Bar Bites: A Man of the Month Cookbook

by J. Kenner

  The ghosts in question were Casper (as in "The Friendly") and Nick (as in "Nearly Headless") and neither of them were really ghosts, of course. Instead, they were the cameramen for the reality show that Brooke and her fiance, Spencer, were currently starring in--Mansion Makeover.

  Those, of course, weren't their real names, but since they were supposed to be invisible, Brooke and Spencer's former intern had given them the nicknames back when they were filming The Business Plan, which had finished its network run in October to fabulous reviews.

  The same cameramen had followed them from the renovation show based at The Fix on Sixth to the current show they were filming, right here at the Drysdale Mansion, which also happened to be Brooke and Spencer's home.

  Which meant she could never escape the ghosts. Not ever.

  They were here during the days. They often lingered at night.

  Tomorrow they'd be lurking about during their engagement party. A staged event that Spencer and Brooke hadn't even wanted--not like this, anyway. They'd just wanted to be engaged. Maybe have a few drinks with their friends at The Fix.

  Instead, the show insisted on having The Fix cater a huge party at the mansion for everybody they'd met. The idea, of course, was drama--as if their remodeling show was a spin-off of The Real Housewives franchise, and not a real property show meant to be entertaining, educational and endearing.

  The whole situation annoyed her, and it was something she hadn't anticipated when they'd been doing on-camera renovations at The Fix. Then, the schedule had been much more set, and the focus was as much on the bar and the calendar contest as it was on her and Spencer.

  Here, it was all about the house. And the cameras had become a constant in their lives.

  In her heart, she knew it was a blessing. After all, there was no way that she and Spencer could afford the mansion otherwise, and this incredible, historic house represented Spencer's dream. For years, he'd wanted to not only bring it back to its full glory, but to claim the historic building as his own. Mansion Makeover had given him the chance. But only because the network was subsidizing the costs of renovations.

  And that, of course, made living under a microscope all worthwhile.

  Really.

  Or, mostly.

  Or, maybe?

  The truth was, she hated it. Living like this. In a permanent spotlight where every little thing was filmed. Every. Little. Thing.

  Lately, about the only privacy she and Spencer had was in the bedroom, and she wouldn't be at all surprised if Molly and Adam, their producers, insisted that the ghosts live quietly in the corner. After all, nothing spelled ratings better than S.E.X.

  "You ready, Brooke?" A recent graduate from the theater department at the University of Texas, Taylor D'Angelo had stage managed the calendar guy contest last year at The Fix on Sixth. She and Brooke had gotten to know each other pretty well, and when the contest had wrapped, Taylor had approached Brooke about working on their new reality show. One thing had led to another, and now Taylor was working as Mansion Makeover's Second Assistant Director.

  The show was designed in such a way that part of it was "fly on the wall," with the camera simply recording the work and conversations between Brooke, Spencer, and their renovation crew. The rest consisted of demonstrations of specific projects or skills, and in those segments Brooke or Spencer--often the two of them together--would demonstrate the process and talk to the camera at the same time.

  Today, Brooke was doing a demonstration while Spencer ran to Home Depot to get a few more supplies. Specifically, Brooke was tiling the sunroom, which had been prepped down to the concrete a few episodes ago.

  "Ready when you are," she said to Taylor after the crew had done a quick touchup of her makeup. They didn't call "Action" since this was reality TV and the producers wanted the footage to feel as raw and real as semi-staged television could feel. Which meant that Brooke could jump in whenever she wanted, which she did now by smiling at the camera.

  "As you can see by the boxes, we're going to be working on tiling the sunroom today." She started toward the corner, where a stack of tile waited. "The first question you face in a room like this is what type of flooring to go with. In this case, we wanted to stick as close to the original as possible, which is why we're going to be redoing the flooring of the sunroom in--shit!"

  The curse came a split second after the stumble, and Brooke found herself on hands and knees on the rough concrete subfloor, her jeans ripped, and her ego bruised. "Dammit!" And then, as Casper took a step closer, his camera aimed right at her, she snapped, "Turn that thing off!"

  His eyes widened. She felt like a jerk and a klutz and a loser all rolled together into one big, completely stressed-out ball.

  And then, without warning, she burst into tears.

  "Brooke!" Taylor's concerned voice cut through the thrum of emotion in her head. But it wasn't until she heard the familiar tread hurrying toward her that she felt her body relax, finally going slack when Spencer knelt behind her and wrapped her in his arms.

  "Brooke? Brooke, baby, what's going on?"

  She felt him lift his hand off of her arm, and she opened her eyes in time to see Taylor nod at some signal Spencer had given her. Then Taylor ushered everyone out.

  "They're gone, Angel," Spencer said, releasing her. He stood, then moved in front of her, and she looked up into his warm, dark eyes. How often had she looked deep into him? How many times had his strong hands caressed and soothed her? How many times had his beard scratched her when he held her close and kissed her with such passion it made her knees go weak?

  Spencer Dean knew her better than anyone in the world, and in that moment, she knew that she didn't have to explain. He got it. More important, he got her.

  He reached down and she put her hands in his, relishing the comfort of their connection as he tugged her gently to her feet. "They're gone," he repeated. "At least for now. And I'm so, so sorry."

  It was that apology that finally got her mind humming again. That, and the simple fact that having him beside her had sent relief coursing through her with so much power that she didn't have any room left inside her for the irritation and frustration.

  "You don't have anything to apologize for," she said. "I'm the one who lost it." She released his hands and dragged her fingers through her long, blond hair. "I tripped over my own damn feet and everything inside me just exploded, but it's not your fault."

  "Isn't it?" He cocked his head toward the den, then pressed his palm gently against her back and steered her off the sunporch and into the house proper. She sat on the sofa they'd picked out two episodes ago. This was the first room to be fully finished, and as she settled back against the thick, comfortable cushions, she looked up at the high, tiled ceiling and the restored period molding. Not a detail had been ignored, and the room was a showplace now. And she and Spencer owed that to the television program as much to their own hard work and planning.

  She drew in a long breath, then released it again. "No," she said firmly. "It's not your fault."

  "I'm the one who pushed for Mansion Makeover. I'm the one who made this show happen." He sat down next to her, his thigh hard against hers. Then took her hand and twined their fingers together. She squeezed, relishing this connection to him. The man she loved. The man she'd lost once, but had miraculously regained.

  "I want it, too," she said. "I love this place." The historic mansion had been stunning even in its dilapidated state, and slowly but surely they were bringing it back to life. It was work she loved with a man she loved. There was just that one little hitch. "It's only...it's just...I mean, I guess I finally reached my limit of being under the microscope. I don't normally mind--I really don't. I knew what I signed on for when I agreed to do the show with you. But they're here all the time. And tomorrow--our engagement party? Except it isn't even really our party because it was their idea. Molly and Adam's."

  She sucked in another breath and leaned against him. "I know I sound whiney and ungrateful con
sidering that once it's over we're going to have this incredible home. It's just that every time I turn around it feels like someone from the production is behind me."

  "I get it," he said, brushing his thumb along the curve of her jaw, the contact sending shivers through her. "I really do."

  Slowly, he kissed her. His mouth firm against hers. Tender at first, then with rising heat, until the ache inside her consumed her, so that she gasped with love and longing when he pulled away, his eyes shining with need.

  "And Angel," he said, "they're not here now."

  Spencer had never felt more powerless in his life. More than that, despite her protests, he knew damn well that he was the source of her frustration. Not him, but his plan to finance the renovation by pimping them both out to the show. He'd gotten them into this, she was hating it, and by default, she should probably hate him.

  She didn't, though.

  If he didn't already know how much she loved him--and that was one of the most incredible truths of his life--he would have been able to tell simply from the expression of love and joy that colored her face right now. Not to mention the slow, sexy grin that touched her lips as she processed his words.

  "You're right," she said, her voice husky. "They really are gone." She reached for the collar of his T-shirt, then fisted her hand in it as she pulled him closer, her lips brushing his as she spoke. "Make love to me, Spencer. Right here on this couch, because for the first time in a long time, there isn't a single damn camera in this room."

  Her words shot through him. Her bold, demanding touch fired his blood. He'd already been half-hard just from having her in his arms, but he'd been hesitant, too, knowing she was upset and that she'd fallen.

  She'd just swept away the last cobweb of uncertainty, though. Her need was so palpable it seemed to reach out and grab him, then mingle with his own luminous desire, a feeling so intense it lingered over them like pulsing neon. Now. Finally. Alone.

  God, yes.

  Without another word, he claimed her mouth. Not a polite kiss, but raw and hard, with tongue and teeth and wild abandon. And the real joy of it was in the way she kissed him back, opening herself to him. Giving her entire body to him the same way that she'd given her heart--open and freely and completely.

  She shifted, then pulled her legs up onto the couch. He knew her well enough to anticipate her move, and gave her space to get settled before straddling her, roughly yanking the sofa's cushions out of place and tossing them over the back.

  Her laugh delighted him, but that didn't keep him from silencing her with a fresh kiss. This one, however, he broke quickly. "I want to see you naked," he said, delighted when the humor in her eyes faded to heat.

  She said nothing in response, but she shifted onto her elbows, then pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Then her fingers reached for the button of her jeans. He stilled her motion with his hand, wanting to do it himself. Even after all these months--even after slipping the engagement ring on her finger-- there were still moments when Spencer couldn't believe the universe had righted itself and she was now really and truly his.

  Slowly, he unzipped her jeans, then pulled them down over her hips. He paused long enough to trace a fingertip along the band of her panties, then held his breath as he watched the tightening of her muscles, as he heard the small gasping sound she made before stifling it by putting a knuckle into her mouth and biting down in a way that made his cock twitch with the memory of all the times she'd sucked him dry.

  "Angel," he murmured, forcing himself to continue until finally he'd tossed aside her slip-on sneakers and tugged her jeans over her ankles and feet. He dropped them negligently on the floor, then spread her legs slowly, his eyes on hers.

  "Spencer, please."

  The words were simple; the heat in them was much more complicated. She was ready--he knew the signs so intimately now. The way her skin tightened. The soft sounds of arousal that worked a kind of magic on him. And the scent of her, a primal, sexual musk that almost demanded he sink deep inside her, taking them both to places they'd never manage on their own.

  So yes, she was ready...but he was going to make her wait.

  First he wanted to taste her, wanted to drive her crazy. Wanted to hear this woman he loved--this beautiful angel who would soon be his wife--beg for mercy before he fucked her hard. He'd claimed her so many times already, but there was never enough. Could never be enough. And with one quick, brutal motion, he tightened his grip on her thighs, then pulled her roughly toward him, lifting her hips and hooking her legs over his shoulders as he knelt between her legs, then closed his mouth over the thin strip of damp silk that covered her pussy.

  He sucked her through the silk, relishing the way she arched up, her ankles locking behind his head. He jerked her higher, wanting her tighter against his mouth as he sucked and licked, then ran his tongue along the line of her panties between her sex and her thigh. She squirmed, she begged, and still he didn't relent.

  Until finally, he couldn't take it any more and he used his teeth to tug her panties aside, losing himself in the taste of her as he thrust his tongue deep inside her warm, wet folds.

  "Please," she murmured, as one hand closed over a breast and the other slid between her legs. Her finger brushed his tongue as she teased her clit, her core tightening and throbbing. She was close--He knew she was so damn close, but he wasn't about to let her explode. Not yet. Not until he was inside her.

  He pushed back, making her cry out in surprise and then prop herself up on her elbows as he violently ripped his shirt free from his jeans, then started to pull it over his head.

  "No," she said, reaching for him.

  He paused, meeting her eyes, certain she didn't mean to stop.

  "I want you dressed." She shifted on the couch, managing an almost acrobatic maneuver that ended with her on her knees beside him. Her fingers reached for his fly. He understood what she wanted and let her free his cock before he leaned back against the one remaining cushion, fully dressed except for his erection, now freed from confinement and eager for her.

  "Stand up," he ordered, and she did. His beautiful fiancee, his naked angel. His heart flipped over once again as that single word played in his head once more--His.

  How the hell had he gotten so lucky?

  He met her eyes and knew what she wanted. What he wanted, too.

  "Come here, Angel," he said. "Come ride me."

  Come ride me.

  Those were the words Brooke heard, but they meant so much more. They meant You're mine. They meant I'll protect you.

  Most of all, they meant I love you.

  And oh, dear God, she loved him, too. Loved the way he looked at her. The way he cherished her. The way he understood her. Hadn't he cleared out the house? Hadn't he given her this night?

  Now she gave herself to him. Only not really, because she'd done that long ago. She belonged to Spencer, body and soul, and the engagement ring she wore proved it.

  Slowly, because she wanted the moment, she straddled him, using her thigh muscles to keep her sex barely over the tip of his cock. His jeans rubbed her inner thighs by her knees and she smiled. There was something so delicious about being naked and making love to a fully dressed man. It made her feel possessed. Owned. Something she wouldn't want with anyone but Spencer, but with him, it was as fundamental as breath. As essential as blood.

  He started to reach for her breasts, but she shook her head. "Hold my hips," she ordered, enjoying being the one in charge.

  With one hand, she cupped his head, the other pressed against his abs, so tight from both his gym routine and the manual labor of their job. She kept her eyes open, then moved her hips--small motions that stroked and teased the head of his cock. It was a maneuver designed to drive him crazy, and she knew she'd succeeded when she saw his eyes go glassy.

  A trill of victory shot through her, but it was as much his victory as hers, because as she'd teased him, she'd also been torturing herself. Now, her core throbbed, craving
his cock. Her breasts ached, her skin tingled all over, and her clit felt so swollen and sensitive that a tiny breeze would undoubtedly send her rocketing off into space.

  That was it; she couldn't wait any longer.

  She shifted her hands to his shoulders for balance, then wiggled her hips until his steel-hard cock was right at her core. Their eyes met, and she lowered herself just enough to draw the head of his cock into her. Heat flared in his eyes, making her even more wet, and when he slid his finger up and down her perineum, she couldn't take it any more. She thrust herself down on him, his cock filling her core as his fingertip rimmed her ass. He arched back, his hand still on her hip, helping guide her as she rode him hard, lost in the storm of sensations, all merging together now to push her over the edge.

  "Come with me." His voice, though clearly an order, came out raw, giving her all the power. All the control. And that, frankly, was erotic enough to send the first shudders of a massive orgasm rumbling through her. And when he thrust his finger into her ass in time with his own orgasm, the sensation of being doubly-filled sent her tumbling over into a dark, wild void full of crackles of lightning and booms of thunder and an eternity of stars going supernova all around her.

  Cliche, maybe, but he'd shattered her. No, she corrected herself as she sagged against him, they'd shattered each other.

  For a while, they stayed motionless, her forehead resting against his until she had her breath back. Then she eased off of him and curled up beside him as his fingertips traced lazy patterns on her naked skin.

  "I love you," he said, the words simple and direct, as if there had never been any doubt between them. As if they hadn't had to fight for what they now had.

  "I know," she said, because it was true. And because the past was gone, and all that existed now was the two of them and the future.

  "If I could fix this, I would."

  There was a tightness in his voice, and she lifted her head, shifting her position just enough so that she could see his face. "There's nothing to fix, I promise. I had a bad day, but you've made it all better."

  "It's not enough," he said, and she felt that twist in her gut. She hadn't meant to disturb him. To make him feel guilty about the house or the show.