by Melody Grace
Paige hopped up on the counter beside him to watch. As the chocolate began to slip into a pool, he added butter, and then set out a couple of ramekins. She followed his sure, quick movements, and felt like she was watching a conductor take charge of an orchestra. He knew where every utensil was, each ingredient. He’d joked about this being his kingdom, but it was the truth: this kitchen was his domain, and he commanded it as naturally as breathing.
And it was sexy as hell.
Declan took the chocolate off the heat and slowly whisked in some heavy cream. “Here, taste,” he said, dipping a spoon and holding it to her lips.
Paige leaned in and licked it.
Hello.
The taste flooded her in waves. Rich chocolate, cool cream, with a note of something spicy, too. She paused, trying to place it.
“Mexican chili powder,” Declan said, before she could ask. “I like to add a little heat.”
He could say that again. She took another taste, and this time, Declan reached up and gently stroked a drop from the edge of Paige’s lips. He brought his thumb to his own mouth and sucked.
“Mmm,” he murmured, holding her gaze, and God, Paige felt that hum everywhere. Her body felt alive and charged with a reckless kind of desire, and it seemed like the most simple thing in the world to lean a little closer and drop a feather-light kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“Delicious,” she echoed in a whisper.
Declan groaned, and then his hands were on her—for real this time. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, slow and deep, the taste of the chocolate mingling with his own intoxicating flavor, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth, making her gasp with the sensual caress.
Declan nudged her knees open and moved between her legs, pressing closer as she balanced there on the edge of the countertop, wrapping her arms around his neck now. His body was flush against her, solid and warm, and Paige arched eagerly against him as she kissed him again, all out this time.
No hesitation, no second thoughts. Nothing but the feel of him, pulling her deeper into the inferno, headlong into the thrilling rush.
God, this man could kiss.
Declan’s hands were everywhere, slipping over her shoulders and gripping tightly at her waist. He broke away, kissing hotly down her neck, and Paige shuddered from the delicious sensation of his mouth, rough against her, stubble scraping lightly on her bare skin. He nuzzled against the hollow of her collarbone, and then caught one strap of her dress between his teeth, pushing it aside.
Paige gasped as the other strap followed and her dress crumpled to her waist. She was wearing a simple white lace bra, and the feel of Declan’s breath coming hot against her skin sent goosebumps shivering over her chest.
He paused, drawing back to look at her. “Is this washable?” he asked, teasing one fingertip over the lacy trim.
“Huh?” Paige blinked. The expression of pure lust on his handsome face sent her thoughts scattering. He was talking about laundry right now?
“I’m just asking, how . . . messy I can get this.” Declan kissed her neck again, his thumbs tracing gentle circles just beneath her ribcage. Paige squirmed and shivered, her body going wild.
“It hand washes. All my designs do,” she managed to reply.
He shot her a wicked smile. “Good.”
Before she could even register what was happening, Declan scooped a thumbful of the melted chocolate mixture and smeared it over the lace on her breast.
Then he bent his head and began to lick it off.
Oh. My. God.
Paige moaned out loud at the feel of his mouth, caressing her through the thin fabric. He lapped at her, teasing her nipple into a stiff peak before he turned his attention to her other breast, smearing the chocolate and lavishing her with attention until she was a panting, writhing mess.
Her head was spinning, and her body was on fire. What was he doing to her—and could he please never stop?
Declan returned to her mouth, easing her lips open with a blazing kiss as his capable hands unhooked her bra and peeled it off her. Paige was too giddy to care that she was naked to her waist now, propped up on the counter with her thighs clenched around his torso and her breath coming fast. And when he took another helping of chocolate, and slowly pushed up the skirt of her dress . . . ?
Paige stopped thinking altogether.
He spread her knees wider, trickling a trail of warm, thick chocolate up the inside of her thigh. “I think this is my new favorite recipe,” Declan said, his voice coming out ragged. He bent to kiss her knee, and let his tongue rove higher, following the path of the chocolate. Paige sank back onto the countertop, letting her fingers tangle in his hair as he swirled and sucked all the way to the lace edge of her panties—and then further still.
“Declan!” she gasped as his tongue swept over her. She bucked against his mouth, and she heard him chuckle against her.
“Easy there,” he murmured, hooking his thumbs under the edge of her underwear, and tugging them down her legs. “I’m just getting started.”
He tossed her panties aside and took another scoop of melted chocolate.
“We’ll have none left for dessert,” she said, breathless, lifting her head.
Declan smirked. “Do you mind?”
Paige slowly shook her head. “Not at all,” she whispered, watching in a daze as he trickled it over her naked skin, right there between her thighs. She must be having an out of body experience. She’d never done anything like this, not once in her whole life.
But her body felt it, every touch. And as Declan began to lick her again, his tongue probing, his fingers easing higher, thicker, Paige surrendered to the pleasure. She lay back, moaning louder, not even caring about the noise, or if she was making an unladylike fool of herself. She clutched the back of his hand, urging him on, his tongue lapping in an intoxicating rhythm that left her boneless. Mindless. Strung out on the edge of sensation, trembling on the precipice.
And then he arched his fingers higher inside her, curling just right, and she broke apart, falling headlong into the rush with a cry as she flooded with dazzling sensation.
Oh.
My.
God.
Paige gripped the countertop. It felt like she could up and float away. But there was Declan, his hands still stroking her, soothing now, gently smoothing her dress back down, and kissing his way back up her breathless body.
“That was . . .” Paige blinked, still liquid. “Wow.”
She lifted her head in time to see a slow smile of satisfaction spread across Declan’s face. “You really are an artist in the kitchen,” she added, laughing out loud with the absurdity of it all.
Yes, she was spread on the kitchen counter with chocolate smeared Lord knows where.
And yes, she was loving every minute of it.
“If you think that’s good, just wait until you see what I can do in the bedroom,” Declan said, with his usual cocky smile.
Paige didn’t disagree. He’d earned that smile. And if this was just the appetizer . . .
She could only imagine what the entrée would feel like.
And she would imagine it. Over and over again.
Paige’s heart rate finally slowed, and gravity pulled her back down to earth again. She sat up. “I made a mess.” She blinked, looking around at the ingredients and utensils she’d scattered.
“I made an even bigger one.” Declan’s smirk grew wider.
Paige glanced down, and saw she was absolutely covered in chocolate, from her skin to her underwear and dress. She laughed. “I should just get in the shower like this to rinse off.”
“The tub at my place has room for two,” Declan suggested wolfishly—just as Paige let out an almighty yawn.
“Or not,” he finished.
She bit her lip. Now that the pleasure was slipping from her bloodstream, it had been replaced by a bone-deep tiredness. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but she guessed Declan had other activities in mind. �
��Maybe I’ll get a second wind?”
He gave her a smile that was surprisingly tender, reaching to help her down from the counter. “Raincheck, sweetheart,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Something tells me you’re about a half hour away from turning into a pumpkin.”
“Make that ten minutes,” Paige agreed regretfully. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Declan gave her a teasing look. “I’m the one who got to have dessert.”
Paige blushed. “I’ll . . . umm . . .” She gestured vaguely, her self-consciousness finally catching up with her.
“See me soon?” Declan said, walking her back out through the restaurant. “Yes, you will. I’m tied up here the next couple of days, but later in the week, I’m all yours.”
Paige wasn’t going to begin to think about that—Declan, hers, preferably with far fewer clothes, and a more comfortable surface—so she just grabbed her keys from the bar. “I had a great time tonight!” she blurted. Oh, why wasn’t there an etiquette guide on how to act with a man after he’d done . . . that.
“I could tell,” Declan grinned. “You’re lucky I don’t have neighbors,” he added, “because I’m pretty sure they would have been able to tell, too.”
Her cheeks burned. Paige let out a strangled cough. “Well . . . then goodnight.” She bobbed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, but then Declan caught her around the waist and pulled her in close.
He kissed her hard, an all-out, no-holds-barred, hot-as-hell kiss that woke every part of her up again and left Paige breathless and dizzy in his arms.
Declan pulled back and set her down again. “Sweet dreams,” he said with a wink. “I better go get to cleaning up.”
And then he headed back through the double doors as if he hadn’t just stopped her world the second time over.
* * *
It wasn’t until Paige had driven home and was luxuriating under the hot suds of her shower that she realized: her panties were still somewhere on his kitchen floor.
12
Paige was a busy woman. She had designs to produce, a store to stock, and an opening to plan. She definitely didn’t have time to sit around, lost in explicit daydreams about Declan and his miraculous mouth, but there she was, sitting in her favorite chaise—now placed right by the window, open to a cool breeze—with an embroidery needle in one hand, and her mind far from the intricate stitching in front of her.
Fifteen miles, give or take. The distance to Declan’s kitchen, where he’d done unspeakably delicious things to a bra just like this one.
She would never look at a bar of chocolate in the same way again.
Paige smiled and turned her attention back to her stitching. Although most of her business would be private commissions, she wanted some stock on display, so clients could see the different options for fabric and trim. So, she was rounding out her collection: making sure she had samples for every shape and size that might walk through her doors.
She finished up the little rosettes around the bust line and hung it carefully on a special satin padded hanger, then walked through to the storefront to add it to the slim brass rail that stood along the back wall. She looked around proudly at the sunlit space.
In just a couple of days, she’d transformed the empty room: placing a mannequin in the center of the slim window adorned with one of her favorite dusky rose lingerie sets. Aphrodite Designs curled over the glass in elegant gold script, and there was a heavy silk curtain in soft pink inviting people back into the studio space. There, Paige had set up the room in two halves: first, her workshop, with a long antique dining table to house her sewing machine, and a deep bookcase on one wall with rolls of fabric and cutting patterns. On the other side, a jewel-toned velvet couch welcomed clients—and their guests—to relax, with the bathroom serving as a changing room, and a raised dais placed in front of the full-length standing mirrors to assess and admire the fitting.
It was the space of her dreams, just as she’d pictured it the very first time Paige had stepped foot through that red front door.
Now all she needed were some customers.
Paige looked hopefully through the window at the busy street outside. She was technically open for business, as of that morning. Eliza and Mac were helping her plan an opening party later on, but Paige hadn’t been able to resist flipping that sign in the doorway to “open” ahead of schedule. Just to test the waters, she’d told herself.
Well, right then, the waters seemed awfully shallow.
Paige loitered by the Art Deco console she was using as a counter. She’d already sent emails to her entire client list and received a flurry of congratulations and promises to drop by the store, but clearly, nobody was doing it today. She should probably head back to work on another piece, or—
Ding!
The bell she’d placed above the doorway let out an inviting sound. Paige straightened, ready to welcome her first official customer—
“Oh,” she exhaled. “It’s you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jenny laughed, stepping inside. She must have been on a break from work, wearing a black skirt and crisp shirt, every inch the restaurant hostess. “With a welcome like that, you sound like my mother.”
Paige laughed. “Sorry! Please, come in,” she urged her. “I’m just nervous, waiting for a real customer.”
“You’ll do great,” Jenny reassured her. “This place looks amazing. Like a French bon-bon. Or at least, an imported one. I’ve never been to Paris, so I wouldn’t know, but it definitely looks like all the amazing photos on Instagram that I drool over in the bathtub.”
Jenny wandered to the display rail and ran her fingertips over a delicate silk bra. “These are so pretty,” she said in a hushed tone. “I would want to just walk around almost naked, showing it off.”
Paige brightened. “How about you pick something? On me,” she added quickly, knowing that her price tags were on the high side.
“I couldn’t.” Jenny shook her head quickly. “You must put so much work into them!”
“Please,” Paige insisted. “Besides, it would be great advertising. You know, with you walking around topless and all.”
Jenny snorted with laughter. “OK, if you insist.”
“Here, you look like a C cup.” Paige ran her gaze over Jenny’s body, quickly assessing her. “Try these.” She pulled down a couple of different styles, in bolder, bright colors that seemed to match her personality. “And if you need any adjustments, just holler. I can customize in a flash.”
Jenny looked thrilled. “When I’m done, I’ll run across the street for ice cream,” she promised, selecting a couple more designs. “A chocolate sundae, my treat.”
Chocolate.
Paige had a sudden flash of Declan sucking molten syrup off this thumb.
“Paige?”
She snapped back to reality, to find Jenny looking at her curiously. “Oh, the dressing room is right in the back,” she said quickly, and she steered Jenny through, then grabbed a bottle of water from her mini-fridge and gulped, trying to cool off.
She needed to see him again.
Paige took a breath. He’d texted her a couple of times, but they hadn’t arranged another date just yet; he was busy at the restaurant, and to tell the truth, she was relieved. She’d been able to focus on getting the studio set up, directing all her restless, lustful energy into a whirlwind of activity. But now that she had a chance to pause for breath? Desire was tempting her again, filling her imagination with all those hot, breathless memories. She couldn’t get him out of her mind.
She wanted him, bad.
Ding!
The bell sounded in the other room, and Paige whirled around. “I’ll just be out front,” she called to Jenny, and then eagerly hurried through. “Welcome to Aphrodite,” she said, emerging into the storefront. “Oh, hi, Brooke.”
“Congratulations!” Brooke beamed, looking elegant as ever in a chic wrap dress, with her blonde hair caught up in a twist. “Eliza told me you just open
ed, and I had to stop by.”
“Please, take a look around,” Paige said. If her only customers were going to be friends of the family, then she would make them feel welcome. “I have a few samples up here, and then my design books, for individual commissions.”
Brooke moved closer, looking interested. “So, you can make something from scratch, totally one-of-a-kind?”
“Sure.” Paige showed her one of the sketchbooks she kept, filled with fabric swatches, ink drawings, and photos of the finished garments. She used to think the messy books were unprofessional, but it turned out that people loved seeing the inspiration behind the designs, so now she always kept them nearby for clients to browse. “Most of the time, it’s simple customization,” she explained, pointing out a couple of commissions. “Someone will want a certain style, but in a different color, or with scalloped lace instead of pleated silk. But sometimes it’s a whole project. Here . . .”
She flipped through the pages to show Brooke a collection she did last year. “This client wanted a special wedding trousseau. Her fiancé’s family were Italian, and actually imported the silks for it. I designed the lingerie sets to be one-of-a-kind, the negligees, even this robe,” she said, pointing out the flowing design, embroidered with gorgeous roses around the hem. “It took me months, but the set was so beautiful, I didn’t even mind. Those are the commissions I really love,” she confided, “where there’s no budget or limits, and it feels like I’m creating a work of art.”
“This is perfect,” Brooke breathed, slowly turning the pages. “You know I host weddings, over at the hotel? I’m always looking for new things to offer the wedding parties, and something like this would be a showstopper.”
The hotel. Paige flushed, remembering her midnight adventure in that pool. “What do you mean?” She cleared her throat, trying to focus. “You’d pass along my details to some of the brides?”