Neighbors with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 8)

by Whitley Cox

  His smile was back, and this time it was cocky. “You can keep the vase too. Came with the bouquet.”

  “Thank you.”

  No longer unsure and back to being comfortable, large and in charge in his own element, Scott grabbed the bottle of wine off the counter. “It’s been breathing for over an hour. Guy at the liquor store said this one is, and I quote, totally bitchin’, dude.” He poured them each a glass and handed her hers.

  “Was your wine connoisseur a twenty-one-year-old beach bum named Seth?”

  One eyebrow ascended up his forehead. “Why Seth?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I dunno. It just strikes me as the name of a surfer with short blond dreads, piercing blue eyes and dimples like he’s been shot in the face with a nail gun.”

  “That was very specific. There’s gotta be a story here.”

  “I may or may not have had a fling with a twenty-one-year-old blond, blue-eyed nomadic surfer named Seth.” She put her nose into the wineglass and inhaled. “My family rented a house on Cannon Beach in Oregon for a month the summer I turned seventeen, and Seth washed up on shore one afternoon while Celeste and I were sunbathing on the sand.”

  “And he was the love of your life that got away?”

  “Not quite. He took my virginity, got my name stick-and-poke tattooed on his hip by some random guy around a bonfire one night, then vanished a week later.”

  Scott’s lip twitched. “So what you’re saying is that I have enormous shoes to fill if I want to be better than the vagabond surfer who deflowered you.”

  “I’m not sure I ever saw him wear shoes, but yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

  He lifted his glass. “Well, this wine guy was not named Seth. He was probably my dad’s age with a ring in his ear, long gray beard, no hair on top, and socks with sandals. But despite his surferesque vernacular—and egregious footwear—he knew a shit-ton about wine.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Joe.”

  Eva snorted. “To Joe, Seth and terrible bachelor and bachelorette parties.”

  “May Joe be right about his wine recommendation, may Seth still be alive and not suffering from Hep C, and may we never be invited to another bachelor or bachelorette party ever again.” He clinked her glass with his.

  “Hear, hear.”

  They each took a sip, their eyes locking over the rims of their glasses.

  When the deep, dry red hit Eva’s tongue, her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

  Scott’s soulful brown orbs mirrored hers.

  He was the first to speak, as she wasn’t quite ready to swallow her sip. “Damn, Joe knows his shit. I will definitely be going back there to speak to Joe. Good ol’ Joe. True definition of not judging a book by its cover. Or in this case, not judging a man by his heinous choice in footwear.” He clucked his tongue before sliding it along his bottom lip and catching a drop of wine. Oh, what Eva would have done to be that drop of wine. “Maybe I should buy Joe a gift certificate to Macy’s so he can go and find himself a nice pair of loafers.”

  She tittered into her glass, unable to look at the handsome man currently giving her fuck-me eyes as he took another sip of his wine.

  Despite how hilarious their banter was and how much she was enjoying it, her mind kept drifting back to Scott’s sexy bare feet and the promises he’d made over the phone. About licking every inch of her body …

  “I’m really glad we were able to make this work,” he said, setting his glass down and stepping toward her. He waited for her to take a sip, then he took her wineglass from her and set it down next to his before he wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her chest against his. “I meant what I said on Wednesday, Eva. I’m in this. I want you. I want us. And I will figure out a way to make it all happen without losing my job.”

  Sighing and melting against him, she allowed her arms to drift up and rest on his strong, broad, capable shoulders. “Let’s not talk about that tonight. I’ve put that man away. He’s been shrunken down to virtually nothing, bound with duct tape and stashed in a tiny black box in the darkest, most untouched, unthought-about recesses of my mind. Please don’t be the one to bust him out.”

  His smile was small and placid, but it nonetheless made her belly quiver with desire. “As you wish. Voldemort shall not be brought up again.”

  She was quick to press her finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. You can’t even call him that. He who must not be named must also not be given a code name. Otherwise, he’ll be set free from his box and I’ll be forced to think about him again.”

  Scott’s lips parted and his teeth snagged her finger, the smile on his face devious and wry. “Fair enough.” His expression sobered, but his eyelids fell to half-mast and his nostrils flared. “Besides, there are far better things to discuss and think about tonight anyway, right?” He bit down on the pad of her finger just hard enough to draw a sharp inhale from her lungs. “Far dirtier things.”

  Excitement spiraled through her. They were nose to nose now, their breaths mingling. “Far dirtier,” she echoed. She pressed her lips against his, the relief of finally getting to kiss him again hitting her harder than she’d been prepared for.

  Scott was quick to take control of the kiss, his grip on her waist tightening at the same time he pried her lips open and wedged his tongue inside. He was a masterful kisser, taking his time, exploring, massaging and coaxing. Without warning or breaking their connection, he lifted her up around the waist, and she found her butt plunked onto the counter. His body encouraged her to spread her knees so he could step between them.

  She was above him now, her hands in his hair and around his neck, tracing the delicate shell of his ear and feeling the rough, sexy scruff of his beard. She was probably going to have beard burn around her mouth when they were finished, but not an ounce of her cared. The man was too good a kisser, too amazing of a seducer for her to be anything but turned on and happy when she was with him like this.

  She knew sex was on the agenda for tonight—and she couldn’t be more excited—but even if it wasn’t, she would be plenty content just making out with Scott all night. He was that good of a kisser.

  His hands now cupped the sides of her butt as she sat on the cool granite of his counter. It would be so easy to have sex right there. She was, after all, in a skirt, and she could tell he was turned on. So was she. Her nipples were hard and her panties held a puddle.

  Did she dare?

  Slowly, her hands traversed down his neck, the strong cords sticking out, his pulse racing. She found the front buttons of his short-sleeved dress shirt with the light blue chambray, and she worked the first button free from its hole. Then the next, and the next.

  She was halfway done when his fingers on her made her pause. “What’s the plan?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “I thought the plan was pretty clear,” she whispered back, not liking the unsettling feeling that creeped into her chest. Was she reading things wrong? Why had they stopped?

  “We have the whole night.” He brought her fingers away from his buttons and up to his lips. “This thing between us is real, Eva. I don’t want it to just be about sex.”

  She blinked double-time at him, not believing what she was hearing.

  He nipped at her finger again. “Believe me, all I want to do is have you naked in my bed all night, but I also want to get to know you better. I feel like I’ve only really scratched the surface of Eva Marchand, and I want to go deeper.”

  A groan she had zero way of fighting bubbled up from the depths of her chest. “When you talk like that, it makes it very difficult for me to not tear off your clothes and ride you like a mechanical bull.”

  Goddamn it, that smile of his. “I know. It’s all part of the seduction.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, needing the space and the reprieve from the heat, otherwise she might spontaneously orgasm from not only his smell, touch and kisses but also his words. The man was a walking, talking orgasm machine. �
�So.” She cleared her throat and reached for her wine. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Taking his wine with him, he left her sitting there on the counter and walked over to the stove. He lifted up the lid to reveal an intriguing-looking sauce. “Roasted brussels sprouts, steamed green beans, seared duck breast with a fig sauce.” Her belly growled with sudden starvation. “And for dessert?” He opened up the oven door to reveal what appeared to be a delicious-looking torte of some kind. “Cherry almond torte.”

  And here Todd struggled to boil water.

  She mentally slapped the back of her hand. He who must not be named but also not be thought about. She needed stronger duct tape, and this time she needed to wrap it around the box as well.

  Back into the depths he went, bound, gagged and without any airholes. She even took a stapler to the lid of the box just for good measure. No way was he getting out of there tonight again. No way, no how.

  “You okay?” He was back between her knees, worry clouding the various shades of brown in his eyes.

  She nodded and sipped more of her wine. “Better than okay.”

  “You’re not allergic to anything I mentioned, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. No allergies.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  She rested her wrists back on his shoulders and nuzzled her nose against his. “I am. I’m just in a bit of shock—awe, really—that you cooked and that you cooked like freaking Gordon Ramsay to boot.”

  “I consider myself more of an Emeril Lagasse kind of guy, personally.” He pecked her hard on the lips. “Bam!”

  Eva tossed her head back and laughed, which only gave him access to her throat, and he dove in without quarter, his teeth raking along the sensitive tendon until shivers sprinted the length of her spine.

  “You’re really good at this whole seduction thing,” she murmured, allowing her eyes to flutter closed as his mouth continued to explore her neck.

  “It helps when you can’t get enough of the person you’re trying to seduce.”

  “You know all the right things to say, too.”

  “Easy to say when you mean every word.”

  She slid her hands into his shirt where the buttons she’d released just moments ago remained open. His skin was warm and soft, but the muscles beneath were hard and solid. Warm breath slid over the shell of her ear, and a hand slowly crept up her shin and under her skirt. Like a heat-seeking missile, his fingers found her throbbing, wet pussy, and they deftly pushed her damp panties to the side.

  “I think I might need an appetizer,” he whispered before sliding his tongue around the curve or her ear. He sank to his knees. “First, I eat, then I’ll feed you, okay?” He glanced up at her, waiting for her reply.

  All she could do was nod.

  Then he dove beneath her skirt and made her come faster than she’d ever come before.

  15

  They were halfway through dinner, and Scott still had so many more things he wanted to know about the amazing woman in front of him. He’d been asking her questions nonstop since he ducked out from beneath her skirts and finished preparing dinner. He wanted to know everything.

  He knew what made her come. That was, well, easy. But what made her tick? He knew she was a stellar mom and a great hairdresser and aesthetician, but what other passions did she possess? Had Todd eradicated them all from her life when they got together, forcing her to choose between her passions and him, or did she have things she enjoyed that she clung to during her shitty marriage that allowed her to feel some sense of happiness during all the chaos and abuse?

  “And that about covers my childhood, preteen years and high school years,” she said sarcastically, after regaling him with stories and tales from her youth. “I had a pretty quintessential childhood. Loving parents, annoying but wonderful younger sister. Nothing too devastating to report, I’m afraid.”

  She picked at the food on her plate, which he’d already learned was a tell for when she had a lot on her mind. He would hedge to guess that the lot went by the name Todd Fuckface Fletcher.

  She popped a brussels sprout into her mouth. “What about you? Fill me in. What does your ex-wife do?”

  His brows narrowed. Why would she ask about Katrin?

  She read his confusion and quickly followed up. “I only ask because if she’s like a dental hygienist or something, I’ll make sure I avoid that dental office. That’s all. I’m not going to go stalk her or anything.” She took a sip of her wine. “No. I’m not a stalker, not at all.” The last words were said with a saucy smile and a sarcastic tone.

  He loved her sense of humor. It was so refreshing after the enormous horse pill that was Katrin. She never found anything truly funny, only amusing.

  “She’s a jeweler,” he replied. “Has her own business. Does well at it too. Works with precious metals and gems.”

  Hard concentration caused her brows to furrow. “Wait, is she Katrin David?”

  Scott’s fork paused midair. “You know her?”

  “I know of her. I mean I know of her stuff. She’s very talented.”

  He nodded. “That she is.”

  “I think my mom has a pair of her tanzanite and white gold teardrop earrings. They’re very beautiful.”

  Just like the last thing Eva wanted to talk about was her ex, the last thing Scott wanted to talk about was his ex. Not that Katrin was comparable to Voldemort or even half as evil as Todd; she still wasn’t who he wanted to focus his energy on. He needed to change the subject.

  “So I thought I might explain just what my plan for this evening is.” He put the fork to his lips and tugged off the melt-in-your-mouth duck breast with his teeth. “If you’re interested?”

  Even in the muted candlelight, he could tell she was growing flushed. Licking a drop of sauce from her lips, she nodded. “I would like that.”

  “Excellent.” He sipped his wine. “First, I’m going to slowly undress you until you’re wearing nothing but the soft, supple, beautiful skin you were born with.”

  “Then you’re going to peel off my skin and wear my face as a mask?” she interrupted, followed by a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Intense moments like this make me go goofy, not to mention the wine, and I think I’m still a bit loopy from that orgasm earlier.” She took another sip of her wine, eyeing him over the rim of her glass.

  Goddamn it, the woman just continued to get more appealing.

  “Actually, yes. That had been the plan. But now you’ve gone and ruined the surprise, so I’m going to have to rethink my psychopathic face-wearing scheme.” He tapped his chin with his finger and glanced up at the corner of the room. She was giggling across the table at him. “I guess I’ll just have to massage your body. Oil it up. Knead your muscles until they’re the consistency of pudding.”

  “It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again,” she said between fits of laughter.

  He shook his head, grinning. “Will you let me finish? You’re ruining the mood. You’re botching my plan.”

  “Your plan for cannibalism and face-wearing?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat and gave her a stern look, which only prompted a giant sassy grin from her. Now he wanted to sweep his arm over the table, send all the dishes clattering to the floor and have his way with her right then and there.

  “Sorry, sir,” she said, not an ounce of sincerity in her tone. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Hmm, sir. I like that.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “Now, where was I?”

  “Massaging me until I am Jell-O, sir.”

  “Right. But I believe it was pudding. I’m going to strip you bare, lay you on your belly and massage you until you’re moaning, begging for me to take you. But I won’t.”

  She whimpered and made a sexy little pout.

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and continued. “Once you’re begging me to take you, claim you, fill you, only then will I roll you over onto your back
, spread your legs and dive in to claim what is mine. I’ve already had one taste of you, Eva, and I want more.”

  Her squirming in her seat was fuel for his fantasy. Her cheeks were ruddier than ever, and the way her chest lifted and fell rapidly told him she wasn’t far off from begging now.

  “I’m going to lick your clit until you scream, until you can’t take it anymore. And when you’re ready, you’re going to roll back over onto your belly, position yourself on your knees, and I’m going to lick your ass.”

  Eva’s jaw damn near hit the table.

  He resumed eating, cutting into his beans and casually adding, “Well, I did say I was going to lick every inch of you, didn’t I?”

  She swallowed again, the sexy line of her throat bobbing in a such a way that his cock was rock-hard beneath the table in a matter of seconds. “Scott … ”

  “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. But I want all of you, Eva. I want to show you pleasure you haven’t even dared to imagine.”

  The breath she released was slow, as if she were trying to regain control of a frantically beating heart. No way was her heart beating faster than his. Because even though he was trying to appear calm, cool and in control, the thought of getting more of Eva tonight made his pulse race.

  “M-maybe let’s finish dinner first,” she offered, draining her wineglass, then moving on to her water. “You may be too full afterward to—”

  Scott let out a whoop of a laugh, interrupting her. “To eat ass? Was that what you were about to say?”

  Her lashes covered her eyes as she glanced down at her lap. “Yes, but then I thought better of it when I said it in my head.”

  “Don’t ever be afraid to speak your mind around me, Eva. Ever. I want to hear all the dirty, weird, random thoughts. They’re what make you you.” He reached across the table and took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “Okay?”

  She nodded and brought her gaze back up to his face. Amusement, embarrassment and arousal all swirled behind the intense mossy green of her eyes. “Okay.”