally fascinates her. It helps that you’re a virile subject.”
“Krav Maga,” he said, wiping a napkin across his mouth.
“What?”
“I’m trying to keep up with you. Krav Maga. It’s martial arts. I do it once or twice a week. And I don’t care how fascinated she might be, I’m not sitting naked for your sister.”
“I talk fast.” She laughed and her blonde hair fell forward, brushing her cheeks. “I’ll try to relax and slow down.”
Chocolate brown strands mixed with golden blonde. Jennifer was probably a natural brunette but she colored her hair. She licked creamy sauce off her lips, and he had the feeling the comment about sitting for her sister was a test. By her bright smile, he passed with flying colors.
“Do you teach the Krav Maga?” she asked.
“I take classes. Clears my head.” He chewed creamy chicken. “You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks.”
He took more bites, careful bites, savoring the food and conversation.
“You look surprised.” Jennifer pointed her fork at his plate. “About the food.”