by Kat Cantrell
Val had done some renovations, like adding the surround sound and updating the kitchen extensively, but the guts were largely the same, down to the exposed coffee-colored beams arching overhead.
“It does fit me. Surprisingly. It’s been in the family since it was built and has a lot of history that I have grown to appreciate.”
“Like what? Tell me.”
Sabrina slid onto one of the stools set on the far side of the granite-topped island in the center of the kitchen. Copper pots hung from the ceiling, but he actually used his, unlike a lot of people with gourmet kitchens.
He shrugged and checked on his sauce, which was thickening nice and slow as it should. “My mother grew up here. I find things all the time that I imagine she must have enjoyed, like the shade of the oak trees along the property, or a hidey-hole in the attic where she left a book with her name scrawled across the first page.”
“That’s...nice. Also not what I was expecting.”
He let a brief smile bloom. “I have to ask then. What were you expecting?”
Eleven
Sabrina couldn’t answer Val’s question without incriminating herself, and neither did she think he’d appreciate it if she hauled out the Fifth Amendment on a first date. Second date. Third?
First. The snow cones definitely didn’t count, and the red-dress event probably didn’t count. The fact that Val had kissed her both times notwithstanding.
“Spill, Sabrina,” Val said, his voice low and silky in the candle-lit kitchen. “You said yes to dinner. That means we’re going to have a very long conversation where we learn things about each other. What were you expecting?”
“I wasn’t expecting anything.” Did she sound as defensive to him as she did to herself? “Thirty minutes ago, I thought I was going to a wine bar with Tina, a girl I know from college. Bam! You happened, and here I am.”
“Don’t change the subject. Once, I could let pass, but you made it a point to tell me twice that I’m not what you expected. Since I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m not like the other men you’ve dated, I’m dying to know what finally tripped that switch in your head.”
Val hadn’t moved from his spot by the stove. There was a whole slab of brown and white granite between them, but the way he glanced at her over his shoulder made her achy and shivery. “I don’t know. I expected a slick bachelor pad. I guess. And a man who doesn’t pay attention to things like oak trees or books.”
“Surprise.” The pan on the stove lost his attention, and he swung around to lean on the island, his strong hands braced against the granite. “My mother and I worked together at LeBlanc Charities for almost fifteen years until she retired. We’ve had a lot of time to talk. Bond. She’s important to me. Oak trees and books are too, but only because they are to her.”
Mesmerized, she searched Val’s beautiful face for clues as to why he’d say something so personal to her. Why he’d let Sabrina see love for his mother painted all over him. It was as baffling as it was affecting. “I’m starting to get an inkling why you’re so sure you’re not like the men I’ve dated before.”
Honestly, she’d thought that was typical male pandering. That would have been the case with her normal type and, one of these centuries, she’d get the memo to her brain that Val wasn’t her normal type.
The aromatic scent of tomatoes, garlic and basil that hung heavy in the air of his kitchen should be enough of a testament to that. No one had ever cooked for her before. That alone may have been the thing that tipped the scales, though she had a legion of reasons that she’d gotten into the car with him. The fact that Tina had canceled wasn’t even in the top ten.
“Only an inkling?” His wide smile teased one out of her.
“Well, keep in mind, you do have quite a few things in common with the last guy I dated. You can see how I might get confused.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Something altogether dangerous flashed through his expression as he contemplated her. “I’m nothing like the last guy you dated. We might share a last name, but that’s the extent of it.”
Well, that and the fact that they were twins. But she’d long stopped thinking that they looked similar. They really didn’t, not to her, despite being identical. Xavier resembled the diamonds he sold: hard, glittery and indestructible. Val had the fire at the heart of a diamond, all right, but the rest? No. He was more like an active volcano with so much heat and pressure inside, it spilled over his edges, wreaking havoc all around him.
Or maybe that was just her.
“I misspoke,” she allowed. “You’re definitely a breed of your own. I don’t think Xavier even knows where his kitchen is.”
That made Val smile, but it took on a wolfish quality that didn’t relax her in the slightest. “I’d wager that’s not the only thing he doesn’t know how to find.”
True to form, everything out of his mouth had started to sound slightly dirty, and she had a feeling it wasn’t an accident. She’d inadvertently tripped over her own tongue by mentioning Xavier. She wouldn’t do that again, particularly since she didn’t have really even the slightest interest in talking about his brother.
What she did have an interest in talking about she wasn’t sure. And Val was in rare form tonight, calling her on her missteps instantly, paying far too much attention to her instead of his dinner. “Speaking of which, what are you making me?”
“Spaghetti.” But he wasn’t making anything, he was still leaning on the island, his hot, hungry gaze sliding along her shoulders and the neckline of her dress. “Italian is your favorite, right?”
The way he looked at her pulled at strings inside that she’d scarcely realized existed. It was too much and, simultaneously, not enough. She couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands, so she clenched them in her lap. Had to be spaghetti, didn’t it? Almost as if she’d scripted the evening ahead of time and he’d read her mind. “I don’t know if I’d call it my favorite. I like it. But I don’t know that I like it more than anything else.”
He made a noise in his throat. “This is always the way with you, isn’t it? No passion for anything. There has to be something you feel strongly about. What is it?”
“I...don’t know.” She swallowed at the vibes shooting from Val. They confused her. Had she angered him by not falling all over him with how much she adored spaghetti? “I have a really strong desire to be successful at coaching.”
“That’s not something you can feel desire for.” He waved that off. “That’s not something that can return your passion, feed it. Stop holding out on me. What really gets you going? What do you crave so much that you’d do anything to get it?”
You. It spilled into her head with so much force that she almost blurted it out loud. She didn’t. Couldn’t. It wasn’t entirely true anyway. Sure, he infuriated her on occasion, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how he kissed with his whole body. But that didn’t mean she craved him. She hadn’t ever craved anything. “I’m not holding out on you. I don’t I have that kind of personality.”
His brows rose. “Everyone has that kind of personality. Your problem is that you’ve had too many disappointments in your life. The fire inside you can and should be stoked as often as possible but, every time you try, someone puts it out.”
“That’s not—” But she couldn’t even finish the sentence because her chest got tight all at once. What was going on here? She’d expected seduction, not a psychological survey. “We’re talking about spaghetti. This is entirely too deep a conversation for that.”
All at once, he skirted the island and crowded into her space, taking up all the oxygen in the room at the same time. He spun her stool so that she faced him. Blinking up at him, she tried to keep breathing, but her lungs had frozen.
“Sabrina.” He caressed her name with his lips. “We’re not talking about spaghetti. Stand up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re going to kiss me, and you’re going to want to do it standing up. Trust me.”
Feigning amusement, she crossed her arms over her suddenly quaking chest. “Who said I was going to kiss you?”
“I did.” His presence weighed her down, giving her no quarter. “Because you know I’m right. You know you have something inside of you that burns and you’re aching to let it fly. I’m going to give you that. And you want me to.”
Shuddering, she let the concepts he’d laid out winnow through her because they were that powerful. She did have passion and need that had gone unfulfilled because she deliberately sought out men who could never reach those longings. How had he guessed these things about her? Or was it more than a guess? If he knew she picked lovers who were guaranteed to leave her cold, what did that mean? He saw through her defenses too easily, that’s what.
Or perhaps the blame lay squarely at her own feet. She’d shared far too much with him about her struggles with trust, particularly when it came to fidelity in relationships, and he’d gobbled up all that information to use to his advantage.
Except...that wasn’t exactly what was happening.
The problem was she didn’t know what was happening. Maybe that should be the first point of clarification. “Let’s say I kiss you. Then what?”
His wolfish smile grew teeth, and she felt every one of them clamp on her core. Raw need—desire—radiated from his gaze and she couldn’t look away. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.
“That’s all up to you, Sabrina. ‘Then what’ could be dinner. Or you could ask me to strip you naked right here in the kitchen and make you come over and over again. Your choice. The trick is for you to figure out what you crave. Food and sex are both big ticket items in that arena.”
“And you’re good at both,” she added on his behalf.
“I assumed that was implied.”
His confidence shouldn’t be so sexy, nor should his teasing grin make her smile in return. She shouldn’t be smiling or thinking of standing up or wondering why she couldn’t crave both food and sex, especially when Valentino LeBlanc would be the delivery boy for both.
She stood. He didn’t move a muscle, just let her brush up against his body until they were aligned like forks in a drawer, and the contact was so delicious that she pressed closer.
“I did have this particular fantasy,” she admitted, shocking herself with her boldness.
But not Val. He took it in stride, wrapping his arms around her, and the feel of his firm hands on her body thrilled through her. The smell of male engulfed her, strong, heady and, oh, so hot. What was it about him that made her forget all her rules?
“What?” he murmured. “Tell me. I want to hear all about it.”
“It has to do with that counter—” She tilted her head toward the island. “You. And some spaghetti sauce.”
His eyelids fluttered shut, and he groaned, his voice scraping over the sound with a raw needy sort of rasp. “A combo deal. I cannot tell you how sexy that is.”
Really? Sexy wasn’t a word that got tossed in her direction too often. In fact, she deliberately stayed away from anything close to that.
“Try,” she suggested and, when he raised his eyebrows in question, she forced herself to complete the thought. “I spend a lot of time trying to get men to see me as an equal, not enticing them. I don’t do sexy well.”
“I beg to differ,” he growled and spun her so that her spine pressed against the counter. “You do sexy just fine. Often without realizing it, which is why it’s so affecting. Now, you were about to act out your fantasy, and I was about to start enjoying it. Go ahead.”
There was no way. Was he serious? A nervous titter escaped from her mouth. “I was expecting you to take the lead.”
“There you go with expectations again. I’m already embracing my passion.” Like silk, his hands smoothed over her buttocks, boldly making his point that she was in his embrace. “It’s your turn.”
This was the part where she was supposed to kiss him. Let it all fly, so to speak. The thought electrified her. So she did, catching his mouth with hers, and it thrummed through her, wrenching loose a hungry noise in her chest.
The kiss caught fire, mounting in urgency instantly until she’d lost all sense of time. The top of the island bit into the small of her back, and she arched to alleviate the pressure. As if reading her mind—thank God—he boosted her up onto the countertop, pushing the skirt of her dress higher on her thighs so he could step between them.
“Like this?” he whispered against her mouth. “Show me what you want me to do.”
Sabrina didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, sliding her tongue forward to find his until there was nothing but the hot skim of flesh burning her alive from the inside out. More. Oh, yes, she needed more and guided his palms up her thighs and kept going along her torso to her breasts. Fortunately, he took suggestion well, exploring her covered flesh, his touch searing through her until she could hardly think.
Which maybe wasn’t so much of the goal here.
He shifted closer, grinding hard against her core until she saw bursts of light.
“What next, Sabrina?” he asked so impatiently that she couldn’t help but respond.
I want it all.
So she showed him. Fingers flying over his buttons, she pushed his shirt open and then familiarized herself with his shape, his gorgeous skin, defined pectorals. As she skimmed his chest, he sucked in a breath, and her gaze flew to his face.
The raw need there shattered something inside. What would it be like to let go with that kind of abandon? She had to know immediately. This experience wouldn’t be complete without that.
“Val,” she bit out hoarsely. “I want—”
“Yeah, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.”
“I want...to feel.”
Oh, yes, she did. She wanted to open herself up, to heave great chunks of ice from her soul and let Val turn the rest to steam. He seemed to sense exactly what she needed, sliding his hands along her bare thighs, gathering her dress in the V of his fingers and working it off her body with swift, sure motion.
Once he bared her fully, he let his heavy lidded gaze worship her naked form for an eternity. His perusal made her achy and squirmy, and she couldn’t stand this distance between them. Inching forward, she fell into him, into a gorgeously silky kiss made all the more affecting as his palms spread across her bare back.
She gasped against his mouth, thrusting her breasts forward, chafing her nipples against his hard chest until the friction nearly made her come apart. His hands skimmed to her thighs.
“Open for me,” he instructed softly, and she let him push them apart, wantonly spreading herself for whatever he might decide came next.
Except she was supposed to decide. The power of that coursed through her, and she couldn’t stop from blurting, “I want you to touch me.”
He complied instantly without censure, his fingertips playing over her heated flesh until she cried out, unable to keep the pleasure inside. He toyed with her, slipping fingers in and out, driving her to the point of delirium.
“Let go, Sabrina,” he instructed. “Feel. I’m touching you, and you like it. It’s all good.”
A white-hot river of sensation flowed through her body, coalescing at the center of everything, where his fingers worked their magic. Pinpricks of light and heat wheeled through her core until they finally exploded outward, rippling along conduits of her body, and even her toes felt it.
With one last burst, she went limp, sagging against the counter, elbows on the cool granite.
“Gorgeous,” Val murmured as he bent to mouth a kiss along her collarbone. “You are without a doubt the most responsive, sexy woman I have ever seen.”
Given that he probably had plenty of experience to draw from, she chose to take it as gospel. “I
’m fairly certain the stimuli had something to do with it.”
When he laughed, she let her eyelids drift open. He was leaning on the counter, his gaze heated and watchful as he openly ogled her. “More where that came from. Unless you’d like dinner first before I show you what I want.”
The wicked promise curled up inside her, and she couldn’t imagine anything she wanted to do less than eat. “Take me to bed, Val.”
Without blinking, he gathered her up and lifted her from the granite as if she weighed no more than a sack of groceries. The real feat of strength came when he carried her up a flight of stairs without breaking a sweat. Somehow, he managed to make her feel desired and beautiful without a word. That was the true magic.
No, it was romance. As promised.
When they entered the bedroom, she wiggled from his arms and unashamedly pulled him toward the bed, stripping him as she went. His shirt hit the floor, then his pants and, when she got him completely naked, she pushed him onto the bed. Looming over him, she returned the favor by openly staring at what she’d uncovered.
To all intents and purposes, she should have been prepared for Val in all his glory. Bits and pieces of him had been pressed into her sensitive spots several times. It shouldn’t have been such a shock to finally take in his sinewy, drool-inducing form, yet she managed it anyway.
Long and lithe, Valentino LeBlanc had been crafted with sex and sin in mind, wholly compliant to a woman’s pleasure. She could not wait to dig in.
Amusement colored his face. “I guess this is the part where you’re going to get bossy.”
“It is.” She arched a brow. “So I’d advise you to fall in line, or there will be hell to pay.”
That got a laugh, and he crossed his arms over his beautiful chest, ruining her view. “I feel a distinct need to challenge that.”