It was the last thing she saw before every one of her taste buds wept with joy.
A rich, seductive taste filled not just her mouth, but all her senses with a rush of something so intense, she was tempted to moan. Far from syrupy, the wine was smooth velvet. She tilted the rim to her mouth again, and although the flavors sliding over her tongue were familiar, they scattered through her brain like a deck of cards spilled on the floor, just out of reach. They lingered even after she swallowed, as if to give her another chance to figure them out, but she couldn’t.
“Oh my God.” Fine, so any hope she might’ve had for eloquence had gone out the window as soon as the glass had left her lips. But please. This wine was making a flavor playground out of taste buds she never knew existed. Even if she didn’t have a clue what she was tasting.
“You like it?”
Although she didn’t remember closing them, her eyes fluttered open to reveal a picture as seductive as the wine in her glass. Gavin stared at her, wearing a smile of dark satisfaction that said he was just beginning.
Stick with the wine, stick with the wine.
“It’s incredible,” she admitted, pressing her lips together so as not to let the last of the taste escape before taking another sip.
“What do you taste?” he asked, nodding down at the glass in his hand.
“I have no idea.” Sloane didn’t waste her energy blushing at the admission. She’d never claimed to know anything about wine, and she didn’t need a bunch of fancy terms to say what she liked. “I mean, there are all these different flavors, and they’re all amazing. But I don’t have a clue what they are. I just know they’re good.”
Gavin chuckled. “Let’s give this a try, then. Take another sip.”
She did, and damn if it wasn’t just as good as the first.
“Now close your eyes and picture the flavors.”
Sloane couldn’t help it. She started to giggle. “Picture the flavors?” She cracked one eye open, just in time to catch the hint of warmth in his gaze as he took a taste from his own glass.
“Just tell me what you see when you think of the way the wine tastes,” he said, and the sexy smile playing on his lips made her close her eyes.
“Okay. I see . . . summertime.” She sipped her wine and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, making a slow circle to capture the flavors before swallowing them down. “Plums in August. The jam Carly used to get at Greenmarket in the city.”
“Anything else?”
Pictures swirled over her mind’s eye, taking shape with bright colors. An image flickered in the deep recesses of her brain, barely a faded scrap of thought, but she didn’t let it go. She swallowed again, catching a hint of something smoky and sweet and so familiar . . .
“Oh! Licorice!” Her eyes flew open, heart hammering with pure excitement. “When I was a kid, there was a candy shop by our house in Brooklyn. It was one of those old-fashioned places that made everything from scratch; right there in the front where you could watch. My father used to buy licorice and sneak it to me before dinner when my mom wasn’t looking. But then she always caught us, because it turned our teeth blue.”
She raised her fingers to her mouth as if it could keep the sudden memory locked in place forever. “Nobody else in our family could ever stand the stuff, but he and I always loved it.”
“This vintage is known for definite notes of licorice, although the dark fruit flavors you caught on to first are easier to identify. You must have a really discerning palate to go with your good memories.”
Sloane shook her head, and the emotional punch of the memory folded back into her mind. “You’re probably giving me way too much credit. I’m sure I just got lucky.”
Gavin leaned one hip against the gleaming countertop as he searched her with another heated gaze. “I doubt it. Taste is very emotional, and sometimes it triggers memories. That’s why I asked you to picture the flavors. They tend to go hand in hand with specific experiences, and picturing them can heighten the tasting experience.”
Not even the lovely flavors still dancing around in her mouth could mask the lump in Sloane’s throat. “I never thought about it like that.”
He examined his glass with a smile before taking a healthy sip. “It’s also a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle of wine, so that helps.”
“Oh my God, Gavin!” Sloane’s first instinct was to let go of her goblet, but the mistake had dollar signs written all over it. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Nope. I’m having fun, remember? And call me crazy, but I much prefer a really nice bottle of wine and the company of a pretty woman to running around in crappy weather.”
Oh, hell. Of course she’d goaded him into this. Gavin was the least likely candidate for stepping outside the box, and what had she done? Dared him right over the line.
“I didn’t mean for you to take it like this. We can’t—”
He stepped in, cupping his free hand firmly over the shaking fingers that still held her glass. “We can, and we are. The bottle’s already open, Sloane, and life’s too short for cheap wine. All that’s left to do is live a little and enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it?” She cast a doubtful glance at the bottle sitting benignly on the counter, and the promise she’d made earlier in the evening echoed front and center through her brain.
No troubles, no worries. Just for tonight.
Gavin lowered their entwined fingers, releasing her glass to the counter but not letting go of her hand. “Look, it might not be the wild and crazy thing that you had in mind, but this is my version of running around in the rain. So, yeah. We’re going to enjoy it.”
His seductive expression kicked up a notch, and in that moment, Sloane knew two things. The look on his face had nothing to do with the bottle of wine, and if she raised her eyes to fully meet his, she was going to take forgetting her troubles for just one night to a whole new level.
She didn’t think twice.
Chapter Eleven
Gavin’s mouth tasted smooth and rich as Sloane pressed her lips against his in a heated rush. Impulse mixed with her sheer desire for more, and she boldly skipped tender pleasantries in order to get it. Gavin obliged, deepening the kiss to run his teeth over her lower lip with just enough pressure to make her gasp.
“You’ve been killing me all night in this dress.” He sent the words, along with an appreciative exhale, into the ultrasensitive skin of her neck, and the suggestive glide of his tongue derailed any last shred of rational thought from her brain.
“This dress?” she asked, hooking her thumbs beneath the thin shoulder ribbons to slide them from her body.
Gavin’s rich brown eyes darkened to near-black, but he replaced her hands with his own, stilling her. “This dress is so hot, it’s a fire hazard.”
Slipping the straps to just barely expose the naked expanse of her shoulders, he lowered his head to follow the path forged by his hands. Sloane’s nerve endings sparked and sizzled, igniting sensations not just where he touched her on the surface, but deep within her, like a glimmer of electricity suddenly bursting into a dangerous, white-hot flame.
She wanted more.
“You’re right. It’s a complete menace,” she said, her voice betraying her shocking level of arousal. Her nipples beaded into tight points as Gavin trailed kisses over the top curve of her breasts, and she arched into his touch to give him unfettered access.
“A societal threat,” he agreed, answering her intensity by wrapping one arm around her back to hold her fast beneath his eager mouth. Though it was soft, the waterfall of silk on her skin heightened the friction from his hands, and when he skimmed a palm over the small weight of her breasts, an unbearable, urgent ache flared to life between her legs.
Oh, God, he couldn’t possibly . . . there was no way he could make her—
He slid his hand deep inside her neckline, and every one of Sloane’s thoughts completely shorted out from wanting him.
Gavin moved the strap of her dress jus
t far enough to expose one needy breast, still cradled in black silk. The arm around her back tightened, and he angled his body against hers while he cupped her bare skin. The ache in her core became a hot throb as he dipped his mouth lower, trailing over the fluttering expanse of her chest to encircle her nipple. The heat of Gavin’s mouth alternated with the cool strength of his fingers, and both worked her with flawless strokes. His gentle touch gave way to the merciless ministrations of his tongue, and holding back became as impossible as moving the moon.
Sloane didn’t care how much he loved her dress. She wanted more of him right now.
“Oh, God, take it off.” She fumbled for the zipper, briefly considered just tearing the damned thing to have more of him on her, but he captured both of her wrists so quickly, she jerked to a stop.
“No.”
Shock trickled like ice water down her spine. “What?”
Gavin cast a head-to-toe look at her as palpable as any touch. “Your body in that dress is like the Bordeaux. It’s perfect, and I want to savor the hell out of it. Just not in this tiny kitchen.”
Before Sloane could even moan outright, they’d covered the space between the suite’s kitchen and the bedroom, maneuvering various articles of clothing and kissing as they went. She worked quick fingers over his shirttails, freeing them from his pants in one deft move before liberating the buttons and lifting the T-shirt beneath. Gavin’s chest was a perfect match for the hard, lean muscles of his forearms, and Sloane’s attempt to bite back a second moan as he eased her to the bed failed miserably. He trailed one hand up her bare leg, following the side slit of her dress, but his movement screeched to a halt as his palm curled over her hip beneath the silk.
“Jesus. You’re not wearing anything under here.”
“Under this dress? Are you kidding?” The tango dress left nothing to the imagination, including panty lines.
His breath rasped by her ear. “And I thought you were killing me before.”
Gavin nudged the edges of the fabric apart, tracing the natural curve of her hip before inching over her belly, and Sloane canted the cradle of her hips toward his touch. She reached out impatiently to snag the button on his pants, but he drew back.
“You said something last week that made me curious.” He brushed his fingers over the seam where her inner thigh met her core, frustratingly close and yet miles away from the ache building within her. She made another bid to free him from his only article of clothing, but he dodged her again.
“It’s kind of an odd time for a trip down memory lane, isn’t it?” Heat lay banked beneath her skin, desperate to be kindled, but Gavin didn’t relent.
He moved to put them face-to-face, dropping a slow touch from his lips to hers. “You said you’ve given yourself every orgasm you’ve ever had, and I want to change that.”
Sloane’s eyes flew open, her surprise complete. Her partners in the past hadn’t been completely lacking, and sex was enjoyable enough. But by the time she got really warmed up, well . . . the game was usually over. She’d long ago chalked it up to just another version of close, but not good enough.
She couldn’t come up lacking. Not again.
“Gavin, really, what we’re doing now is fine. I don’t even think—”
He cut her words off with another soft kiss. “This is about really living, right?” His fingers dallied in that excruciating spot on her inner thigh, and the suggestive touch sent a merciless throb right into her center.
Yes, yes, yes.
Gavin slipped his hand right over the apex where her legs came together, and his seductive smile in the light from the hallway was Sloane’s only clue that she’d murmured the word out loud.
“Then let me do it right. Let me give you the moment.”
His fingers found the heat of her sex at the same time he claimed her mouth in a punishing kiss, and she nearly flew off the bed at the intimacy of both touches together.
“Oh.” The word hummed out of her, daring her forward, and she followed without thought. Gavin teased her with languid sweeps of his tongue, and she bowed up to meet him, experiencing the kiss in every part of her body just like she’d tasted the wine right down to her toes. Each movement, each breath that moved seamlessly from his body to hers, pulsed through her, hot and deliberate.
He paired tender kisses above with firm, purposeful touches below, then traded off with harder kisses to her mouth and lighter strokes on her body to create beautiful, unbearable tension. Oh, God, the way he touched her, with a flawless combination of soft strokes and deep hunger, set Sloane on fire in ways she’d only written about. His eager fingers seemed to memorize her on the spot, paying such sweet attention to nuances that she herself hadn’t even known existed, as if they were both unraveling them together. Sensations rushed to the surface, propelled by the deepest parts of her, and Gavin quickened his pace in response to her pleasured gasps for more.
“Gavin . . . if you don’t stop . . .”
The realization that she was truly on the razor’s edge of an orgasm hit Sloane like rising from the bottom of the ocean, with the shimmering surface tantalizingly close. His lips parted over her skin, spilling a smile over her neck with a wicked breath.
“I’m not stopping.”
Just like that, the beautiful, unbearable tension coiling through Sloane came wildly undone. Sensation, dark and rich and forbidden, came at her from every direction, and she gasped for air as if her lungs were brand-new. For a moment, she felt wrapped tightly in nothing and everything all at the same time.
Sweet God in heaven, if this was what she’d been missing out on, she had some serious catching up to do. Like right now.
“Please let me touch you,” she gasped when she could speak again. Want began rebuilding under Sloane’s skin, just as relentless as it had been the first time, and she slid her hands down the lean expanse of his chest.
“You don’t have to.” Gavin’s voice was gravel over satin, prickling all the way down her neck as he kissed her. “It’s fine if we don’t—”
“But I want to,” Sloane said, pushing her fingers against his lips. “I want you.”
Arching up, she pushed her way to sitting. With a quick reach and twist, the zipper of her dress hit the small of her back and the silk fell away from her body in an inky pool. She slipped it the rest of the way off in one fluid pull.
“You’re a goddamn banquet. Do you know that?” He reached out, skimming her waist with patient fingers, and the deliberate touch made her shiver.
It’s the journey, not the destination.
But Sloane wanted the destination so badly, she could taste it.
She dodged him gracefully before coming back around to push him to his back against the bed. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
She undid his pants, removing them with a few well-placed tugs, and swung her body over his to straddle his lap. Only the thin cotton of his boxers stood between them, and he thrust his erection against the cradle of her hips in an agonizing promise. Another thrust, and a heady sigh spilled from Sloane’s lips, unbidden. She pushed back, enhancing the glorious friction.
Gavin tightened his hands over her hips, guiding her into a perfect rhythm, and her sigh became a moan. She leaned over him, placing her palms on his shoulders and covering his bare chest with her own, not stopping the movement between them. The slide of his fabric-clad arousal, so hard against her aching center, sent her breath tripping through her lungs.
“Ohhhhh, Gavin, I don’t want to wait. I want to—”
The unmistakable chime of a cell phone interrupted her without ceremony.
For a split second, time froze, and Sloane floated, suspended in the hazy passion of the moment. Then reality careened into her senses, pasting the rest of her words to her throat.
“Sloane, I’m so sorry. It might be Bree. I have to get this.” In one economical move, Gavin lifted her gently from his lap and unearthed his cell phone from his discarded pants. He spoke in hushed tones, and although she trie
d not to eavesdrop, it was damn near impossible since he was sitting right next to her.
“Okay, that’s fine. Make sure Jeannie waits with you until I get there, okay?” He paused. “I know you’ll be fine, Bree. I’ll be there shortly.”
Sloane’s face heated with stark realization. Of course. It had been easily an hour, maybe even an hour and a half since Bree had left with Jeannie and the girls. How could she have possibly lost track of that?
Forgetting her troubles was one thing. Going so far over the line that reality was a distant memory was quite another.
There wasn’t enough damage control in the world to kill this much awkward. She needed to get out of there, and fast. Sloane reached for her dress, shaking it from its puddle of silk on the floor.
“Hey.” Gavin’s quiet sincerity froze her movements against her will. God dammit, sitting here, naked and vulnerable as hell, was so not on her agenda.
Why couldn’t she make herself move?
“That was Bree.” He sounded truly torn, but it did nothing to ease the weird feelings swirling about in Sloane’s chest.
“Right, of course. You should get going.” Finally, blessedly, her limbs got the move-it memo, and she stepped into her dress. Bree was absolutely Gavin’s number one priority, as she should be. No way was Sloane going to pretend otherwise.
“I’m sorry, Sloane,” he said, and the apology only hammered her resolve into place. She tried on a shaky smile.
“No. I should be the one apologizing. You know me, totally flighty. It wasn’t fair to goad you into something so impulsive.” She smoothed her palms over the thin straps of her dress twice, even though they were perfectly in place. Now where the hell was her purse?
Gavin jerked to a stop, his arms halfway through his crumpled T-shirt. “Is that what you think? That you goaded me into this?” He stared at her in the barely there light filtering in from the kitchen, clearly waiting for an answer.
For a ridiculous split second, Sloane wanted nothing more than to tell him no. Her devil-may-care attitude and the crazy vow she’d made to forget her troubles tonight had nothing to do with how much she wanted him.
Stirring Up Trouble Page 13
