Deliciously Sinful

by Lilli Feisty

  Okay, it was totally unnerving.

  Hell, everything about him was unsettling. But the gentle grip with which he held her calmed her at the same time.

  She’d never felt anything like it. She’d never felt a shiver go up her back like she did when he pushed the hair off her neck to slide his palm up her skin. He cupped her jaw and tilted her face up. She could have been chained to the spot, she was so unable to move.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he said.

  “W-what?”

  “You’re going to tell me no, to not kiss you.”

  “It’s a bad idea.”

  “You didn’t think it was a bad idea that night in my kitchen.”

  “I-I was tired. And it was a bad idea.”

  Shrugging, he continued holding her face and, with his other hand, wrapped his fingers around her wrist. He had lengthy fingers, and they were strong. The simple way he held her froze her, even as she felt her insides begin to melt into butter.

  Smiling, he nodded down at her. “Right. Very bad idea.” But he was leaning down and his lips were closing in on hers. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he passed her mouth to nuzzle his nose at the base of her neck. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, and she started to tremble. Her eyes drifted shut as he inhaled and breathed out.

  “You smell good, Phoebe.”

  So do you…The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say them. She couldn’t do anything except feel.

  “You smell…fresh. Like the forest.” And then he kissed her neck. Gently at first and then with more intention. So good…it felt so good she nearly lost her balance. But he held her steady.

  His mouth made its way up her neck, intoxicating. His mouth, his tongue, his warm breath, she’d never experienced anything quite like it. She wanted him to stop.

  Oh, that wasn’t true, was it? She wanted him to keep going and never stop. She wanted that mouth of his on hers. And she knew it was coming. But all she could do was wait. Again, she’d given up her power over her own reaction, over reason, over everything. Handed it all over to Nick like a chocolate Sunday with a cherry on top.

  And though it was dangerous, her heart raced with anticipation and excitement. She couldn’t deny herself this, no matter how much she knew she ought to.

  Finally, his lips touched hers. She opened her mouth and let him lick her, kiss her, hold her. Her tongue mingled with his. Slow, hot, melting.

  The kiss shot straight through her and landed directly between her legs. Pulsing right at her sex, she craved his touch right there. But she also wanted to feel him. Feel his body, his flesh. With her free hand, she grasped his firm biceps, pulling him closer.

  Yes. He pressed against her, and every inch of her body that he touched turned to fire. And when she felt his erection push against her, separated by their clothes, her pussy dampened.

  So simple. Just a kiss. But it had her entire sex dripping with desire.

  Perfection. The sun, the trees, the soft breeze. A bucket of mushrooms she’d just picked. Nick kissing her. A satisfaction like she’d never experienced before settled over her, and suddenly images flashed through her mind.

  This was what it could be like. A life of simple pleasures, of sharing her body with a man she desired. Who, despite his attitude, was starting to show tiny glimpses of something else. Something better than the bad-boy image he wanted so hard to maintain.

  And that was scarier than any of the other reasons she had for staying away from him.

  Her heart. Her heart seemed to be growing as he continued to kiss her and she kissed him back. Inside, her chest wanted to explode with something much different than pure desire…this was more. More than simple lust.

  She jerked away. “I-I have to go.”

  He looked a bit stunned. “Phoebe?”

  Grabbing the bucket, she tried to get a grip. These feelings were too much. If she continued down this road, it would lead to no good. Was she actually having thoughts of how perfect things could be with Nick?

  Don’t be fooled by his apparent attitude change. It’s just a ruse, and even if it wasn’t, it’s a bad idea.

  Nick Avalon, in general, was a bad idea.

  “I’m sorry…it’s just that I’m late, and I need to be at the café. Things to do, you know.”

  “Right.” He was composing himself quickly. Part of her was disappointed. Part of her wanted him to stop her from leaving, to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her with the force of a man who wanted her. Like a scene from a movie.

  Still shaking, she forced herself to look at him. “Stop doing that.”

  “What?” He looked sincerely shocked, but she knew it was all an act.

  “Trying to gain power over me.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You know damn well.” Anger was overtaking the lust that had been rushing through her veins only moments before. “Do you think I forgot what happened the last time we—” She lowered her voice. “You know.”

  “Know what?” he asked as he cocked a brow.

  “The last time when you tried to have sex with me!” she said in an angry whisper.

  “Why are you whispering? Are you afraid of offending the delicate ears of the trees? And anyway, who would they tell?”

  “Shut up. I’m trying to make a point here.”

  “At least you raised your voice so I could hear you.” He paused and tried to look thoughtful. “I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

  “Can you ever just stay on topic?”

  “Fine. What happened, the last time we, you know, poppet?”

  “You…” She waved a hand at him. “And the chocolate…and you…”

  “I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

  “Well, I’m complaining now!”

  He gave her a satisfied smirk.

  “There! See? All you want to do is prove that you can have whatever you want.”

  “Can’t I?”

  Her face burned as she remembered how he’d ended their last encounter with the chocolate pudding. He’d wanted to show her a lesson, to prove he was better than her.

  And he had.

  She stared at him. Gorgeous. Even when she hated him, she thought he was gorgeous. He made her blood rush with desire. He made her nipples ache to be touched. He made her pussy wet with need.

  Keeping her gaze fixed on his, she inched just a bit closer. Her pulse hit the accelerator, her heartbeat speeding up as she got closer to her target. She lowered her eyes to look at his lips.

  She looked up. “Please stop.”

  “You really want me to?”

  She searched his eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “I don’t know.”

  He crooked his finger and nudged her chin up.

  “Yes you do,” he said. His eyes were now a dark shade of navy blue. Dark with desire. “You know exactly what you want.”

  After a second she nodded slowly, lightly. “You’re right, Nick. I do want…”

  “Say it, Phoebe. Say what you want.”

  “I want…I want…”

  “Yes, love?”

  She smacked his fingers off her face and shoved the bucket of mushrooms into his hands. “I want you to take these to the café, clean them, and make me a mushroom cream sauce for the buckwheat crepes on tonight’s menu.”

  She couldn’t help it. As soon as she crossed the first set of branches to obscure his view of her, she broke out in a huge smile.

  Chapter Seven

  People thought that because Jesse was eighteen, she knew nothing about love. That wasn’t true. She’d seen the way her parents had looked at each other. She could still visualize the exact way her father had watched her mother when she was going about the simplest things. Like washing the dishes or talking on the phone or sipping her tea. He’d always seemed to be watching her. Not in a creepy, stalker kind of way, but because he’d just liked looking at her. His eyes would go all soft and mushy an
d full of what Jesse knew to be total contentment.

  He never had that look anymore.

  Jesse heaved a pot of boiling water off the Viking range and drained the organic wheat corkscrew pasta into a colander. Steam rose up, clouding around her face like vapor from a hot spring. She let it. It hid the tears that sprang up sometimes when she thought of her mom. She missed her. It was unfair. Mom had been a good person, and Jesse didn’t need to be some sort of expert on the human race to know that the world was severely lacking in the good people department. So why her mom? Why did her mom have to get effing breast cancer?

  It wasn’t fair.

  And she didn’t even care about herself. It was her dad she worried about. It had been five years since Mom died. She knew her dad missed her mother just as much today as he had the days following that last, horrible stay in the hospital.

  The steam evaporated, and she wiped her face on a dishtowel before throwing it into the laundry pile. She didn’t know why she was thinking of her mom today. It was just like that sometimes. Maybe it was because she worried about her dad, and he’d been on her mind lately. She bit her lip. Yeah, he’d been on her mind because she’d been doing the one thing she knew would make him even more sad. She’d been learning how to cook meat, compliments of Nick Avalon.

  And damn it, she liked it.

  “Jesse!”

  She whipped her head to the side to see Nick eyeing her. He was leaning against the counter holding a package wrapped in white butcher paper. Her heart gave a little jump. She knew that paper. It had become all too familiar since Nick had started working here.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Pork chops.” His lips quirked, and he grinned evilly.

  She couldn’t help but smile. He really was charming sometimes. For an old guy.

  But still, she must have looked worried because Nick said, “Don’t fret, dumpling. I’m sure just yesterday these chops were on some pigs wallowing around in a free-range pen, chowing organic slop, happy as clams.” He shook his head at his own nonsense. “Anyway, I assure you they were fat and happy little piggies before they got the ax.”

  Jesse put a hand to her mouth. “Nick! Don’t talk like that!”

  “My point is, we have an hour before we open for lunch. It’s the perfect opportunity to give you a little lesson on how a simple technique can turn a humble pork chop into a delicious bit of piggy-meat heaven.”

  She really shouldn’t. If her dad found out, he’d get that sad, puppy-dog look. And it would be her fault.

  On the other hand, cooking was something that was becoming kind of an addiction. She loved learning techniques, especially the ones Nick had recently been teaching her, and she loved the end result. Out of all the hobbies she’d tried in school—painting, sculpture, poetry—nothing compared to the satisfaction she received from the art of creating the perfect béchamel sauce.

  “Fine,” she said. “But we have to hurry. We only have an hour.”

  Nick grinned. “That’s more than enough time, cookie.”

  “Here’s tonight’s menu.” Phoebe threw a piece of paper on the counter, where it landed in front of Nick.

  He raised a brow and leisurely picked up the paper. He knew Phoebe created all the menus herself, usually based on what she was producing from her farm. She also typed up the specials menu daily, and he had to admit she did a decent job of it. No cheesy graphics. Just simple type with simple descriptions.

  “It’s Saturday.”

  He glanced up. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Fixed-price night.”

  He took a swig from his glass of tequila. “I’m aware of the concept.”

  “Good. Then read that over and make sure you can get it done.”

  She raised her little chin and added, “I know we serve a fairly humble menu during the week, but our Saturday prix fixe carte du jour is a bit more upscale. Think you can handle it?”

  “Gee, ma’am. I’ll try my darnedest.” He gave her a mock salute.

  With one last scowl she turned, her skirt swirling around her as she stalked back outside, her sandals hitting the ground like hammers. He laughed. For someone who came off as such a hippie, she sure was wound up like the worst kind of executive yuppie.

  Nick took another sip from his glass and read over the menu. He hated to admit it, but he was impressed. Starting with an Andante dairy minuet with fennel and watermelon radish salad and Acme pain epi with Straus butter. Appetizers included risotto burrata croquettes with salsa verde, grilled artichokes, squash and Treviso radicchio with warm butter and aged balsamic…

  The entrées included butternut squash ravioli with Lacinato and Nagoya kale, spring onions, and caramel almonds…rosemary crepes with rainbow chard, savoy spinach, leeks, and goat cheese…wild-mushroom shepherd’s pie with caramelized onions, and a pinot noir mushroom sauce…

  Damn. Even her wine suggestions were perfect, and he should know. He was good at a lot of things, but he had a special knack for pairing liquor with food. And not just wine. Sometimes wine just didn’t cut it. Nick thought tequila was often preferable.

  He took another sip of the said liquid that happened to be right near his hand. Then he watched as Phoebe attempted to open the door to the café with a crate of artichokes in her arms.

  She glared at him. “Can I get a hand here?”

  “But it’s so fun to watch you struggle.”

  “You’re an ass.” She finally made it through and the paned-glass door slammed shut behind her.

  “So I’ve been told.” He almost felt bad for not helping her. He might be a prick, but he still had the knowledge of basic manners. But something inside him enjoyed annoying her. It seemed every day she got more and more bossy, and it was now like a challenge. How irritated could he make her?

  Because she was going to break sometime. And he wanted to be there to see it. He wanted to see her utterly give up control. And he wanted to be the one who enjoyed every second when that happened.

  And she was changing. When he’d first met her, he could almost smell her nervousness when he was around her. But those nerves were slowly morphing into an almost comfortable irritation, and he liked that she was, apparently, beginning to feel less and less intimidated by him.

  Dropping the crate on the counter next to the sink, she glared at him. “Did you look at the menu?”

  “I did.”

  She made a gesture with her hand as if to say, And…?

  Finally, she prompted, “And?”

  “Are you sure about the caramel almonds?” Nick had no problem with caramel almonds, but he couldn’t stop himself. He could stop taunting her, but he didn’t feel like it. Why? Was he really that bored?

  Could be.

  And there was the fact that if he wasn’t taunting her, he was thinking about her lush breasts, the taste of her skin, the way she smelled…

  Better to taunt. “Because I think walnuts would be a better choice.” He didn’t even like walnuts.

  “I made the menu. You just cook it.”

  “I’m just offering my opinion. You know, since I trained at—”

  She rolled her eyes. “The Cordon Bleu. I know! We all know! Jeez, how many times do you have to tell us?”

  Slightly taken aback, he drained his glass. The tequila burned its way down his throat and landed in his gut. “I’m sorry.” He was apologizing? He never apologized. He said, “I think you people forget that I’m used to cooking—”

  “Delicacies for patrons of the highest caliber! Trust me, we get it. We know.” Hands on her hips, she came at him.

  He tried not to focus on the twisty little curl of hair that had sprung out of her braid. He focused on her pink little mouth, which was still moving. He couldn’t help but think that she’d be a lot less able to rail at him with his dick in her mouth.

  Damn it. The thought made him shift as his balls went tight. Better to listen, even if her voice was rising by the second.

  “We all know you’re w
ay better than us, that you’re used to cooking things bumpkins like us could never begin to appreciate. We know what you think. The thing is? We don’t care!”

  She was yelling at him. And flailing her arms. And her hair was coming undone in frizzy, curly waves. He just stared at her. It had been a long time since someone shouted at him in a kitchen. Generally, it was Nick who was doing the bellowing.

  This place really was backward.

  He spoke calmly. “I was just trying to help.”

  Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. She’d really worked herself up. It shouldn’t be cute. But it was. So much so, he had to look away.

  Then he looked back. “What got into your knickers? Oh, right. That was me.”

  He thought she might explode. She resembled one of those cartoons where the animated animal becomes so mad that its head turns bright red and turns into a steam-blowing contraption.

  Quite the contrast from the sassy woman who’d walked away from him in the woods. No, he hadn’t liked that very much. He’d been irked, yet he’d also been amused and somewhat surprised at her spunk. Not many people could stand up to him in the context of the two things he excelled at: cooking and wooing women.

  Well, she may have been annoyed at him in the woods. Now she looked ready to kill him. He took a step back in retreat. She took a step toward him.

  He put his hand out, palm facing her. “Hang on now, Phoebe. I was just giving you a hard time.”

  She continued to encroach on his space. He felt his ass hit the counter. With her index finger, she poked him in the chest.

  “Ow!” he said.

  “You…you…you jerk!”

  “Wow. You really have a potty mouth, don’t you, love?” He was trying to sound casual, but his heart was starting to hammer. Why did it do that around her? He couldn’t control his reaction to her, either physically or emotionally.

  She made him feel. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it was there, and he wasn’t at all cool with it.

  He took her hand, the one that had been poking him, and clenched it in his fist. He could feel her bones. Long and delicate. But despite her fragile appearance, it was obvious she was anything but. She was a strong woman who wasn’t intimidated by him one whit.