Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One

by Robin Kaye

  He kissed her cheeks, her lips, and then her shoulder before pulling her into his arms. “I just want to hold you.”

  Her head rested on his chest and his heart beat a mad tattoo beneath her ear. She slid her leg over his, and felt nothing but Logan. She raised her head. “You lost your pants. When did that happen?”

  He ran his hand down her back. “They were getting a little constricting.”

  She snuck a peek and swallowed hard. “I can imagine.” Okay, that was a lie—she really couldn’t imagine having something the size of that tucked into a pair of jeans. Hell, she couldn’t imagine having something the size of that tucked into her. She stared. She couldn’t help it. The more she stared, the bigger it seemed. Still, she’d come this far.

  She walked her fingers over his abs, each muscle tensed beneath her fingertips. His heart rate spiked under her ear and she drew closer to get a better look. She wrapped her fingers around its girth. Hot, hard, and oh so smooth. It jumped in her grip.

  She watched his face. Logan sucked a breath through clenched teeth. He looked as if he was in pain, but he didn’t move to stop her.

  A drop of liquid glistened on the sensitive head, so she licked it off and raised her gaze to his. “Tasty.”

  “Skye—” It sounded like half a plea, half a groan. She tightened her grip on his erection and slid her hand up to the top and back down while she traced the ridge with her tongue before opening her mouth and sucking on the head. Every one of his muscles within her line of vision delineated.

  She moved between his legs, and smiled, nuzzling his dick. He smelled heavenly and tasted even better. She licked the length of him following the throbbing vein from base to tip.

  “Stop.”

  Logan yanked the brown paper bag open. Chocolate and condoms fell out. She held back a laugh as he ripped open a condom and caught her watching. He looked almost embarrassed. “I didn’t know which you’d be in the mood for.”

  She brushed his hand away before taking the head of his dick into her open mouth. She took as much as she could—in that position at least. His erection hit the back of her throat and the sound of his groan spurred her on. She added some suction and worked her hand in time with her mouth.

  He quivered beneath her; his breath sounded as if it were being torn from his chest.

  She moaned, loving the taste, the feel of him, the power she held, and then big hands lifted her off.

  “Damn, Skye.” He rolled on a condom and then pulled her onto his chest and kissed her, holding her close, so gentle but strong. His tongue tangled with hers and his hands grasped her hips, holding her still in his embrace.

  When she reached between them and held him, he pressed against her opening—hot, hard, insistent. She took him in, inch by slow inch.

  Logan watched Skye’s eyes as she joined her body to his.

  Her mouth formed an O and he clenched his teeth. She didn’t blink, didn’t break the connection they’d formed.

  He watched with wonder, feeling everything. She was hot, wet, and, oh man, so tight. And the way she looked at him, so open, so beautiful, so much more than he’d ever imagined. His hands shook as he held her up. Keeping his hips on the mattress was a lesson in control. She was so small, lovely, delicate—he was scared to death he’d hurt her.

  She eased onto him, her body opening to him, relaxing, drawing him in until she was fully seated. “God.” She leaned in, chest to chest, and kissed him, never blinking, never breaking the connection as she rocked against him. “I was worried we wouldn’t fit.” She walked her hands up his chest and groaned when he slid out a little and then filled her again.

  He sat, pulling her into his arms. “We fit just fine. Better than fine. You’re perfect.”

  The look of shock on her face was one he’d never forget, but then she couldn’t have been any more shocked than he was.

  He’d had sex—a lot of it. He knew lust—they had plenty of that—he’d known desire, and he’d known the heat that came with compatibility, but he’d never known anything like this. He’d never had this need, this intense passion, this feeling of perfection. He’d never felt as connected to a lover as he felt at this moment. So good, so right, so much—it scared him.

  He let Skye set the pace and let her experiment, using his shoulders for leverage, riding him right to the edge. She was stunningly open, real, totally immersed, focused, and completely uninhibited. He watched the way her eyes darkened, the radiant look of pleasure, the feel of her in his arms, and that sound she made when she found that one perfect spot.

  Need reached up and grabbed him by the balls. He was so close, but he wanted her to go with him.

  He rolled them over and changed the angle, her fabulous ass filling his hands as he held her.

  After two slow, easy strokes, her legs were wrapped around his waist and her heels dug into his lower back, urging him on. She met him thrust for thrust, drawing him in and bucking beneath him. Her back arched and she wiggled that ass of hers, and damn if he didn’t break out in a sweat, doing his best to hold back.

  “Oh God, Logan. More. Harder. Faster.”

  He fought to keep himself in check, but she was having none of it. She dug her short nails into his ass and he completely lost the control he’d always prided himself on. He looked into her eyes and was powerless to fight it.

  She went wild in his arms. “Oh God. Logan. That’s it.”

  Her body grabbed on to his like a glove convulsing against him. She screamed his name, shuddered in his arms, and he followed her over. He came so hard, his vision blurred, and it didn’t let up. He saw stars and Skye and felt something so deep it took his breath away and shot fear up his spine, making every hair on his body stand at attention. He looked into her eyes and felt something he’d never experienced, something so monumental he’d never forget, but so foreign it defied words. Euphoria? No, it was deeper, spiritual, almost reverent; it was more than that, though—so much more. It was addictive and scary, and mind-blowing. And the worst part of all was he saw the same wonder reflected in Skye’s eyes. Their connection was so strong, so deep, so elemental, he had to look away or he’d be lost.

  A shiver ripped through Skye when Logan looked away. It was as if a steel grate had come down and he’d closed up shop—hiding all the wonder and beauty she’d seen within him a second ago.

  He rolled them over and questions raced through her mind. They were still joined, but he’d broken whatever other connection they’d had. Why? What happened? What was it?

  There must have been a short circuit between her body and her brain, because her body never got the message that whatever they shared had just come to a screeching halt. Her blood still rushed through her ears, drowning out the sounds of heavy breathing, her heart still pounded as if searching for a way out of her chest, and aftershocks of cataclysmic proportions raced through her and into him.

  Logan shuddered beneath her and she welcomed his reaction. It meant he was still with her—physically at least. She had no idea what he was thinking as her mind careened out of control. The only thing she knew was she felt the loss of something wonderful—as if she had the key to a priceless treasure—a treasure she beheld for only a moment, and lost in the blink of an eye.

  She didn’t know what to do or say. She didn’t know how to play this. She wanted to ask him what the hell just happened—other than the obvious.

  Making love with Logan was unlike any sexual experience she’d ever had. And it was making love—until he pulled an emotional disappearing act anyway. Granted, she wasn’t very experienced; she’d had only three boyfriends, all of whom quickly tired of her brothers’ machinations. She couldn’t blame them and it really never bothered her overly much—just enough to make her brothers’ lives a living hell, but not enough to beg the guys to come back. Relationships seemed like too much work for too little payoff. She’d never really missed the sex, but then sex had never been anything like the sex she’d had with Logan. She had a feeling she’d miss it now�
��a lot.

  Logan ran his hand over her hair. Great—she probably had bed head. Maybe she should have listened to Kelly after all.

  “Skye,” he whispered, “are you still awake?”

  She was afraid to look at him. She didn’t want to see that blank look on his face. “Yes, just comfortable. Sorry, am I crushing you?” The thought of sleep was laughable. She was physically and mentally exhausted, but she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep anytime soon.

  He chuckled and she lifted her head to brave a look. He wore a smile that didn’t meet his eyes and looked a little frayed around the edges. He stroked her back, soothing, gentle, not letting on to the tension she saw around his mouth.

  She needed to do something—anything—and the last thing she wanted to do was have the dreaded was-it-good-for-you discussion. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m a—”

  “Guy. I know. You’re always hungry.”

  He held her hips, and rocked into her, setting off a solar shower within her. “If not for food, then for you—sometimes both at the same time.”

  “God, Logan. Don’t get me started again. You may not, but I need some recovery time. Besides, I’m hungry.” Another lie. She’d been telling so many white lies lately; at this rate, she was going to need a nose job.

  She might not be hungry, but she needed to cook. Cooking was the only thing that made everything better. It helped her level out, dispelling the emotion, and allowed her to see things as they were—without the aid of rose-colored glasses. And that was exactly what she needed now. Especially with Logan.

  She slid off him, steeling herself against the pleasure. She sucked in a breath. Yes, her brain and body were so out of sync.

  Logan grabbed her before she could scoot off the bed. He stared into her eyes as if he wanted to say something, and she feared she’d hear an apology, so she looked away.

  She could handle a lot of things, but not an apology, not from him, not now—maybe not ever. “Come on. We have to discuss the tasting. I don’t have much time, so I’ll have to use the ingredients I have on hand. Although I’m sure if necessary, I can call a few of our suppliers in a pinch, but they won’t be able to deliver. Would you be willing to pick up a few things? I don’t have a car.”

  Logan watched her with concern in his eyes.

  She looked around the room and saw that Pepperoni had taken her pants and pulled them up to the chair she liked to sleep on. Great.

  “I’ll use Pop’s Jeep and get whatever you need.” He got out of bed and walked past, bare-assed, stopping only to give her a tap on the backside and a kiss on the cheek before heading to the bathroom. She yanked her pants out from under Pepperoni and gave the little girl a kiss before throwing the pants in the hamper. She pulled her sweater back over her head and tugged on a pair of paisley flannel sleep pants that clashed with her sweater. Oh well, he would be leaving soon anyway. In her experience, once guys got the goods, they didn’t hang around long. She grabbed her chef’s bible, and headed straight for her comfort zone.

  CHAPTER 10

  Logan stared at himself in the bathroom mirror after having the most incredible sex in his life, and wondered just what the hell had come over him. Temporary insanity was his only guess. He must have imagined it. He didn’t feel things—ever. Okay, that wasn’t true. He felt things for his dad and Nicki and his brothers, but whatever he thought he’d felt with Skye had to be imagined. When it came to women—he cared about them, he liked them, and he enjoyed everything about them, but he’d never met a woman he couldn’t walk away from. Including Skye.

  He turned on the cold water and splashed his face. He’d completely fucked things up with her. He’d freaked out and she’d caught him. She’d looked at him as if he’d hurt her, as if she wanted to be anywhere but with him. She’d looked ready to bolt, and probably would have if they hadn’t been in her bed. She had nowhere to go.

  He returned to the bedroom and pulled on his jeans. He heard Skye in the kitchen mumbling to herself—she always talked to herself without realizing it. He’d walked into the kitchen at the Crow’s Nest on more than one occasion, thinking she was in the middle of a conversation only to find her alone. She was a piece of work all right.

  He found himself smiling. When was the last time a woman made him smile? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to lose her—at least not yet. He just needed to figure out how to undo the damage he’d done.

  Following the sound of smoky jazz, he found her dancing in front of the stove and stirring something that smelled incredible. His stomach growled.

  She looked over her shoulder and caught him staring. “I hung up your T-shirt and sweater by the door. I didn’t want Pepperoni to get them. She likes to drag clothing around.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Skye pinked up again. “I didn’t mention it before, but I have to tell you how much I appreciate your taste in lingerie. I also appreciate the fact you don’t always wear it. Now, every time I look at you, I’m going to wonder what, if anything, you’re wearing beneath your chef whites.” He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and looked over her shoulder to see what she was making.

  “I always wear underwear to work.”

  “Maybe we could change that.”

  She rolled her eyes and whisked the concoction over a double boiler.

  “What’s that?”

  “Hollandaise sauce for lobster and spinach omelets.” She shook a frying pan with spinach sautéing and tossed the contents a few times.

  “Wow, that sure beats frozen pizza.”

  She shrugged. “I thought it would be a nice lunch entrée. You’re my guinea pig.”

  “I’d be happy to eat whatever you put in front of me.” He slipped his hand under the hem of her sweater and tucked his fingers in the waistband of her baggy flannel pants. No underwear. He swallowed and closed his eyes, remembering how he kissed every square inch of her stomach, how she came on his tongue, and how amazing she tasted. Just like that, his jeans got tight. “Did you put garlic in there?”

  “No. No garlic.”

  “Good.”

  “If you ever want to eat, you’re going to have to let me go. I can’t think while you’re touching me.”

  “Thinking is overrated.” He should know—it wasn’t helping him any. He just wanted to feel her against him, hold her in his arms, make her moan. “Give me a minute. I love touching you.”

  “You love eating more.”

  “That’s debatable.” He slid his hand out of her pants and right to her breasts—no bra. Thank God. He slid his teeth down the column of her neck and then soothed the skin with his tongue, sucking on the spot where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

  Skye dropped the whisk, leaned against him, and let out a groan that he felt rumble between her perfect breasts. He was ready to suggest skipping the omelets entirely when she turned in his arms and gave him a shove. “I have a nice white wine in the fridge. Make yourself useful and open it. The corkscrew is in the drawer.” She blew out a breath and picked up the whisk. “If I ruin this sauce, it’s going to be all your fault.”

  “Yes, Chef.”

  She smiled at that. A smile was an improvement. He opened the wine, poured, and handed her a glass; then he leaned against the counter and watched her do her thing. The woman was amazing. She worked with an economy of movement, precision, and finesse. She focused totally on the task and fell into a rhythm. It was as if he and the rest of the world had disappeared. He knew how it felt to have that focus turned on him, and he wanted to feel it again. Right after they ate.

  She plated the omelets, drizzled hollandaise sauce over them, and grabbed a towel, running it over the rim of both plates before reaching into a bowl of freshly chopped parsley to sprinkle it over the top. “Perfect.”

  He had to agree. She was.

  “I’d serve this with a fruit salad of Asian pears, red grapes, black mission figs, cantaloupe, and pink grapefruit. Hold on. I think I have some. You find silverwar
e.” She buried her head in her overfilled refrigerator, cursed, and then pulled a tub out and dished up two bowls of fruit salad. She set the table and served.

  Logan followed her and held her chair. “Thanks for going to all this trouble.” He sat beside her.

  “It’s no trouble. I really love to cook. It calms me. I’m a mess if I don’t get in the kitchen enough. Bon appétit.”

  He dug in and shook his head. The omelet was amazing. He’d never been a big fan, but this was decadent. “Man, I could get used to eating like this.”

  “You know where I work.” She toyed with her food. “I was thinking about the tasting tomorrow. I’d like to do three dishes.”

  “Three?” She still hadn’t taken a bite.

  “I’d like to do a braised pork belly with mustard and juniper berries, fried crisp, and served with sauerkraut and currant jam. I have everything I need for that. I was going to make it as a special appetizer this week. The second is a duck confit rillette with crostini, cornichons, and dried cherries.”

  “What the hell is a cornichon?”

  “They’re small, tart pickles.”

  “If you say so.” He looked from his empty plate to hers—she’d taken only a few bites. “Are you going to eat all that?”

  “No.” He thought she’d cut a piece off for him; instead, she passed him her plate and continued to nibble on her fruit and wrote notes.

  “I thought you were hungry.”

  She was still looking at her notes. “Not as hungry as I thought.” He watched her, amazed by the expressions crossing her face, and wondered what the hell was going through her mind.

  Her eyes widened and then she smiled—the kind of smile that could steal a guy’s breath if he allowed himself to feel. “How about butter poached lobster served with braised oxtail and potato gnocchi with shellfish butter?”

  “Oxtail? Seriously?”

  She looked up from her notes. “It’s amazing. I braise it for hours covered in a consommé with garlic, onions, carrots, celery, and star anise. Then I roast it. You’re going to love it.”