by Koko Brown
Shane was coming over for dinner tonight at six and it was already half past two, so she needed to get busy if she wanted things to turn out perfectly.
Celeste worried her bottom lip. She and cooking were an oxymoron. She couldn’t boil water without scalding it.
She tried telling Shane she’d never learned to cook, but he kept cutting her off with those delicious kisses of his. So here she was about to fix a traditional Italian dinner because she thought it would be romantic.
Of course, she didn’t know anything about Italian cuisine and neither did Maggie. Fortunately, she had one ace up her sleeve. Despite eschewing feminine trappings, interests and hobbies, her cousin Trudy was an extraordinary cook.
“Honey I’m home!” Trudy announced from the foyer.
Celeste stuck her head through the crack in the kitchen door. “In the kitchen.”
Do you have everything?” she asked, rolling up her shirt sleeves.
“Yep,” Celeste assured her. “I bought everything on the list you gave me.”
“Good. It shouldn’t take us too long to get everything ready. I baked the lady fingers earlier today for the tiramisu.”
Trudy eyed the items Celeste had bought from the grocer’s. During her cousin’s inspection, she held her breath and waited. She wanted this night to be perfect.
“You did well.” Trudy brought a plump green pepper to her nose and sniffed.
Smiling from ear to ear, Celeste tied on her apron. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you learn to cook Italian cuisine?”
“Do you remember Louigi Bellasano?”
“The mobster that used to come into the Plantation?”
“The one and only.”
Celeste’s eyes widened. “He could barely speak English?”
“He didn’t need to. He had other talents.” Trudy’s eyes took on a faraway look. “One of the best lovers I ever had. I should’ve had children with him.”
Celeste snorted. “Who are you kidding, Tru? You hate kids.”
Trudy screwed up her nose. “Stinky and sticky.”
Over the next two hours, they prepared the night’s menu, which consisted of bruschetta served with olive oil, farsumaguru (a Sicilian meat roll), sautéed eggplant, and tiramisu for dessert.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” Celeste looked up from the tomatoes she was chopping for the bruschetta.
“I should be all right.” With everything waiting in the oven, they’d tackled the hard part. Celeste wiped her hands on her apron as she came around the table. “You can go on home and get ready for your gig tonight. I should be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Celeste steered her to the front door. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. “Plus what can go wrong? All I have to do is turn on the oven and watch the time.”
***
Celeste straightened the place settings on the dining room table for the hundredth time. Two hours ago, Trudy had left with strict instructions for the meal’s completion.
Shortly after, Celeste rushed upstairs to bathe and dress. Wanting to impress Shane, she’d chosen a purple dress made of a lightweight satin. Bias cut, the knee-length dress was accented with a v-neck bodice and short ruffled sleeves. She was strapping on a pair of Mary Janes, made of a gun metal colored leather, when the doorbell rang.
Celeste glanced at the clock on her vanity table. He was early! As if on cue her pulse quickened. She looked at herself in the table’s triple mirror. Her eyes were practically smoldering and her high cheek bones had filled with color. Maybe having dinner steps away from her bedroom was a bad idea.
“You have this,” Celeste whispered at her reflection, struck by the unreality of her predicament. A month ago, before she’d turned a new leaf, she would have bedded Shane and thrown him aside for another.
Deep down, Celeste knew she was lying to herself. Shane had proved to be different, much different from her past suitors put together—evidenced by the fact that he was the only man who could seduce her with only a touch or a kiss.
It was unfair what he did to her, reducing her to this frightened, needy thing that craved the satiation only he could offer her. Celeste groaned. She could stay up here all night and debate the obvious risks of continuing this liaison and yet none of it mattered because he wanted her and she wanted him.
If she looked at it pragmatically, it would be easy for her to not have any emotional attachment. But she wanted more. For the first time in a very long time, she wanted to let go and feel. Of course, the idea scared her, but she was tired of living day in and day out in a state of numbness.
Determined, Celeste gave up the safety of her bedroom. Almost by habit, she found her eyes traveling to her father’s bedroom door. What would he say about his daughter getting involved with his golden boy?
Probably rolling in his grave, Celeste mused. His own flesh and blood wasn’t even good enough to live under his roof.
Celeste faltered on the stairs.
What a foolish, ridiculous thought to think now. What was she trying to do? Sabotage everything she’d worked so hard for up to this point?
Of course, she couldn’t have timed it any better. Only steps away from temptation and here she was beating herself up.
Resolute, she made herself put one foot in front of the other until she ended up at her front door.
Dressed in a gray wool suit and gray fedora, cocked just so, Shane was a tall drink of water clutching a large bouquet of Christmas roses. Beautiful and fragrant they didn’t hold a candle to the man holding them.
Darn! Every time she laid eyes on him, her knees wanted to buckle. Celeste leaned against the door frame and allowed him to pass. His cologne, a mixture of mint and bergamot, tickled her senses. Celeste sucked in a deep breath and sighed. The man had a way of scrambling her brains.
Shane held the flowers out. “These are for you.”
Blink…blink…somewhat in a daze, Celeste took them from him, “they’re beautiful,” she breathed, automatically bringing them to her nose. She inhaled and almost swooned, the blood red petals smelled so sweet. She knew exactly the right place to put them. “I’ll put them in my bedroom later,” she said, gently setting the flowers on the foyer table.
She must have said the right thing. His eyes lit up like a child’s in front of Macy’s store front window during Christmas.
“May I have your hat and coat?”
Nodding, he shrugged out of his overcoat. Celeste noticed the muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. Lean hipped and broad shouldered, he had a physique painters searched far and wide to immortalize.
Of course, when she took his outer garments, she appeared nonchalant on the outside, but on the inside she was quaking. And for the brief moment, she held the garments, savoring his scent, before placing them in the hall closet.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” Grinning, he rubbed his hands together. “I skipped lunch so I wouldn’t spoil dinner.”
Celeste led him into the dining room. “If you’ll have a seat,” she said, patting the back of a chair. She’d set the table so they would sit directly across from each other, leaving both heads of the table empty. “I’ll be right back.”
Celeste waited for him to be seated before retreating into the kitchen. Excited, she grabbed the bottle of Welch’s grape juice, and a large bowl of salad greens, mixed with olives, tomatoes, and red onions.
As she walked back to the dining room, she froze. She looked down at the bottle of juice reserved for communions and nibbled her bottom lip. Would he make a big deal out of the fact that their dinner would be devoid of booze? Would he question why she’d suddenly gone dry?
Well she would soon find out soon enough because she couldn’t stay in this kitchen all night.
Without a word, Celeste placed the bottle of grape juice at his elbow. Already fitted with a bottle opener, all he had to do was pop the cap. “Could you do the honors?”
“Um…yeah…sure thin
g,” he said, taking the bottle in hand. Before opening it, he turned it over and read the label.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, Celeste searched for a plausible excuse. She didn’t think turning into a holy roller overnight would fly.
“I’m glad you remembered I’m in training.” His gaze lifted and found hers. Was he blushing? “I like to stay dry a couple months out. People just don’t get it. I’m glad you do.”
Well what could she say to that? Suddenly finding herself in a good place, Celeste swept back into the kitchen. She even hummed Bye, Bye Blackbird as she picked up an oven mitt off the kitchen table.
Celeste froze. Wasn’t it rather cool in here? Celeste eyed the mint green Grayson stove in the corner. She’d turned it on before going upstairs to take a bath hadn’t she?
Celeste listened for the customary pop the oven emitted in various intervals.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Dismayed, she chewed on her bottom lip. Her perfect evening had suddenly taken a nose dive. She looked at her wrist watch. Was Roscoe’s still open at this hour?
Even if they were, it would take her ten minutes to walk the two blocks. Another forty-five minutes to place her order and have them cook it from scratch.
“Damn…damn…damn.” Celeste stepped forward, aiming to give the stove a swift kick.
“Why are you cursing at the oven?”
Celeste spun around. She hadn’t heard him come in. “What are you doing in here?”
“I thought you might’ve needed some help.” He was so tall and big, he seemed to dwarf the space. And that was saying a lot considering the kitchen was one of the largest spaces in the entire house.
Defeated, Celeste sat down on the foot stool near the back door. “Hold onto your britches. I forgot to turn on the oven.”
Shane glanced over at the oven then back at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“See for yourself.” Celeste swept her arm toward the cold appliance.
When he walked over to the stove, she jumped up and followed. She couldn’t help being a glutton for punishment. She even shouldered him a little so she could get a good look.
He opened the oven door with a little more flourish than warranted. Celeste sniffed. They weren’t opening a department store, just the door to an oven. Still nothing could detract from the cold lump, Trudy’s farsumaguru, sitting on the middle rack or the droopy loaf just beneath it.
Silent, he straightened. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Expecting the hammer to fall, a bad habit she’d developed while her father was alive, Celeste braced herself.
“Out of all the times you tried to get rid of me…this takes the cake, sister.”
Indignant, Celeste planted her hands on her hips. In truth she’d tried to kick him to the curb on several occasions, but this was an honest to God mistake.
She opened her mouth to present her case, but stopped. In her indignation, she failed to notice the sparkle in his green eyes. Realizing he was only kidding with her, she fell in line, batting her lashes at him. “I told you, I wasn’t any good.”
“So what do we do now?” He rocked on his heels nudging her shoulder. Celeste was still surprised at the sudden reaction to his nearness, her face instantly blooming with heat.
Unfortunately, the warmth in her cheeks didn’t remain static. It shot through her body, nestled in the pit of her stomach and lower.
“Want a peanut and jelly sandwich?” she murmured, fully grasping the fact she was in dangerous territory.
As if sensing her dilemma, he slowly turned. With her back to the kitchen table, her left side to the oven, he blocked her only exit. He was peeking at her through unbelievably long eye lashes while his lips curled into a smile that seemed to melt her dwindling resolve.
Celeste gulped. If he kissed or touched her now, she would probably melt at his feet like the wicked witch of the west.
He moved in closer, so close his body heat permeated the thin fabric of her dress. Celeste braced herself for the inevitable.
“With extra jelly and cut in half?”
Celeste nodded only out of pure reflex because from his lips to her ears it sounded more like with ‘satin sheets followed by cigarettes’.
“Do you mind if I eat in here?”
Celeste swallowed around the ball of lust hinged in her throat. Unbridled images of her jumping on the table with her skirt hiked danced through her head. “H-here is fine,” she stuttered.
With a grin a mile wide, he removed his blazer then draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. All the while Celeste watched him, admiring his movements, which were as graceful and fluid as any dancer’s. Not wanting to take her eyes off him, she reluctantly went about feeding her guest.
In quick order, she placed a couple of glasses on the table, along with a quart of fresh milk. Next, she pulled out the sliced bread, peanut butter and grape jelly out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.
“I’m really sorry about this,” she offered, while smearing Maggie’s homemade peanut butter on a slice. “In all honesty I can’t cook.”
“That looked like more than air in there, gorgeous.”
“My cousin Trudy helped with all the cooking. She did most of it. I mostly watched.”
Embarrassed, Celeste glanced over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. Good thing she had the counter to keep her steady! He wore the most pleased-as-punch grin she’d ever seen.
“You were trying to impress me?”
Celeste nodded as heat stole up from her chest and settled in her cheeks. Before she went up in smoke she turned her attention back to their sandwiches.
“I like that. I like it alot.” Celeste could still hear the smile in his voice. “We can eat the fancy stuff tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow?! Surprised, Celeste spun around so fast the butter knife flew from her hand. It skidded across the floor, landing near his foot. She moved to salvage it. He was quicker. He picked it up and handed it back to her, handle out. Their fingertips touched and an electrical shock whizzed up her arm. Shaken, Celeste stepped back.
As if nothing had transpired and completely oblivious to her internal dilemma, Shane sat back in his chair legs extended. Celeste envied him, sitting there cool as a cucumber, while she felt like hell warmed over.
“I mean you went to all that trouble,” he drawled. “It’s the least I could do.”
The least he could do, Celeste mused as she walked back over to the table with two dessert plates and their sandwiches.
Without hesitation, Shane bit into one of the two sandwiches she’d prepared for him. While he ate, Celeste took notes. She noticed his hands were large and bronzed by the sun. His fingers were long and straight with neatly manicured nails, devoid of grease, oil or even dirt.
Mesmerized by his elegant appendages, she imagined what they would feel like holding her hand, caressing her arm, touching her face, her body.
If someone could be accused of drooling without actually slobbering, Celeste was that person.
Hot and bothered, Celeste searched for her glass. She brought it to her lips.
At the last moment, she pressed it against her cheek. Soothed by the cold, she gave into temptation and peeked at the handsome man sitting next to her. Thankfully, his slightly off-centered nose saved him from being damn near perfect.
At some point, he became silent, eyeing her as she’d done him. “W-what is it?” she asked.
“You got a little something…” He leaned toward her his finger scrapping the side of his mouth.
Celeste searched the table.
She’d remembered everything but the napkins. She didn’t want to appear a slob by wiping her mouth with her hand, so she moved to stand up. Her bottom barely left the seat when his hand wrapped around her wrist.
In shock, she watched him lean forward. The situation was cliché for sure, but she was a willing victim of this little play of seduction as he kissed away whatever was on the corner of her mout
h.
“It was only peanut butter.” He said it so softly Celeste barely heard him. Or maybe it was only because her heart was slamming in her chest. Even her stomach was doing that butterfly thing.
He’d just kissed her, and yet it felt like he’d touched her all over. But to have felt all of him just then would’ve have been too much for her senses, already hanging by a tenuous thread of control.
“I think we’d better go.”
“Huh?” Head still in the clouds, Celeste tried switching gears from his kiss to the sudden change in subject and failed.
She wasn’t the only one who’d gotten hot and bothered. His green eyes sparkled with an emotion other than merriment. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving. And yet, he seemed perfectly in control.
“Let’s go,” he stood, holding out his hand. “We’ll end up missing the movies.”
“Why are you so different?” Embarrassed, she didn’t mean to voice her thoughts out loud, Celeste groaned. “I—I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did.” Entwining their fingers, he pulled her into him. Rock hard and unyielding, his body was in direct contrast to hers. Heck, practically every man she’d been with. Shane was a man’s man. Built to work hard and play even harder.
“You’re wondering why I’m not like all those other clowns out there.” He tipped her head up with a finger under her chin. “You’re wondering why I never paw you or take liberties.”
Celeste nodded. He’d hit it on the head.
“I’m leaving it up to you.”
“Up to me?”
He cupped her face and his bare fingers were hot against her skin. “When you’re good and ready,” he leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, “I want you to tell me you want me.” He angled his head in the other direction and kissed the other side of her mouth.
“Just say the words.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Celeste squeezed her eyes shut to curb the damage, regain some control. It was bad enough that the sight of him, the sound of his voice, his touch took a constant toll on her, but to be given the choice. He was worse than any drug!
