Taste Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Temptation Series Book 3)

by Kally Ash

  Oh, please, she thought, but smiled anyway. The opportunity for sex was being revealed to her and she never looked a gift Chad in the mouth. “Yes?” she asked sweetly.

  “Did you want to get a drink tonight?”

  She gave him a slow smile and then remembered her dinner plans for that night. “I’m sorry, but I’m having dinner with a friend tonight.” Chad’s smile dimmed somewhat until she said, “But I’m free tomorrow night. We could get a drink.” Or you could get me naked and go down on me.

  “Great. That’s great.”

  When it was clear that he wasn’t going to do much more than stare at her, she reached across to his phone, which was also in the little caddy, and jogged it in his direction so he’d unlock the thing. Opening up the camera, she took a selfie—duck lips and all—and then saved herself as a contact.

  Handing the device back, she said, “Call me later?”

  He blinked but nodded and Natasha hit the stop button on her belt. She wasn’t in the right mind-set for a workout right now. Scooping up her towel, keys, phone, and headphones, she sashayed from the gym, making sure to keep her hips loose and her ass shaking. She wanted to remind Chad what he could be tapping tomorrow night.

  Without looking back, she knew his mouth would’ve been hanging open, probably lolling out onto the floor. With a sly grin, she went to the elevator and returned to her apartment for a shower.

  Sitting at her desk a few hours later, Natasha just couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t fucking untangle the mess of lines and curves that the legal student had seemingly vomited onto the yellow legal pad.

  Fuck.

  Picking up her phone, she listened to the ring in her ear translate to the ringing outside her door. Her assistant, a rather perky forty-something named Layla, answered.

  “Yes, Miss Fraser?”

  “Layla, would you be an absolute peach and get me a coffee?”

  “Oh, of course, Miss Fraser. Would you like any pastries?”

  “I’d kill for a blueberry danish. And make sure to get one for yourself as well.”

  Layla laughed. “Thank you, Miss Fraser.”

  The phone call ended with a click, and she’d just put the handset down when it rang again.

  “Sorry, Miss Fraser,” Layla said. “I have a Mr. Bob Slater on the phone for you.”

  “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

  There was another click and Natasha sucked in a breath. Her boss knew that Slater, Slater and Jones were interested in her. They were well aware of the carrots they were dangling too. What he didn’t know was that Natasha had finally made her decision.

  “Mr. Slater, how are you?” Natasha asked smoothly.

  “Miss Fraser, I am very well. How are you? I trust you had a restful weekend.”

  “Now, you know as well as I do that I worked eighty percent of it.”

  His low chuckle boiled up out of the phone. “That’s because you’re just like me. The law is your life and you have no time for anything else.”

  Well, at least that was partially true. “What can I do for you, Mr. Slater?” She knew though. This wasn’t the first time he’d called to woo her some more. They’d been doing this cat and mouse thing for well over ten months now. She’d been able to defer it though, enjoying how the game was played, but now she was just tired.

  “I’m afraid the partners and I are growing weary of the wait. We want you, Miss Fraser, but we really can’t wait any longer.”

  She would’ve thought their patience would’ve run out a loooooong time ago.

  “I understand that, Mr. Slater.”

  “Please, call me Bob.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Slater,” she replied, using the more formal title. “And your offer has been more than generous…”

  He was quiet for a long time. “But you’re turning me down, aren’t you, Miss Fraser?”

  She cleared her throat, feeling like a lump had formed there. “I am.”

  “Can I ask why? The remuneration package is big enough, is it not?”

  “It is very generous, thank you.”

  “So why are you turning me down?”

  Leaning back in her chair, she placed her feet on the desk and tapped her Mont Blanc on her thigh. Apparently, this was her thinking position.

  “You know, I know your father,” he said softly.

  She paused with the pen hovering above her knee. “I did not.”

  “Yes, he and I go way back. We studied at Columbia together. I understand your brother is there now.”

  “Yes, sir, he is.”

  “I called him over the weekend to congratulate him on another birthday.”

  Fuck! “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say and you have got to be fucking kidding me seemed a little extreme.

  “He told me that you won’t come to me because your loyalty is to King.”

  “My father—”

  “Your father is a hardheaded man who’s used to getting what he wants. And so am I. I want you on the team, Natasha. Tell me what I have to do to make that happen.”

  She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m afraid my father is correct. My loyalty is with King, although my dad would say that I’m being too soft.”

  “That sounds like something your old man would say. And I told him you wouldn’t come over to my firm, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Wait, are you saying you were only pursuing me because of my father?”

  She waited for his reply, formulating her answer depending on which way he answered the question.

  “No, I’m pursuing you because you’re a damn fine lawyer, and you have all the attributes that your father has, but you have more than that. You have a compassion he never possessed. Some might call that a weakness, but I don’t. I’ve seen the benefits of the softer approach. Who knows? If your father had some of that, he might have made supreme court judge like your granddaddy.”

  Well, that certainly knocked the breath from her lungs. There was a soft knock on her door and she glanced up to see Layla standing at her door with a cardboard holder loaded with coffee and pastries wrapped in brown paper. Holding up her finger to tell her to wait, she refocused her attention on the phone call.

  “So, your final answer to me is…”

  She drew in a breath and let it go. “Mr. Slater, I appreciate your offer, and your candidness even more so, but my dad is right. My loyalty is to King. They gave me a chance and I owe it to them.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am grateful that you gave me serious thought. The offer still stands, even though your answer is no for now. I will always have a position available to you if you want it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Slater. Have a good day.”

  “You too, Miss Fraser.”

  Click.

  Natasha reached forward and set the cradle back against the body of the phone and let out a deep breath. She glanced up when the smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries tickled her nose.

  “Thank you, Layla,” she told the woman as she unloaded the coffee cups and placed one of the two brown paper bags down onto her desk.

  “What did you get?”

  The other woman peered into the top of her bag. “I can’t go past Portuguese custard tarts.” After a beat, Layla smiled and turned away.

  “Wait, Layla?”

  “Yes, Miss Fraser?”

  “Want to take a break with me?”

  Layla looked taken aback for a moment before a small smile appeared on her face.

  “That would be lovely.”

  Natasha nodded and gestured to the chair opposite the desk. “Take a load off.”

  “Thank you.”

  Layla put the cardboard tray down onto the surface in front of her and pulled her coffee cup free.

  “How was your weekend?” she asked, taking a bite of her blueberry danish.

  “Fine, Miss Fraser. I, ah, had to take my youngest daughter to a dance recital.”


  “I didn’t know you had any kids.” Man, she sounded like a total elitist bitch.

  “I do. I have three. Teddy is seventeen. Lily is fourteen and my baby, Lexi, is ten.”

  “Wow. I had no idea.”

  Layla shrugged. “I’m your receptionist. Why would you bother to find out about me?”

  Okay, now that bothered her. “Well, Layla, because you’re a wonderful human being who gets me coffee and makes sure I don’t miss meetings. You also make sure I eat lunch because you know I’d forget about it if you didn’t ping me with a message to let me know.”

  Layla actually blushed, looking down at her untouched pastry. “I really enjoy my job, Miss Fraser.” She sucked in a shaking breath. “I would hate... I would hate for anything to happen to it.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to your job, Layla.”

  The woman looked up and met her gaze. She was nervous. Natasha could tell by how she bit her bottom lip. “I heard that you’re considering a job at Slater, Slater and Jones.”

  Her immediate reaction was to shut down, but she found herself wanting to talk about it. Nobody else seemed to understand. Her parents were a no-go and she didn’t want to burden Vee with this shit. She was busy with her own life, with wedding plans. Natasha, despite being successful and an absolute viper when it counted, was also incredibly lonely.

  “Can I tell you something, Layla?” Natasha started, her words halting. She cleared her throat before trying to speak again. “I’m not taking the job at Slater, Slater and Jones.”

  Natasha had to smile when Layla let out such a deep breath that she seemed to deflate in her chair.

  “Oh, my, that’s good news. Very good news... Does Mr. King know?”

  Natasha shook her head. “I’ve literally just made my decision. You are the first to know.”

  The receptionist’s hand fluttered to her chest like she was getting emotional.

  “I’m very glad,” she eventually said. And that was when she pulled out her Portuguese tart and took a bite, relief written all over her face.

  “Tell me more about your kids,” Natasha said, taking a sip from her cup and sitting back in her chair. “Tell me everything.”

  Ten

  John stepped away from the front entrance of the Beverly Hilton and got into the front passenger seat of the Uber he’d ordered.

  “Hey, man,” his driver said. “Water?” he asked, holding out a bottle of Poland Springs to him.

  “I’m good, thanks,” John replied.

  The guy shrugged and hit his directional signal, easing out of the driveway and then out into the flow of traffic on Melrose Avenue. John pulled out his phone to check his emails, making sure there wasn’t another update from his boss. He’d spent the day in the LA offices of RDM Architecture working at a spare desk and trying to stay out of people’s way. Because he didn’t have a dedicated project yet, well, at least one he had any details about, he’d been left drawing sketches of those dream projects of his—the house he wanted to build, the hotel he wanted to design.

  When the car pulled to a stop on the shoulder, he looked out the window to see that they were outside the restaurant. Providence was a low-lying concrete and wood building that had grand dreams of being more than just a pill-box-shaped entity. Out front, running along one flat expanse, was an ivy vine that was growing wild, creeping closer and closer to the steel restaurant name screwed to the front.

  Thanking his driver, he got out and walked to the modern glass and wood entrance and pulled the door open. Inside, he was struck by the nautical-themed interior. There were nets hanging from the ceiling, complementing a set of three large industrial light clusters. Other diners were sitting in deep navy-blue velvet chairs placed around square white tablecloths.

  John glanced around the space, trying to find Beau or Vee. He spotted them in the farthest corner, chatting animatedly to a woman with red hair.

  “May I help you, sir? Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.

  “My friends are already here,” he said, stepping around her and heading in the direction of Beau and Vee. Beau saw him first, standing up and walking around the table to meet him. They embraced quickly, the manly thump-on-the-shoulder kind of thing, then he walked around the table and kissed Vee on the cheek.

  “John, I want you to meet my maid of honor, Natasha. Natasha, this is the best man, John.”

  As the woman turned her face to him, her expression went from pleasantly open to downright hostile. It was his redhead—Natasha. Fuck. He mumbled something, although he wasn’t quite sure what it was, then parked it in the soft velvet seat beside her.

  “I’m surprised you two didn’t see each other at the engagement party,” Vee said conversationally.

  “I don't know. John was pretty wasted,” Beau replied, laughing.

  Natasha laughed too, but it had a nasty edge to it. Yeah, she knew exactly how drunk he was.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sure I would’ve remembered her if we had,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and then took a sip from her martini glass. There was an empty one at her elbow and he wondered how long everyone had been there.

  “So,” Vee started, “the reason for this dinner was for you two to meet since you’ll both be major parts of the wedding ceremony and also the planning.”

  “Good idea,” he replied, glancing at Natasha. She was studiously ignoring him though, keeping her eyes trained on Vee or on the strange floral wallpaper that lined the wall behind them.

  “How are you finding LA?” Vee asked him, taking a sip from her glass of amber liquid.

  “It’s okay. Finding my feet.”

  “Beau said you were here for a project?”

  “Yeah. Just for a month and then back to San Diego.”

  “Well, it’s going to be so nice having you here for a while.”

  “Good evening, my name is Rita and I will be your server for tonight.”

  Everyone turned their eyes to the pretty cafe au lait–skinned girl standing beside their table with a tablet in her hands.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “A beer, please,” John said when it was clear she was talking to him. “Do you have any craft beers?”

  She began to rattle off some names and he stopped her after the third. “I’ll take that one. Thanks.”

  She bobbed her head, punching the information into the tablet with practiced hands. “I’ll be back to take your orders shortly.”

  Then she poofed as quickly as she’d arrived.

  Natasha’s phone pinged with a message, but she only flipped over the thing so the screen was down on the table.

  “Don’t tell me you have another guy hooked,” Vee said.

  John’s shoulders tensed at her statement.

  “I met a guy at the gym this morning. He lives in my building.”

  “Seriously, Natasha? Well, I guess you didn’t get any action at the engagement party.”

  A grin flickered into place on Natasha’s face. “You know I need to keep myself occupied and my bed warm.”

  John tried to keep his expression neutral. So, she didn’t tell Vee about their little interlude. Very interesting. John wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing. He’d either made a very good impression and he was more than just a lay, or Natasha was ashamed of what they’d done.

  This woman was an enigma and John never backed down from a challenge. He would have her again. After all, meeting her again like this? If that wasn’t fate, then what was?

  Eleven

  Natasha picked up her drink and swallowed what was left in the glass, then motioned for their pretty waitress to come back over. She saw the way John had looked at her and there was no way he was leaving tonight without her number.

  And no, that didn’t hurt, fuck him very much.

  “Goddamn it,” she muttered under her breath.

  She felt unnerved, and that was not a feeling she had all that often. She’d been blindsided by h
is arrival here, but to learn that he was also the best man and Beau’s best friend? That had taken it to a whole new level.

  She cursed herself again, unable to stop glancing over at him every now and then, noting his strong square jaw, the color of his hair, and the exact shade of blue of his eyes. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and usually once she’d fucked a guy, she wasn’t interested in a repeat performance.

  But John was something else.

  Her eyes darted down to his mouth and she flushed with the memories from the engagement party. His kiss had been bruising, demanding, and unforgiving. What he did with his mouth after that had left her in a puddle.

  Buuuuuut the guy had ruined her one and only investment by spilling his drink on her, so instead of lusting over him and his naughty bits, she should’ve been putting him in her default basket of never-going-to-happen-again and moving along.

  “Dick,” she grumbled.

  The waitress appeared with John’s drink and he turned to look at her. He grinned as he took a sip, like he knew just how much she’d been staring at him.

  “Keep your drink in your glass or you’ll find out just how much my bite hurts, asshole,” she told him, speaking so low that he was the only one who could hear it.

  His brows rose. “What are you insinuating?”

  “You spilled your beer on me last time. I do not want a repeat performance.”

  “Oh, so you do remember me,” he drawled, taking a sip. “And here you were pretending you didn’t know me from a bar of soap.”

  “I was ignoring you,” she hissed. This close, she could smell his cologne and her lower body flooded with warmth. His gaze darted down as if he’d sensed the tropical updraft. He laughed at her. Actually laughed. She could feel Beau staring, but she hissed, “Stay away from me, John.”

  He sat back, his face going completely blank, completely serious. “I don’t think it’s possible, Natasha.”

  Goddamn him and the way he said her name.