Fearless Love

by Meg Benjamin

  Fairley got that mulish look Joe was beginning to recognize, the one that indicated he thought his talents were being ignored. “Sorry. I thought you wanted a menu that would show off what the Rose can do. Making fresh pasta with turnip green pesto would do that.”

  “It would do that if we had a fully equipped kitchen at our disposal. We won’t have that. We need something we can cook under tough conditions that will still show well.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” Fairley said stiffly.

  Joe gritted his teeth and spent twenty minutes going over the appetizer choices he’d already considered, getting Fairley’s feedback. He seemed somewhat mollified.

  Darcy had come in to pick up her check about halfway through the discussion. When she caught sight of MG’s check in the pile, she gave him an innocent smile that didn’t really fool him. Apparently, the news about him and MG had made the rounds already. “I can drop off Carmody’s check. I’m going right by her place.”

  For a minute he thought about saying no, saying he’d take it by himself. If Fairley hadn’t been standing there looking like the wrath of god, he might have done it. Instead, he handed the check to Darcy, sighing. There went his chance for a halfway decent afternoon.

  At least Fairley seemed satisfied by the time they’d finished talking. Joe was still trying to decide if his skills in the kitchen made up for his being a prime asshole. The guy was a great expediter. The kitchen was running like a well-oiled clock for a change. The plates went out in excellent shape, and the customers seemed delighted with what they got. Fairley got along fine with Jorge and Leo, so far as Joe could tell, and he was at least tolerated by Darcy, although he knew that tolerance had limits.

  In other words, the guy was doing the job he’d been hired to do. Just because he was trying Joe’s patience to the limit, that was clearly no reason to fire him.

  Although the fact that firing Fairley drifted through his mind every couple of days was not a good sign. And the fact that his whining had kept Joe from going to MG’s place as soon as he’d wanted to was likely to make those thoughts drift through a lot more quickly.

  Chapter Ten

  MG heard a car in the drive soon after Darcy had finally gone. She’d just come in from feeding the chickens, and she was already thinking about supper. She had food for once since she’d gone to the grocery store in the morning. On the other hand, nothing she cooked would be as good as the food she got at the Rose. She really hoped working there wouldn’t turn her into a foodie. She couldn’t exactly afford it.

  When she opened the door, Joe LeBlanc stood on her front step.

  She swallowed hard. “Oh. Hi.” Obviously, something about LeBlanc miraculously transformed her into a dork.

  He gave her one of those lazy smiles that made her toes curl. “Hi yourself, darlin’. Can I come in?”

  “Sorry. I mean, sure. Come on in. Please.” She stepped back, wishing she didn’t sound so much like a moron. When had inviting him into her house become so hard? It wasn’t like he was a vampire or something.

  Joe followed her into the living room, glancing around at her few battered pieces of furniture. “I take it this was all part of your grandpa’s legacy.”

  MG sighed. “This is what was left. Grandpa sold off a lot of the family antiques when my grandma got sick. Their insurance wouldn’t cover her treatment. And Aunt Nedda took some of it when Grandpa was in the hospital. Or anyway, that’s what he said when he got home.”

  “And you haven’t tried to get it back from her?” One of Joe’s eyebrows arched.

  “You don’t know my Great-Aunt Nedda. Getting it back would require some kind of persuasive support, possibly from the Seventh Cavalry.”

  Joe grinned. “I got a few relatives like that myself.” He turned toward the kitchen. “What’s the rest of the house like?”

  “Sort of the same.” She led him toward the back of the house. At least Nedda hadn’t managed to drag off the pumpkin pine kitchen table. On the other hand, given its age and condition, she might have decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

  He smiled. “I like that table. Your great-aunt missed a bet not taking that.”

  “She probably couldn’t get it through the door. Would you like a beer?” She tried to remember how many she had left after Darcy’s visit. Probably not enough.

  “Tell you the truth, I came here to ask you out to dinner.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Want to go try a new place in Marble Falls? Chef’s from Houston.”

  “Oh.” She considered the probable dishes at a new Hill Country restaurant—goat cheese, arugula, possibly flatbread, undoubtedly pork belly. “I’d really rather feed you here. I can probably find something edible in the refrigerator. I shopped today.”

  Joe’s slow grin was back. “Sounds interesting. Is the beer offer still open?”

  “Sure.” She checked the shelf in the refrigerator. Three bottles. Close enough. “All I’ve got is Corona. Is that okay?” The problem, of course, with buying whatever was on special at the grocery this week.

  “Sure.”

  She handed him a bottle, then headed for the back door. “We can watch the sunset if you don’t mind the chickens.”

  “MG?”

  She turned. He stood in the middle of her kitchen floor, watching her, the unopened bottle dangling from his fingers. “On second thought, I don’t really want a beer.”

  She blinked. “Okay, well, there’s some iced tea.”

  “I don’t want tea right now either. Or the chickens. Or the sunset, nice though it probably is.” He paused, watching her. “I mean, I came here to take you out to dinner, but on second thought, I don’t think I can wait that long after all.”

  Her shoulders suddenly felt tight and there was an twinge in her belly. “Wait that long for what?”

  “You.” The word seemed to drop into the silence of her kitchen. He put the beer bottle back on the kitchen table, dropping his hands to his sides.

  Her shoulders ached. She took a step toward him, then stopped. What the crap do I do now? “Oh.”

  He frowned slightly. “Of course, you can say no if you want to. If I misread whatever this is between us, I’ll head off home. No harm, no foul.” He watched her again, blue eyes dark in the late afternoon sunshine.

  “No,” she said slowly. “You don’t need to do that.” She took a few more steps back across the suddenly broad expanse of her kitchen. She was almost next to him now. Would it look too eager if she took the last few steps at a trot?

  He grinned again, his lips spreading slowly. “Glad to hear that. I didn’t want to leave.”

  MG’s brain seemed to have gone on vacation. Have I ever made love with a man who had a beard before? Right off hand, she couldn’t think of anybody. And the list wasn’t all that long to begin with. She stood looking up at him, then placed a tentative hand on his chest. “You realize I’ve got a really crappy bed. It’s one Great-Aunt Nedda left behind.”

  His grin delved a dimple in one cheek. “Trust me, your Great-Aunt Nedda is the last thing I’m going to be thinking about.”

  “Good,” she murmured, licking her lips. “Me too.” She clasped her hands behind his neck, pulling him down toward her.

  He cupped her face in his hands, brushing his lips across hers slowly, then running the tip of his tongue along the seam until she opened for him. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, her palms suddenly moist with nerves. What if this doesn’t work? What if I screw it up? What if?

  “Darlin’,” Joe’s voice rumbled against her ear. “I’d love to carry you to the bedroom, but you’re going to have to point me in the right direction. I’m a stranger here myself.”

  MG stifled a totally inappropriate giggle and pointed over his shoulder. “First door on the left.”

  His grin flashed in the dimness of the kitchen. Then he bent down, sliding one arm behind her knees and gathering her up into his arms.

  She looped her arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him,
spice and citrus and a hint of something else that made her want to bite his shoulder. Oh my god—did I put the guitar away?

  And then they were through the door and into the bedroom. Her bedroom. Her bed. Without guitar. With Joe LeBlanc.

  MG’s bed looked about as bad as she’d said it did—a double with a battered headboard, circa 1949. Joe wasn’t sure he’d fit in a double bed. He was sure as hell going to try it, though. He lowered her gently to the mattress, then stood to unbutton his shirt.

  MG bounced to her feet, her hands sliding beneath his. “Let me.” The afternoon sun made her hair shine red gold again, set her malachite eyes gleaming. Her hands felt cool upon his chest—helpful since other parts of his body were suddenly flaming.

  He slipped his hands beneath the back of her T-shirt, rubbing his palms across the smooth silk of her skin, then shifted to the front, lifting the shirt so that he could run his tongue along the edge of her collarbone. He tasted the warm saltiness of her skin, still heated from the sun. “Delicious,” he whispered.

  He heard her giggle, a slight explosion of sound that became a sigh the next moment when his mouth dipped lower, his tongue touching the indentation at the base of her throat.

  She grasped the sides of his shirt, pulling it wide, forcing him to release one hand and then the other as she jerked it free then dropped it to the floor. Her hands seared across his skin, her palms brushing against hair and muscle, finally reaching his nipples. She rubbed across them with her thumbs, sending another jolt of heat down his abdomen to his groin.

  He groaned. “Easy, darlin’, I’m only flesh and blood here.”

  She either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Her lips fastened on his nipple as her tongue laved the tip. And then she was moving down his chest, a line of feathering kisses, light as dry wings, a thread of pure heat down his body.

  Clearly, if he didn’t take control of the situation soon, there’d be nothing left to control. He grasped her arms, pulling her up, then yanking the T-shirt over her head. Her bra clasped at the front—a point for his side at least. He pulled the catch open, then tossed the bra on the floor somewhere.

  Then he stopped to look at her.

  Deep green eyes watched him, alight with fire. A line of tiny freckles danced across her cheeks, her skin warmed golden by the sun. Her slender throat led down to the swell of her creamy breasts, nipples like roses tipped in brown. He bent down almost reverently, gathering her breast in his palm, then sucked the nipple into his mouth.

  He heard the hiss of her breath as one hand came to rest on the back of his head, holding him tight against her. The nipple pebbled against his tongue as he sucked hard again, tongue against teeth, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Oh, geez,” she gasped. Her fingers clasped his head, her breath rasping against his ear.

  Maybe…” Her voice sounded thick. “Maybe we should move to the bed?”

  He pulled back, trying to get some air into his lungs again. “Maybe so.”

  She reached for the button on her jeans, but he pushed her hands away. “I like to do that.”

  She licked her lips. Her full, ripe lips, already swollen from his kisses. Another arrow of desire sped down his body. He felt like groaning.

  “Okay,” she whispered, her hands moving to his belt.

  He pulled her zipper down, then pushed her jeans over the swell of her buttocks. Her panties were the color of spring rain, and he didn’t care. He was ready to rip them off her if that was the fastest way to get her naked.

  MG saved him the trouble by pulling them off. He stared down at the tangle of strawberry blonde where her belly met her thighs. A natural blonde, no less!

  “Now you,” she said.

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure he could push his pants down over his erection without doing damage. But then his cock sprang free.

  MG licked her lips again. “Oh my.”

  He started to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, he reached for her again, scooping her into his arms and dropping her back onto the bed. She propped herself on her elbows, staring up at him. “Well?”

  He stepped across her prone body, straddling her, trying not to grin in anticipation. Stuff like that might tend to piss a woman off. “Well.” He dipped his mouth to her belly, running his tongue around the navel and down. Beneath him, her back arched, her hands grasping his shoulders.

  He opened her folds with his thumbs, running his tongue along the tight bud. Her breath caught and he slid one finger inside her, sucking now, moving his finger as he did.

  “Christ,” she whimpered. “Sweet Christ.”

  He sucked hard and she arched again. “Joe, please. I can’t.”

  “Sure you can, darlin’,” he murmured, sucking again.

  She cried out as her body convulsed against his mouth. Then her hands clasped his head again, pulling him up. “Please, please, inside me. Now.”

  He fumbled for a moment in the pocket of his jeans beside the bed, then sheathed himself in well-nigh record time. MG opened her legs wider, grabbing his shoulders to pull him up. He took a moment to savor the sight of her, green eyes dark with desire, golden hair tumbled wildly about her head, as he guided himself into her body.

  She gasped, then wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling herself tight against him. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his forearms as he began moving. His head swam with sensation—heat, moisture, desire. “Darlin’,” he whispered, “darlin’.”

  He struck deep, deeper, sinking into her, her sighs whispering in his head. Her body surrounded him, pulled him in. Madness. Madder by the moment.

  He dropped his head, running his tongue across the fragile spot where her throat met her shoulder. Leaning further to nip it lightly, as the pressure began to build down his spine. Heat, light, pleasure. And then he felt MG’s teeth graze his shoulder, a quick sting that sent him crashing over the edge.

  He half-heard her cry over the sound of his own shout as his hips hammered against her. And then he was sinking, the scent of her, of them both, filling him. He tucked his head into the curve of her throat, pulling her with him as he shifted to his side, his arms looped around her waist. “Sweet darlin’,” he murmured and closed his eyes.

  MG lay still, one hand absently stroking Joe’s side, her fingers rippling over his rib cage. His arm circled her loosely. She could feel the warmth of his skin and the slight prickling of hair.

  Pretty amazing. No. Lose the pretty. Amazing. Her last boyfriend had been a guitar player with a fondness for craft beer. He didn’t yet have a pot belly, but he was headed in that direction. Joe, who should have been soft given the amount of butter and cream he dealt with, was hard, with bands of muscle across his chest and back. A dusting of dark hair covered his chest and arms, the color of his moustache and beard. She could see a slight fuzz of dark hair on his shaved head as well.

  She remembered the feel of his head against her belly, the slight prickling against the smooth skin as he worked her with his mouth.

  Lord have mercy.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, he was watching her. His lips moved into a slow grin. “How you doing, darlin’?”

  “Good. Very good. Fine.” Stop talking, for the love of heaven! She reached a hand toward his head, moving her palm lightly across his scalp, feeling the prickle of shaved hair. “Why do you shave it?”

  His grin broadened. “You thought I didn’t have any hair to begin with?”

  MG flushed. “No. I mean, I knew you had hair. I just…” She closed her eyes again and took a breath.

  “It’s okay.” He stroked the hair lightly away from her face. “I started shaving it off because it bugged me in the kitchen when I was a line cook. I just kept doing it because it was easy.”

  “Oh.” She leaned into his palm, feeling the warmth against her cheek. “I like it.”

  “Good.” His lips moved to the base of her throat, sending shivers in a line from
her throat to her core.

  She grasped his biceps, tilting her head so that her lips touched the silky hair at the base of his chin, then the corner of his mouth where beard and moustache met.

  He turned his head, his lips catching hers in a long, drugging kiss. Then he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “Oh, lady, I don’t know whether to feed you or shag you. I might try to do both at once, which would be a first.”

  She started to giggle, then lost her breath when his palm cupped her breast. “I could go get some cheese or something. I don’t know what else I’ve got that you can eat in bed.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He grinned down at her. “But let me see what I can find to cook for you. Give me a chance to build up my strength. I got a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  He sat up, then pushed himself to his feet, reaching down for his jeans. The dark hair on his chest arrowed down in a line to his groin. The muscles in his arms flexed as he pulled the jeans up his legs. He had a tattoo on the right side of his lower back, but she couldn’t see it clearly.

  MG felt a little like pouting when he covered himself. The view was so enticing.

  He grinned down at her again. “I’m going to need some help here, ma’am. Although you can do it naked if you want. Might be inspiring, as a matter of fact.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Does this involve chopping or frying? Because if it does, I’m putting my clothes on.”

  “No chopping, no frying. When I’m not at the Rose, I do my own prep.” He gave her a slow grin. “Mainly I need inspiration. You got that in spades, darlin’.”

  “In that case…” She swept her legs around, putting her feet on the floor as she reached for his shirt. “We’ll go informal.” The shirt tails hung to mid-thigh. She buttoned a couple of the lower buttons but left the rest open. “Ready?”

  He blew out a breath. “Oh yeah. More than ready. But for now, let’s worry about dinner.”

  She followed him down the hall to the kitchen. “I don’t exactly have an overstocked refrigerator here. What do you have in mind?”