Taste of Love: A Romance Sampler

by Susan Connell

  * * *

  Rick was talking quietly into his cell phone and didn’t notice her when she walked into the marina office. Dressed in her running clothes, she stood inside the door with his jacket folded over one arm and the carton of lunches resting on her hip. Setting the carton on a display cabinet inside the door, she caught the jacket as it began slipping from her arm. Stroking it one last time, she was alarmed to realize that she was going to miss it hanging on the kitchen door. Running her fingers over the raised anchors on the brass buttons, she checked to make sure Rick wasn’t looking at her before she sniffed the collar. How had a simple navy blue blazer become an object of fetish? Her search for the answer was interrupted by Rick’s voice.

  "I know we should have talked about it before this," he was saying, his upward gaze dropping in defeat, then wandering across the room to Bryn. Holding her gaze boldly with his own, he kept on talking into the phone, "I have to go. Sure, I’ll remember. We’ll talk later."

  As he closed and pocketed the phone, Bryn felt her moxie waning. Feminine instinct struggled against common sense. Was his conversation about an upcoming fishing charter or a date? And why should it matter? While she’d been mooning over him for days, he had been avoiding her.

  "Good morning," he said, before pointing to her red running clothes. "Challenging me to a race this morning?"

  "Hello. What?" Looking down at her clothes, she said, "No," before brushing back her hair. A bouncy lock dipped across her brow again, but this time she pretended to ignore it. What had possessed her to give up hair spray and extra-body styling gel since she’d been down here? "I didn’t mean to disturb your phone call."

  "You didn’t. I was through," he said, picking up a pencil and writing on a clipboard. He looked up at her long enough to register the point with a smile. Turning back to the clipboard, he erased what he’d written, then wrote again.

  So it wasn’t a lover he’d been talking with. Her shoulders relaxed along with her tightly clamped jaw. The call must have been about a charter, because he continued to write down numbers in little squares and make check marks in several columns. Standing by the display of potato chips and cheese curls, she had a nearly overwhelming urge to tear open the cellophane and toss them into the air like confetti.

  "So, what’s up?" he asked, hanging the clipboard on a wall hook and sliding the pencil onto the counter beside the cash register.

  "Jiggy doesn’t have to pick up the lunches. I brought them myself," she said, indicating the carton on the display cabinet. "Two roast beefs, three chicken salads, and one peanut butter and jelly. I put in extra pickles and pasta salad. And French apple pie. I didn’t have any key lime." Why was she reciting the menu? He hadn’t asked.

  "Jiggy’s coming by to see you later. He’s bringing Miss Scarlett back to Pappy’s." Rick shook his head, fighting back a laugh as he rolled his tongue inside his cheek.

  "What’s wrong?"

  "Jiggy’s love life. Seems the parrot starts spouting scripture at the worst possible moment, and by the time he quiets the bird…"

  "I see," she said, exaggerating her nod. If anyone but Rick had told her, she would have been laughing out loud, but instead all she felt was a stinging rush of blood to her face. Why did she let him get to her like this? she wondered angrily. Swallowing, she took a step forward and began again. "You forgot your jacket."

  He was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I thought I might have left it at Pappy’s," he said, twisting to look at her while he squeezed honey onto a spoon. "Would you like a cup?"

  "No, thank you." Why hadn’t he come by for the jacket if he thought he left it there? Why hadn’t he at least called about it? Why hadn’t he…? The silent questions building in her head suddenly exploded. "Why haven’t you answered the messages I left on your phone?" she demanded. He hadn’t been answering her phone calls for a full five days, but that was no reason to blurt it out like a recalcitrant teenager.

  The air conditioner started in with a warning rattle and then a blast of frigid air.

  "Sorry about that," he said evenly. "I’ve had a lot of unfinished business to deal with since I got back from my trip."

  Giving his coffee one last stir, he clinked the spoon against the edge of the mug before lifting it to his mouth. He did a thorough job of licking the residue of honey from the inside curve of the spoon and then the outside curve. The action was an everyday one, ordinary and commonplace, but when Rick performed it, it vibrated with erotic overtones. Suddenly she was picturing him sliding his tongue over parts of her. Her eyes began closing.

  "You’re right," he said as he dropped the spoon onto the tray with a loud clatter. "I should have called you back before now. I apologize."

  She searched his guileless expression, trying to find a sign that he knew what he’d been doing to her, but her gaze kept coming back to the shine on his lips. She could almost smell the warm honey and, if she moved closer, taste it. She wondered what he’d do if she ran her tongue over his lips. Encourage further exploration? Images of their naked bodies tangled together filled her mind until she had to pull in a long and calming lungful of air. Why was she allowing these images to continue? Eroticism had been a much-heralded but ultimately disappointing undertaking for her. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about what being with him would be like. Attempting to banish the confusing thoughts and the accompanying tension they produced, she tilted her head to a comical angle. "Yes, you should have called me… but I have you here now."

  "Yes, you do," he said, reaching back with his hands and lifting himself onto the counter. "Up against the wall, as a matter of fact." Picking up his mug, he examined its sailfish decal before rubbing his knuckles over it. Before she could yell "Stop!" he was licking drops of honey from his fingers. "Hot," he murmured before looking up at her. "So what are you going to do with me?"

  She’d stared a moment too long at his fingers. His incredibly sexy, wet fingers. Down went her guard in a rush of delicious confusion. What was he saying?

  Hot?

  Wet?

  Up against the wall?

  What was she going to do with him?

  Streaming heat pooled in forgotten places inside her. Her lips felt full and tingling. For one lost second she felt like doing something very foolish. Very sexy. Very unlike herself. Finding herself in a free fall through her wildest fantasies, she struggled against them. He kept on smiling. Kept on staring. Kept on melting her resolve to pull out of this vortex of sensuality. And he was winning. Her hand drifted across her midriff before languidly moving to her arm. "Our first committee meeting is tonight…." She traced a long line down her arm, paused at her wrist, then dragged her fingertips up to her elbow. Perhaps it was the way his stare locked onto her movements, but her voice was beginning to sound low and sultry even to herself.

  "Tonight," he repeated, his voice dropping into a whisper suggestive of murmured endearments and soft kisses.

  Somewhere in all of this pseudo-foreplay she had to pull out and land on her feet. And soon. But not too soon. She took an extra breath before sending him the beginning of an invitation with a tiny lick of her lips. Holding his jacket against her hip, she moved forward and placed one hand on the counter. "They’re all coming to Chez Madison at eight-thirty, but if you wanted to—"

  "Tonight?" The teasing maze of moves he’d been guiding her through went straight out the window with his bitten-off curse and shifting gaze. "I have something on my schedule for tonight."

  Don’t stop this, she wanted to tell him. Don’t stop this fresh energy tickling at my heart. I like it. I like the way it feels. Please don’t do this because I called it Chez Madison instead of Pappy’s Crab Shack. Please don’t make me say anything reckless. Blood was pounding in her ears from sheer embarrassment, but that didn’t keep her from whispering, "I need you there, Rick. Couldn’t you ask someone else to help you out?"

  With an almost apologetic tone, he shook his head. "I can’t get out of this, Bryn. Look, if I can make it la
ter, I’ll come by. Or maybe you could reschedule."

  Reschedule? Instead of a lovers’ rendezvous, he made it sound like a business meeting. Her heart skipped a beat and she almost groaned out loud; it was a business meeting. Her hand dropped to her side as the sensual fog burned away, leaving her in a room filled with fishing tackle, sunscreen, and brightly colored hats that read Fish or Cut Bait.

  "Maybe you could reschedule," she said smartly, brushing her hair from her brow. She waited in silence until she felt her ears smarting with his answer.

  "I can’t."

  Lifting her hand from the glass counter top, she straightened her spine. "The meeting’s at eight-thirty," she said, clinging to the cool professionalism she willed to return to her voice. She headed for the door, but before her hand closed around the doorknob, more words welled up from a raw spot inside her. She could barely contain the hot anger she felt. "I’m busy too. I’m trying to run my business by phone from down here. I’m up to my neck in renovations at the restaurant. And my grandfather needs me." Twisting the knob, she fumbled twice before yanking open the door. "I don’t have time to chase down the rest of the committee to reschedule this for your convenience, Captain Parrish."

  She didn’t mean to rattle the glass panes in the door when she pulled it shut, but when she returned a second later to place the jacket on his counter, she didn’t apologize. If she did that, he might turn his face from the window and see the stinging tears in her eyes. Then he’d ask why they were there, and she wasn’t sure she knew the answer.