by Lilli Feisty
This was going to end badly. She knew if she really wanted to do so, she could walk away. And yet there she was, holding his gaze. Her blood was rushing like a springwater brook.
Silently, the seconds stretched between them. Her heart went haywire. Then he said, “You really want a taste?” His gaze was direct and steadfast. Slowly, she nodded.
Oh yeah, she wanted a taste all right. A big fat forkful, smothered in sexy sauce.
Sexy sauce? Really?
And yet she nodded, because her mouth was actually watering.
For the pudding. Not for him.
For the food. Food only.
“Me first.” His stare still holding hers, he raised her hand to his lips. Then he placed her finger, dripping chocolate, to his lips.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice sounded high, shrill. Scared. But she wasn’t scared. What could she possibly be scared of?
“This.” He slid her finger into his mouth and licked, swirling his tongue around her skin, sucking off every last drop.
“S-stop.” But her breathing was fast, and her nipples were pebbling beneath her nightgown.
Oh no, no, no…
He released her wrist, and she realized her hand was shaking. What was he doing to her? “I—I’m going to go now.” She turned to move, but he reached out and grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.
“I thought you wanted a taste.”
Looking away, she closed her eyes. Every nerve in her body was thrumming with desire. For her smug chef. For this man with his own name tattooed on his chest.
She was losing her mind.
Because she did want a taste. Of more than just chocolate.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I changed my mind.”
He slanted her a wicked grin. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” But even she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.
He dipped his finger into the chocolate and brought it to her lips. “Are you sure?”
“Stop it.”
He raised a single black eyebrow. “Stop what? I’m just giving you what you want.”
“I don’t want this.”
“What?” His eyes twinkled with evil pleasure, and his voice lowered. “You don’t want this?”
She shook her head, even as her entire body was screaming something totally different.
“I don’t believe you.” And then, as light as a whisper, he brought his chocolate-covered fingertip to her mouth.
Her breath hitched, and her entire body started to tremble. Her mind was telling her to walk away. But he was so close that she could feel the heat from his body. He looked as luscious as the dessert on his fingertips, and she wanted some. She licked her lips.
“That’s it, baby. You can’t resist, can you?”
She grabbed his hand. If he could tease, so could she. Maybe she couldn’t resist this bizarre midnight tryst, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take some control of the situation. So she held his hand steady as her tongue darted out to taste the sweet tip of his finger. She saw his eyes darken, and a surge of power washed over her. So she worked it. Holding his hand, she licked him, drawing his finger into her mouth. She captured his stare with her own and sucked him deep, using her tongue to glean every last drop of chocolate off his skin.
Only when she was done did she release him.
“Oh, is that how it is, Phoebe?”
Shit. Why did she feel as if she’d just unleashed a beast? And like a stunned animal, she didn’t—couldn’t—move.
Grabbing both her shoulders, he pulled her toward him. And then he kissed her.
She expected harsh, but he was shockingly gentle. He held his lips quietly against hers, not moving until she breathed. Then his mouth covered hers, his chocolate-flavored tongue softly licking her. He kissed her until her eyes drifted shut, until she felt as gooey inside as the pudding on the table.
Then he yanked the neck of her nightgown, tearing the flannel so he could pull the material down her shoulders, exposing her breasts.
She tried to pull the nightgown back up, but he stopped her. “Nick? What are you doing?”
“This.”
Using his hand, he scooped up a handful of chocolate and spread it over her chest. “Oh my God. Nick—”
“Hush.”
Damn it. She didn’t want to be hushed. But as his warm fingers spread the creamy mixture over her skin, lust pooled deep inside her. And when he beaded her nipple between his moist fingertips, she moaned.
“You like that?”
“No,” she said, squeezing her legs together.
“Then I guess you’re going to hate this.” He drew a nipple into his mouth, sucking and tugging until she was squirming beneath him, until she thought her legs wouldn’t hold her up one second longer.
He backed her against the kitchen island and stepped between her legs. Then he moved his mouth to her other nipple, torturing her. Her pussy began to throb with want, and she felt herself getting wet.
He looked up, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You still don’t like that?”
“Shut up.”
As long as she was sassy, as long as she kept a distance, she could justify what she was doing. For now. Now, she was opening her legs wider, pressing herself against his crotch, feeling his erection through his cotton pajama bottoms. He was so hard, so hot. She’d never been so turned on, never yearned to feel the touch of any man like she did Nick’s at that moment. She let her head fall back and exposed herself even more to him.
He grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the island. She squirmed, but his hands firmly held her still. “I know how much you loathe this, Phoebe. So I’m going to keep doing it. Just to torture you.”
“I hate you,” she said. But she was smiling. Smiling? How had he gotten her to this point?
Didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was pulling up her nightgown and reaching between her legs.
“Open for me, Phoebe.”
She did. She spread her quivering legs and exposed herself to him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. Then he knelt before her, and she felt his hands on the insides of her thighs, tracing her skin lightly. Touching her everywhere except that little spot where she needed to feel him most.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
“Didn’t I tell you to hush?”
She nearly cried out then. His words came out in a warm breath, caressing her damp flesh. Then she felt his fingers on her pussy, and that wasn’t all she felt—he was spreading the chocolate all over the folds of her sex.
Her eyes drifted shut, and she gave in. She sank back onto the top of the island and let her fingers graze the still-moist skin of her breasts. She found a drop of chocolate he’d missed, and she brought the sweet mixture to her lips, sucking her own fingertip.
And then she felt his mouth on her pussy, warm and wonderful. He licked her as if he were savoring a luscious dessert. So slow it was a beautiful agony, he touched his tongue to every moist inch of her sex. Licking, sucking, even biting gently.
“Oh, God…,” she gasped, bucking against his mouth. “That feels so…yes…” She could barely think. Lust raged through her blood, and everything centered around what Nick was doing between her legs.
He took her clit in his mouth, focusing his attention on that bud of nerves. With a cry, she arched her back as he flicked at her swollen flesh.
“Yes. Right there.”
But he wasn’t done. She felt his fingers—long and strong and driving into her—again and again.
“Nick, don’t stop…Uh…Yes!” She’d never been so vocal before.
She’d never been so…yeah…
The orgasm screamed through her. Every muscle in her thighs clenched as she shouted his name, and her hands fisted at her sides. She couldn’t tell if her climax went on forever or if he was simply sucking more of them out of her. She didn’t care. All she knew was the pleasure was so intense that she couldn’t contain her reaction.
> She had no idea how long it took before her body settled down and the tremors that shook her started to fade. Panting, she lay on the kitchen island, unable to think or breathe or speak.
Eventually he got to his feet, and through heavy eyes, she watched him. He gave her a self-satisfied grin. Then he leaned over her and gave her another of those lovely, soft kisses. She sighed against his mouth. Maybe Nick Avalon wasn’t so bad after all.
When she opened her eyes, he was watching her. “You okay, baby?”
Smiling, she nodded. “That was…amazing.”
“You still think I’m the most conceited man you’ve ever met?”
“Maybe.”
He winked. “Well, baby. I guess now you know why.”
Chapter Five
All he’d wanted was chocolate pudding.
Standing in the shower, Nick let the hot water pound onto his skin. He must be really losing it to have gotten to the point where that crazy, frazzled hippie boss of his seemed irresistible. Not that she was. Irresistible. No female was. And he could have stopped at any minute. At any second of that encounter, he could have walked away.
Ah, but you didn’t, did you?
No, he didn’t. And he could still taste her. Not chocolate or sugar or butter. Her. Her skin, her essence. Her own sugary taste on his tongue.
It was killing him.
Well, his dick thought it was. Based on the painful way it was throbbing, he’d have thought someone had just slammed him between the legs with a sledgehammer. He turned under the showerhead, feeling the spray of water on his back.
It wasn’t doing any good. He couldn’t wash away the memory of her laid out before him like some sort of delicious, erotic buffet.
Out of all the women in all the world, he had to go and slather chocolate on this one. Certainly there were better options, even in this town in the middle of nowhere. Obviously, he needed to get laid. Hell, back in L.A., he’d had a buffet of lovely ladies to choose from every night. He never had to settle for anything less than top-of-the-line. So why was he here, standing under now-tepid water, waiting for his raging hard-on to subside?
More important, why did his cock jump at the thought of Phoebe Mayle? Why did his blood run hot when he licked his lips to savor her, still. Impossible. He shouldn’t be able to still taste her.
But he did.
And he saw her. When he closed his eyes, he could clearly picture the way her pupils had gone dark and wide with desire for him. He could see the battle within herself, fighting her need to touch him. She hated him. Sometimes he could feel the emotion radiating off her like some invisible force that seeped into him. He barked a laugh, the sound echoing off the tiled shower walls.
She hated him. Well, she could join the fucking club. She could become an official member of the Nick Avalon Is a Bloody Prick Society.
And the thing was, he didn’t even mind. In fact, he got off on it. Life was better when you knew exactly where you stood. And if you didn’t give a shit what people thought, you didn’t have to put up with any stupid pretenses like politeness.
Fuck that. Politeness was the most acceptable hypocrisy. Yeah, he liked that. Because Nick may be an asshole, a prick, and a son of a bitch. But he certainly wasn’t a hypocrite.
And if people didn’t like it, they could sod off.
It wasn’t his fault that Phoebe couldn’t deny her desire for him. And it wasn’t his fault she hated him. He was who he was. What people decided to do with it was their problem.
Right now, Nick had his own issues. He had to get the fuck back to Los Angeles. And he had to deal with this raging erection pounding like the beat of an electronic dance song.
He wasn’t about to jack off. Nick hadn’t needed to take care of himself in years, and he wasn’t about to start now. He’d find some woman to take care of him. He always did.
And it wouldn’t be his boss. There had to be some hick bar where he could find a willing partner. A woman who wanted nothing more from him than a wall-banger and a good-bye. Because that was about all Nick Avalon was good for.
But…damn it. Just the thought of touching another woman was more effective than that sledgehammer. The thought of another woman, some person who didn’t have Phoebe’s quirky smile, her honey smell, the taste of her skin…
Apparently, his dick didn’t like that idea. The pounding arousal had begun to ebb. At the thought of another woman.
“That can’t be good,” he muttered to himself, the sound echoing off the moist shower walls. And of course, then he started thinking about her again and his desire started building up again.
Under the water, he turned again. Then he twisted the faucet until cold water shot him in the groin. A shiver ran through him and he gritted his teeth. But it did the trick. Not quite a sledgehammer, but his erection finally wilted.
Problem solved.
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Rubbing his hair dry, he stepped out of the shower and dried off the rest of his shivering body. Shivering was good. He tended to run hot in every sense of the word, and sometimes a blast of arctic chill was exactly what he needed.
And now his hard-on was good and killed. He didn’t need Phoebe to take care of him. He didn’t need anyone. For anything. He had himself, his skill, and he had tequila. What else could a man possibly require?
Phoebe grabbed a ceramic coffee mug off the shelf and slammed the cupboard door closed. When she’d come home from her little jaunt to Nick’s last night, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d taken a shower to scrub her body, sticky from chocolate pudding and Nick’s mouth. Maybe it was the organic soap, but she didn’t feel as if she’d washed everything off. She could still feel his hands on her skin; her body tingled everywhere he’d spread chocolate on her: her neck, her breasts, her mouth. Her pussy…
Not thinking about that. Even just the thought of his face between her legs sent a little pulse of lust right to the place his tongue had licked so adeptly.
“Morning!”
Phoebe jumped, practically dropping the mug, but catching it before it hit the hard wood. Taking a deep breath, she turned and tried to look normal as her brother-in-law came into the kitchen. She smiled. There. That had to appear somewhat natural, right?
He glanced at her. “What’s wrong with your face?”
Her free hand flew to her mouth. Had she missed some chocolate somewhere? In what she hoped was a subtle gesture, she licked her lips. No chocolate came back on her tongue.
Instead, she tasted him.
Oh, God, that couldn’t be good.
Steve gave her one more look before opening the refrigerator door. “You seem a bit out of it this morning.”
She supposed that was one way of putting it. Frustrated, confused, horny, irritated. Any of those adjectives would work, really. But sure, she could go with “out of it.”
She grabbed the soy creamer out of Steve’s hand and poured some into her still-empty mug and filled it with coffee. “I’m just thinking of all the things I have to do later. I think I’m going to teach the kids how to harvest honey today.” She chugged a few gulps of coffee. “And I think the herb garden needs to be trimmed.” Gulp, gulp, gulp. “Oh, and I got a fax last night from Edible Earth in Marin for ten pounds of carrots, so we’ll have to pull and ship.” She poured more coffee into her cup. “And I need to see how the eggplants are doing.” Right. Eggplants.
She went to take a sip from her mug, but realized she’d drained the cup.
She turned and poured more organic, shade-grown, fair-trade coffee into her mug. It was the only type of caffeine allowed in the house. So it was a damn good thing that the coffee was delicious because Phoebe seemed to be drinking a hefty amount of the stuff that morning.
Steve asked, “You’re not going to the café today?”
She nearly spit out her coffee but managed to swallow before answering. “What?”
He spoke slowly, as if she were incapable of understanding his words. “Don’t you need to run by
the café? You know, that restaurant in town you own. The one with the ‘totally incorrigible chef’?”
You mean the one with the taut abs and shockingly hot tattoo across his lean, hard chest? She shook her head. “Um, no. I don’t want to do him today.”
Steve shook his head. “Uh, pardon me?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t want to do him today?”
Crap. “I mean, I don’t need to see him today. That’s what I meant.”
He continued staring at her.
“What?” She shifted on her feet as her neck heated. Damn pale skin always gave her away.
“Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Shut up.” She opened the refrigerator door and stuck her head into the cold air, pretending to look for something. But her brain wasn’t inside the fridge so she pulled out a yogurt instead.
“Really?” she said, staring at the container. “Organic chocolate yogurt?” The label read ‘Tastes like pudding!’
“You have a problem with chocolate?”
“Definitely.”
“Since when?” Steve asked.
She jerked her head up. “I mean, no. I don’t have any issues with chocolate.” Especially when it’s being spread all over your body by a hot chef with a big spoon.
Crap. She really was out of it.
Steve leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms across his wide chest. Barely six feet, he wasn’t a tall man. But he had a quiet presence that drew attention. His hair was long, his beard always shaggy. He was like a big teddy bear.
But he’d never quite gotten over the death of his wife, Phoebe’s sister. Judy’s death from cancer had occurred over five years ago, but as far as Phoebe knew, Steve hadn’t so much as looked at another woman. He devoted his life to his hardware shop and his daughter, Jesse.
Steve took a few steps and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What is going on with you? Do you need a day off? I’m sure one of the kids can oversee the farm for a day.”
She stared at the carton of yogurt. “No, I’m fine.” She needed the distraction of the farm. Needed to dig in the earth and get her hands dirty. Needed to stay away from Nick Avalon.