by Eden Bradley
Since he’d known what her body felt like, tasted like.
After talking with her so intimately, he almost felt guilty about the way his body was responding. It didn’t seem appropriately sensitive. But even though he was totally out of his head over her, he was still a man. He couldn’t help it.
“Fuck.” He pressed a hand to his half-hard cock, took in a long breath, then turned to the sink, washed his hands in cold water.
He went back to the counter, opened up a package from the Cuban butcher shop down the street, took out his favorite knife and began to bone the chicken, then cut it up into pieces. With a small mallet, he hammered out the breasts untillthey made a pair of tender fillets. He breaded and seasoned them while he heated a sauté pan.
He started to get hard again while he was working on the sauce. All he could think of was pouring it over Mia Rose’s naked body, licking it from her skin.
She would love it. And he’d love it: his mouth on her, hearing her moans.
Soon he had a small pile of chicken piccata waiting on a platter that he didn’t want to eat. And he didn’t feellany calmer than he had before.
He washed his hands again, grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed his neighbors. Leilani picked up after the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Leilani, it’s Jagger. Are you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry. And you know you’re the only person who can cook as well as I can. What are you making?”
“I have chicken piccata, and I was about to put on some rice.”
“I made a nice minestrone last night. I’ll bring it up.
Jean should be home any minute. I’ll leave her a note.”
“Okay, great. See you in a few.”
He flipped his phone shut, a little relieved. Company would get his mind off Mia Rose. Maybe.
Jesus, he was screwed up. Over a woman. Again.
His gut tightened.
It was too damn late, so why was he fighting it? He was in deep. All of this anxiety over it was ridiculous.
He may as well give in to the inevitable.
He filled a pot with water, added a little salt, a pat of butter, poured the rice into a measuring cup. The kitchen windows were getting steamy, the air warm and soft, reminding him of Mia Rose in the shower.
All that hot water coursing down her naked skin. The feellof her, slick and slippery, her breasts filling his hands…
He groaned as his cock came to life, filling, throbbing. He shook his head. He had to calm down before Leilani got there.
He poured a glass of wine for himself, took a long swig, then spent a few minutes wiping down the counters, putting away some of the ingredients he’d pulled out to cook with.
The doorbell buzzed and he found both Jean and Leilani at the door, dressed in their standard jeans, black T-shirts, and heavy black boots.
“Hey, come on in.”
He stepped back. Jean let her partner go in first.
Leilani, a petite Hawaiian woman with her black hair in two ponytails, carried a large pot in a pair of pot holders to the kitchen counter. Jean, a tall, athletic woman with a short crop of white-blond hair, followed her, giving Jagger a squeeze on the shoulder as she passed.
“What are you up to, babe? We’ve hardly seen you.”
“Yeah, I know, Jean. I’ve just been…I don’t know.”
Leilani lifted the lid off the rice, sniffed, set it back on the pot. “When are you going to tell us what’s wrong, Jagger?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He rubbed at his jaw, went into the kitchen, poured some wine for the women.
Jean took her glass from him. “We’ve hardly seen you lately, after you’ve been like our adopted son since you moved in.” Leilani rolled her eyes and Jean interjected, “Not that we’re old enough for you to be our son. Happy, Leili?” She turned back to Jagger. “You’re not going out anymore. And don’t think we didn’t notice that chick in your apartment last weekend.”
“Yeah. Well…”
“Wow,” Jean said.
“What?”
“You really like this woman.”
He shrugged. She was right. There was no use denying it. He took another sip of his wine. “Yeah.”
He set his glass down on the counter, ran both hands over his hair. “Yeah, I do. And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”
Leilani came to stand by him, put her hand on his arm. “Jagger, I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I’ve never seen myself like this. I’m a fucking mess over this woman, if you want to know the truth. I can’t stop thinking about her. You two know about Elena, what that did to me. I swore I was not going there again. Ever. But it’s happening.” He paused, shook his head. “No, it’s even more, with this woman. With Mia Rose. And it makes me feelllike…like I’m out of control. Like I’m rolling downhill at a hundred miles an hour without any brakes.”
“I know that feeling.” Leilani looked at Jean, her brown eyes going soft for a moment.
He shook his head, pushed off the counter, and turned the rice off. “Maybe I’m freaking out over nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing, Jagger,” Leilani insisted.
“I’ll get over it. I’ll have to.”
He started to spoon rice onto plates, laid the chicken on top, ladled the light sauce over it, watched it pool, and thought of Mia Rose. When he looked up, Leilani and Jean were both watching him carefully.
“What?”
“You don’t look like you’re getting over this woman anytime soon,” Jean said quietly.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t know why I brought it up. Let’s sit down and eat.”
Lord, he was full of shit. He was lying to them. Lying to himself. His brain was ping-ponging between fighting what he knew was true and brief moments of acceptance. His mind struggling against his heart.
He was just as confused as Mia Rose.
What was really messing with his head, though, was that he felt different. He felt changed. And he wasn’t sure if—or how—he could change back. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to, because when he was with her, talking to her, touching her, everything felt absolutely right.
He was either about to reach nirvana, or he was going to hell.
It was eleven at night, but Mia couldn’t sleep. She sat at the little table in her dark kitchen with a glass of wine. Wrapped in her satin robe, she gazed out the window at her rose garden, which was illuminated only by the faint amber glow of the back porch light.
Beyond the few feet of the stone footpath visible in the dim light, the first few rosebushes, their buds closed tight against the night, was the deep, black sky, the slivered moon hanging like a charm. But she wasn’t really seeing what she was looking at. She was seeing Jagger.
When she’d left early Monday morning he’d been so damn sexy, lying in bed on his stomach, the sheets rumpled around his waist, the brown expanse of his back bare. Beautiful. Like art to her, every lean muscle, the texture of his skin.
She crossed her legs against the pressure building there already, simply imagining the slope of his spine, the ripple of muscle across his shoulders.
And those tattooed triballbands encircling his biceps. So, so sexy.
She took a sip of wine, pushed her hair away from her face. Her own cheek felt hot to her. Her whole body was hot. She untied the old satin robe, letting it fall open. That was better, the air cooling her skin.
Her nipples tightened, filled. She opened the robe wider, the sleek fabric sliding across her nipples, and they hardened even more.
God, what this man did to her! She couldn’t seem to go even a few minutes without thinking about him, her body burning for him day and night. Pure torture to see him in her classroom, to see him and not be able to touch him.
She picked up her wine again, sipped, licked a stray drop from her lip. Thought of his lips, his tongue in her mouth.
The man could kiss. And he had great hands, hands that knew how to pl
ay her body like no other man ever had. And he was willing to explore her fascination with food, with liquids, was really getting into it himself.
Her sex clenched at the memory of him licking the sugar from her breasts, his mouth hot and wet on her flesh, and she moaned softly. Her hands went to her breasts, cupped the full, aching flesh. Brushing her nipples with her fingertips, she moaned again, her sex heating up. She slipped one hand between her thighs. She was wet, eager, Jagger’s face, his hands, his clever mouth in her mind, right behind her eyes when she closed them.
Oh, yes…
She slid her fingers over her slick flesh, in between the folds, then over that hard, needy nub. Easing back in the chair, she spread her thighs. With one hand still playing with her nipple, rolling, tugging, she used the other hand to tease herself, stroking the plump lips of her sex. Pleasure coursed through her in long, slow surges, like heat, like his hands on her in the middle of the night. She tilted her hips and dipped her fingers inside, felt that velvet clench along with a wave of desire so strong she groaned aloud. But she needed more.
She reached for her wineglass, dipped her fingers in, and ran her wet fingertips over her breasts, dipped again and stroked that swollen flesh between her thighs.
Oh, God, yes…
She pushed two fingers deep inside, the stroking of her own wine-damp fingers on her breasts making her crazy, desperate. And in her mind’s eye it was Jagger’s hands on her. She was shivering all over, on the edge of climax already. Her hips rocked into her hand and she thrust deeper, harder, untillshe hit her G-spot. She squeezed her nipple hard between her fingers, and her whole body seized in pleasure.
Her cell phone went off, vibrating on the kitchen table. But she was still coming, long, fierce waves of pleasure rolling over her. And her vibrating phone seemed to draw it out of her, to feed the intensity.
She was still shaking, her sex still clenching, when she picked up the phone and saw his name on the caller ID.
Jagger.
She flipped it open.
“Jagger?” She knew she was breathless. She didn’t care. She wanted more than anything just to hear his voice now, with the desire still flashing like smallelectric shocks through her system.
“Mia Rose, hey.”
“What are you…? I mean, it’s late. And I haven’t heard from you.”
She hadn’t meant to sound accusatory. She was the one who had asked for time off to think, after all. But she felt suddenly desperate to talk to him, to see him.
Her sex gave another squeeze.
God.
“Yeah, look, I…I need to see you, Mia Rose.”
“Okay.”
She was still dizzy, disoriented. She couldn’t quite figure out why he was calling her now, what he wanted. He sounded so odd, so distracted. She picked up the wineglass and took a sip.
“Now.”
“What? What do you mean, ‘now’? Jagger, is everything okay?”
“Yeah…no. I don’t know. I’m coming over.”
She heard a click and the line went dead.
He was coming over? Now? And what was the tension in his voice about? Her stomach knotted.
Her sex went damp all over again.
God, she was a mess.
Pushing her hair from her face, she sat up. She felt a sudden sense of totalldisplacement. What was she supposed to do? She looked around the dark kitchen, pulled her robe closed, and tied the sash.
Her cell phone went off again.
“Hello?”
“I don’t know where you live.”
“What?” Why couldn’t she think straight?
“Give me your address, Mia Rose.”
He sounded a little breathless himself. Her body was buzzing all over.
She told him where she lived and he hung up once more. Standing, she went into the living room, taking her wine with her. She felt…she wasn’t sure what she felt. Heavy with anticipation, yes, and with that lovely orgasm still. But there was something else going on, something that absolutely paralyzed her.
She didn’t know whether to change, to light some candles. To pour a glass of wine for him. To be afraid he was coming to tell her he didn’t want to see her again.
Her stomach clenched.
No. Not that.
She didn’t want to think about why that idea scared her more than anything. Yes, she was scared. And so damn excited she could barely breathe, every muscle strung tight with nerves and anticipation.
The room was dark other than the pale light coming in through the window from the streetlights outside.
She sat on her overstuffed sofa, all white-on-white damask and covered in pillows in soothing, clean shades of white and ivory. And waited.
chapter eleven
IT SEEMED THAT ONLY A FEW MINUTES HAD
PASSED WHEN there was a knock on her door; the sound reverberated in her belly. She got up and let him in. Jagger closed the door behind him, and she could see him staring at her, his eyes two dark orbs in the dim room, but luminous with heat. She could feellit coming off him, even though he stood a good three feet away from her.
He was dressed in a vintage T-shirt in some dark color, a band logo emblazoned across the front. And those worn jeans that fit him so well, with the heavy black boots she loved. She was going warm and weak all over simply at the sight of him, at knowing he was so close to her. And she could feellimmediately that he wasn’t there to tell her good-bye.
Oh no. He was every bit as hot and edgy as she was.
She stood blinking at him, unable to think of anything to say. A brief pause, and then he was on her, his mouth coming down hard on hers without a word said. She melted right into him, let him pull her in tight, untillshe could feellevery plane and curve of his chest through his T-shirt, the cold press of his belt buckle against her belly, the hard ridge of his erection.
Oh, yes.
He opened her lips with his tongue, slipped his inside. Sweet and fast at the same time, thrusting into her mouth. And then he was opening her robe, filling his palms with her breasts. With a sigh she arched into his touch, pleasure driving into her, making her breasts, her sex, throb with need.
He pulled away from her mouth to fasten his lips on one nipple, to swirllhis tongue over the hardened tip.
“Jagger, please…”
She didn’t know what she was begging for. But he did.
He lifted his face to hers once more, murmured against her mouth between kisses, “Do you have any honey, Mia Rose?” He stroked her nipples with his fingertips.
“Honey? Um…oh, don’t stop.”
He grinned a little wickedly. “I have more in mind for you. The honey?”
“Yes. In the kitchen.”
She was shaking all over already, imagining what he might do with it.
“Show me.”
She moved on unsteady legs into the kitchen with Jagger trailing behind her. Her mind was as numb as her legs. But she found the squeeze bottle of honey in a cabinet and silently handed it to him.
“Now the bathroom.”
She swallowed, nodded, then stepped into the hall, showed him the door. He smiled at her, moved past her, and turned the light on.
“Ah, this is perfect. I was thinking the shower, but this old tub. The claw feet. Oh, this’ll be Victorian porn.”
She laughed a little, but her entire body was steaming with lust. She could hardly wait for him to touch her.
He pulled his shirt over his head. His jeans went next, untillhe was standing naked in front of her. His cock was as beautifullas she remembered, hard and golden brown, the head swollen. She licked her lips as he slipped her robe from her shoulders. Ah, too good to be naked with him. She was soaking wet already.
He swept her hair from her face, picked up a clip from a basket she kept on the counter and piled her shoulder-length hair on top of her head. He leaned in to brush a kiss across her lips, whispered against them, “Now get in the tub, Mia Rose.”
“Oh. Oh…”
/> She did as he asked, with Jagger holding her arm as she stepped over the edge of the old porcelain tub. She felt more naked than she ever had in her life, standing in the middle of the bathtub, her nipples hot and hard, the porcelain cold and smooth beneath her feet.
“Sit down, baby. Yeah, just like that. Stay right there.”
He picked up the bottle of honey and licked his lips, watching her. She was absolutely dying for him to touch her, to put that slick, sticky honey on her skin.
To do to her whatever he wanted.
“Do you know, Mia Rose,” he said quietly, “that untillI met you, I’d lost my passion for food. It was probably buried there, underneath the burnout. But you’ve brought it back for me. In ways I never expected. I wanted to tell you so you’d know this isn’t just for you.
It’s for me, too.”
She nodded, unable to speak, her chest, her sex, aching with such keen anticipation she could barely think. The porcelain of the old tub was coollagainst her bare bottom. But the cold hard surface allseemed part of it somehow.
Jagger leaned closer, raised the bottle, and squeezed a stream of golden honey onto her shoulder. She trembled as it hit her skin, dripped down in an endlessly slow track. And she felt suddenly as though everything were moving in slow motion: Jagger’s sultry smile, her own breath, the honey sliding over her shoulder, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. And the heat moving languidly through her system.
“God, Jagger,” she breathed.
He moved the bottle lower, squeezed it once more, and the honey flowed over her breasts while she watched, paralyzed by the current of desire shivering through her. Her sex swelled, pulsed, between her thighs.
Was this really happening?
When he moved lower, let the honey drip over her belly, her thighs, she could barely handle it. She wanted to spread her legs, to offer him her aching breasts, to beg him to touch her, to lick the honey from her skin. How exquisite to know he would in only a few moments.
And then he reached out a hand and began to smear the golden liquid over her: down her arm, which felt as sensuallto her as if he’d slipped his hand between her thighs. Her mind was emptying at an alarming rate, and she struggled for a few moments as his fingers traced that stickiness along the undersides of her breasts. Finally, she gave herself over to the inevitable. Let her mind go, gave her body entirely to him.
