Her eyes popped open and she flipped onto her back. Shoving the pillow under her head, she stared at the ceiling. A sharp ache echoed between her legs and her heart raced and her tummy trembled and...Geez, who was she trying to kid? Falling asleep right now was about as likely as her pulling out her grammy Ruth’s old recipes.
She sat up and climbed out of the bed. A few steps and she found herself in the small hallway that ran the length of the RV. The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet but it did nothing to ease the fire burning inside her as she turned toward the right and took three steps. She stood poised outside his door.
Now what?
Just knock already.
She would, and then she would go inside. And then she would tell him that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. About how much she wanted a real orgasm with an actual man and could he please, please, please give her one.
Just one teeny, tiny one to satisfy her curiosity and sate her lust. Then she could stop thinking about it. Fantasizing. Hoping.
She reached for the doorknob.
“Can’t sleep?” The deep, husky timbre of his voice stirred the hair on the back of her neck and drew her around.
She found him standing at the opposite end of the RV, in the main living area. The sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of snug, faded jeans snatched her breath for a long moment and reminded her again why cohabitating with him was such a bad idea.
Soft denim cupped his crotch and molded to his lean hips and strong thighs. The button at his waist sat undone, the zipper pulled up just enough to allow a hint of modesty. But just a hint. The vee sat tantalizingly low, piquing her curiosity and stirring the sudden urge to drop to her knees, grab the zipper with her teeth and pull it south...
Ugh. For a closet good girl, she sure was having naughty thoughts.
If only the thoughts could translate into actual actions. They might, but they might not. History was not on her side, after all, and so she stiffened against the desperate urge and kept her feet planted firmly on the floor.
Still, her eyes weren’t nearly as restrained and she found herself looking at the frayed rip in the denim on his right upper thigh which gave her a tantalizing glimpse of dark, silky hair and tanned muscle and... Yowza.
She’d seen him without a shirt on that first night back at her apartment, but the encounter had been so brief and frenzied that she hadn’t actually had the chance to study him. And then, on the following morning when he’d been asleep on her couch, she’d been afraid to linger too long lest she wake him. The story continued on the RV. She’d catch a brief glimpse here and there when he came out of the shower or pulled off his shirt to climb into bed. But she’d never really had the opportunity to look.
His shoulders were broad, his arms thick and corded with muscle. Dark hair sprinkled his chest before narrowing to a funnel that bisected his ripped abdomen and disappeared beneath the half done zipper. Her gaze riveted on the hard bulge beneath the denim of his crotch and her mouth went dry.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“You have no idea.”
A warm chuckle vibrated along her nerve endings. “Me, too.” He held up a toasted sandwich. The aroma of melted cheese and rich butter slid into her nostrils. Her stomach grumbled despite the fact that she’d eaten enough pickles to last a lifetime.
But then pickles weren’t all that satisfying.
Not like a pecan-caramel tart or a scrumptious cherry pie.
She ditched the thought and eyed him. “I can’t believe you’ve got any room left over after cleaning out that last bakery box.”
“That was good, but I need something that sticks to the ribs,” he said, cutting into her thoughts and drawing her back to the all-important fact that her stomach was still grumbling. “Some real food.” He motioned to the slice of cellophane-wrapped diary in his hand. “It’s just plain old American cheese, but it hits the spot.” She didn’t miss the challenge that simmered in the bright violet depths of his eyes. As if the offer had little to do with plain, old-fashioned comfort food and everything to do with him. As if he couldn’t wait to see which she picked.
Yeah, right.
It was a late-night snack. End of story. It’s not like he’d stripped naked and asked—no, begged—her to jump his bones.
Not yet.
She stifled a wave of excitement and focused on her grumbling stomach. It was a sandwich. Nothing more.
That’s what she told herself.
She just wasn’t so sure she believed it.
* * *
HE WAS AN IDIOT.
That was the only explanation for the fact that he’d just offered to make her a sandwich when what he really needed to do was get the hell away as fast as possible.
They had an agreement.
No sex.
That meant no sex. Under any circumstances. No thinking about it. No wanting it. No doing it. No.
Even if she did look good enough to eat nice and slow and he’d been thinking about her ever since they’d come home and he’d tried to satisfy the hunger twisting his gut with all that cherry pie.
Enough to make any man seriously ill. Except that Cole wasn’t just any man. He was an uptight, hard-up, horny man, and so the pie hadn’t come close to easing the gnawing in his gut. He needed something much more substantial for that.
And you think a grilled cheese is going to do the trick?
He didn’t, but he had to try something.
Anything.
Otherwise...
He squelched the thought and focused on unwrapping the cheese rather than staring at the picture she made framed in the hallway.
He’d expected her to wear a slinky leopard-print bra-and-pantie set or a sheer, see-through black number or a skimpy red-hot teddy, or something equally sinful when climbing beneath the covers. The last thing he anticipated was a pair of yellow boxers with hot-pink smiley faces and a matching T-shirt.
Not that he liked hot-pink smiley faces. Not at this point in his life. He liked his women hot and spicy and temporary. Nikki looked just the opposite with her hair pulled back in a simple braid and her face scrubbed free of the heavy eye makeup and dark red lipstick that she usually wore. She looked so different, which should have killed the attraction.
It didn’t.
For all her boldness, he was no longer buying her act. There were too many inconsistencies for him to really believe she was as experienced as she made out to be. That initial gasp of surprise when he’d first kissed her. The way her skin quivered ever so slightly beneath his touch. The way she’d retreated that first night at her apartment, as if running out of pure fear rather than a stroke of good judgment.
Innocent.
And so not his type.
He held tight to the knowledge, stiffened against the ache vibrating low in his belly and reached for two slices of bread.
“No butter for me,” she added when he reached for the small tub sitting on the counter.
“You can’t have a grilled cheese without butter.”
She smiled as if she had a secret and he prodded, “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that’s what my grandmother used to say.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
“She was.” She seemed far away for a split second. “She died when I was eight. She lived in the kitchen.”
“That’s where you get it from.”
She shook her head. “I’m a totally different type of cook. I don’t do comfort food.”
“What’s wrong with comfort food?”
“Nothing. I mean, it’s great every now and then, but I can’t build a career around it. I’ve got to think outside the box if I want to move into a fine-dining restaurant. I sent an application into The Savoy. They have a sous-chef position open and I r
eally want it.” When he didn’t say anything, she rushed on, “It’s this upscale restaurant in downtown Houston that specializes in modern American food.”
“I know what it is. I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been to The Savoy?”
“Just because I bust my ass in a rodeo arena doesn’t mean I can’t clean up and rub elbows with the higher-ups. I had dinner there last month with a marketing executive from the Western wear company that sponsors me. It was pretty decent.” He handed her a paper plate. “But nothing compares to this.” He winked. “Except maybe peanut butter and jelly.”
“So you like PB and J?” She eyed him as he slid into the seat opposite her.
“Who doesn’t?” He took a sip from the glass of milk in front of him. When she didn’t answer, he murmured, “Really? You don’t like peanut butter?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it.” She shrugged. “It’s just not something that I eat.”
“Why not?”
“Because there aren’t too many fine-dining recipes that call for peanut butter and so it’s just not something that I keep in stock.” Regret gleamed in her eyes. “That, and old habits.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“My mother and my grandmother didn’t have the closest relationship. My mom resented my grammy Ruth because she thought she was weak. My grandfather cheated a lot and instead of booting him out on his ass, she just took it. Anyhow, when she passed on, my mother was determined to bury her memory and so she outlawed any and all of my grammy’s favorites. No homemade chocolate cake. No mouthwatering mac and cheese. No ooey gooey peanut-butter-and-jelly bars.”
“I think I’m getting hungry again.”
Her full lips hinted at a smile. “My mom kept our kitchen pretty much bare except for TV dinners and junk food.”
“But you’re a chef.”
“A fine-dining chef. What I prepare is a far cry from any of the recipes in my grammy’s recipe box.” Regret flashed in her gaze and he had the distinct feeling that she missed those recipes a lot more than she wanted to admit.
“What was your favorite?”
“I don’t remember,” she said. She focused on taking a bite of her sandwich and then another, as if the monotonous action could cover up the fact that she’d just lied to him.
It didn’t. It just made it that much more obvious.
“My dad never cooked much when we were young.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. He did his damnedest to avoid thinking about the past. But with her sitting so close and looking so uneasy, he had the sudden urge to ease the tension between them. “Jesse did all the cooking. When there was food, that is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s all water under the bridge now. The past is the past.”
“And yet you’re trying to stir it up by returning a bunch of money to a town that probably won’t appreciate it in the first place.”
“I’m not stirring anything up. This is important to Jesse. He wants to lay the past to rest. I’m already fine with it.”
She took another bite and eyed him. “Are you?” she finally asked. “Because it seems to me you sound more uptight than fine.”
But he wasn’t uptight. He was scared.
The minute the thought struck, he stomped it back into the dust. He wasn’t afraid of the past. Of the memories that crept into his dreams late at night. The images of his no-good father who’d promised time and time again to straighten up and make things right.
No, he was wary.
His father had made too many false promises before he’d robbed that bank and set himself on fire. He’d been a terrible parent, but he had taught Cole one important thing—people would lie their ass off to get what they wanted.
They’d lie to themselves. To others.
Which was why Cole didn’t take anyone—other than his brothers and Pete—at face value.
Actions spoke louder than words, and so he paid more attention to what people did rather than what they said.
Case in point—Nikki might talk the talk when it came to being a bona fide bad girl, but she wasn’t walking the walk. At least not at the moment.
An act to convince him she wasn’t his type and turn him off completely?
If so, it sure as hell wasn’t working.
She looked so innocent and sweet sitting across from him, so opposite of the kind of woman he always went for, and damned if he didn’t want to reach out anyway.
Because she was sweet and innocent and still the same girl who’d eyed him with such trust and slipped her hand into his all those years ago.
He shifted, eager to kill the dangerous thought. “So The Savoy, huh?”
“If they’ll have me. If not, I’ve got applications out at two other restaurants—The Bistro and Michael’s. Whatever happens, it’ll be great because I’ll be doing what I love.”
“Will you?” He eyed the empty plate in front of her. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you eat more than a few bites of anything.”
“I had a light dinner.”
“My point exactly. You nibble and taste but you don’t dig in. Maybe you ought to pull out a few of those recipes every now and then.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but then she shrugged. “My gram did make a pretty mean grilled cheese. She used honey. Just a dab, but enough to make it melt-in-your-mouth. Not that yours wasn’t good. It was. I really enjoyed it.” She eyed what was left of his sandwich.
He motioned to his plate. “Be my guest.”
“Oh, no, I can’t do that.”
“It’s my second one. I’m full.”
“Really?”
He nodded and she reached over so fast that the plate slid a few inches. A grin tugged at his lips. “I could make you another if you want.”
“No,” she said around a mouthful. “This is plenty.”
He watched her finish off his sandwich and marveled at the sudden feeling of companionable silence that engulfed them for the next few moments.
“Wow. I am so full,” she finally remarked. Her gaze collided with his. “Maybe I can return the favor and cook for you sometime.”
He thought of the pungent truffle oil, and the dozen other ingredients she’d toted onto his bus for study purposes and shook his head. “Help me get my money back and we’ll call it even.”
The hope in her eyes faded. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I never thought...” She shook her head. “I didn’t realize she was that desperate. I guess I was too busy hiding out in the kitchen.”
“And putting on one hell of a show.” He wasn’t sure why he called her out on it. She would deny it. He knew that.
But he asked anyway because deep down, he hoped she would tell him the truth. That she would be different from everyone else. Honest. Trustworthy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I suspect you’re not half as wild and bold as you pretend to be.”
“I am so.”
“Yeah?” He gave her a knowing look. “Nice boxer shorts.”
She glanced down as if realizing what she was wearing for the first time. She looked so distraught that he had the sudden urge to step forward and pull her into his arms.
Her expression quickly faded into a frown. “My leather teddy was dirty tonight.”
“That’s too bad.” He slid out from the table and she followed. “But if it makes you feel any better, you look even better in the boxers.”
He didn’t mean to step toward her. He was supposed to walk the other way and put as much distance as possible between them. He knew that, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He stopped just shy of touching her. Her heat curled toward him, begging him closer. He pressed a kiss to her forehead be
fore turning toward the door. It was that or kiss her smack-dab on her full lips, which he was dangerously close to doing.
“Dr. Pepper cake,” she blurted out as he reached the doorway.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“My favorite recipe of Gram’s. It’s Dr. Pepper cake,” she said, surprising him even more than if she’d stripped bare and jumped him right there in the hallway. “It’s this old recipe handed down through about five generations. She used to make it every year for my birthday.” And then she turned and disappeared into her bedroom, leaving him even more uptight than he’d been when he’d first headed into the kitchen.
For whatever reason, she’d told him the truth.
He knew it, felt it, and damned if it didn’t bother him.
Because he liked it.
He liked knowing that she trusted him enough to share a piece of her past.
At the same time, they were just words. They didn’t mean anything because true or not, she was still holding back when it came to the rest of her life. Still putting up a front and pretending to be something she wasn’t.
And she would still walk away when all was said and done.
And damned if that didn’t bother him more than anything.
* * *
SHE’D EATEN A pecan-caramel tart and two peach turnovers.
She hadn’t planned it. But lack of sleep and desperate hormones had finally gotten the best of her and she found herself up at 6:00 a.m., raiding the refrigerator and praying with all of her heart that Cole didn’t wake up and catch her.
Not that it mattered.
She knew what she’d done.
She stared at the bakery box with only a few crumbs left inside and satisfaction ripped through her. Her tongue tingled and her taste buds sang and damned if she didn’t want to eat more.
“I knew you had it in you.” The deep voice slid down her spine and she stiffened.
“I...” What could she say? For all her talk about refined taste buds, she was still the same girl who’d licked the bowl after her grandmother all those years ago. Shy. Timid. Living in the shadows of both her sisters.
Texas Outlaws: Cole Page 9
