Anything you want. “My chocolate.”
“Oh? What kind do you have? Stuff left over from last Halloween, I bet.”
“Nope.” He rested his forearms along the top of the fence and leaned forward. “Belgian truffles. Assorted flavors. A pound box of them from Sinfully Sweet.”
Her eyes widened. “You do not.”
“Do, too.”
“I didn’t see you buy them.”
“You left the store before I did.”
“But they cost fifty dollars a pound!”
“I know. But I told you I have a weakness for chocolate. Ellie Fairbanks assured me they’re worth every penny. Based on your reaction, she’s right.”
“Oh, she’s definitely right. So let me get this straight. You have in your possession a full pound of Belgian truffles.”
“Yup. Haven’t even opened the box.”
“A virgin box? Stop toying with me.”
He laid his hand over his heart. “Swear.”
Something that looked like awe entered her gaze. “You’ve had them all day and haven’t eaten even one?”
“I’ve been too busy.” He jerked his head toward his backyard. “Filling in holes, laying down sod. You know, the usual.”
Even in the fading light he could see the color that bloomed on her cheeks, an enticing blush that made his fingers tingle with the need to touch her there.
“Oh,” she said in small voice. “So, that being the case, it seems I owe you one.”
“You do. And as it is, I’ll only be getting half a one.”
“What about your offer to share your chocolate? That still stand?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you share yours with me.”
“You have a lot more than I do.”
He smiled. “How advantageous for me. And how lucky for you I’m not as sharing impaired as you are.”
She stepped forward, until less than a foot separated them—well, a foot and the damn fence. He decided then and there that if he could possess one superpower, it would be the ability to make fences disappear.
Now that she was closer, he caught a whiff of her scent. Something flowery and musky that made his head spin. Or maybe his head was spinning from the way she was looking at him with those big brown eyes. Jeez, this woman was actually making him feel dizzy, just by looking at him. He wasn’t sure if that was good, or if it should scare him spitless.
“Well,” she said in a voice he could only describe as a purr, “then I guess you can have what I’m having. Allow me to offer you a taste of heaven.”
She held out her hand, offering him the half truffle held delicately between her thumb and index finger. Whew. Talk about an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Carlie stood in front of him, her heart beating ridiculously fast at the thought of feeding Daniel her remaining bite of chocolate, at the thought of her chocolate slowly melting in his warm mouth. Heated awareness jolted through her, making it impossible to deny she’d like to share a heck of a lot more than her chocolate with him. And based on the way he was looking at her—with enough heat to actually melt her chocolate—he wouldn’t be adverse to the idea. Something that was further proven when instead of simply taking the proffered half truffle from her, he reached out, snagged her wrist, then slowly drew her hand toward his mouth.
He leaned forward and his lips brushed over her fingers, stalling her breath. And, oh wow, was that his tongue? Before she could decide, he straightened. Still holding her wrist, and with his gaze behind his glasses steady on hers, his jaw moved slowly back and forth in a way that let her know he knew exactly how to eat a truffle. No chewing, just a long, slow melt into pleasure. She practically experienced another chocogasm just watching him, imagining his tongue slowly sweeping over her skin rather than her chocolate.
After he swallowed, he said, “Wow. That was incredible.”
Yeah, for me, too. She found herself involuntarily licking her lips.
Before she could recover her aplomb—which she normally had buckets of—he looked at her index finger and said, “I missed a tiny bit.” And with that he slowly drew her fingertip into his mouth.
Holy cow. His mouth was satiny and warm and, oh boy, there was no missing the wet, velvety sweep of his tongue this time. His teeth lightly grazed her skin, turning her insides to the consistency of chocolate fondue
After another slow swirl of his tongue, he slid her finger from between his lips then released her hand. “Delicious.”
She nodded. Probably she nodded. It was her intention to do so, but with all her faculties still engaged in recalling the incredible feel of his mouth on her skin, she couldn’t be sure.
“Now that you’ve shared, I guess it’s my turn,” he said.
She had to swallow twice to locate her AWOL voice. “Right.”
“Are you free this evening? Could I interest you in coming over for a truffle?”
The look in his eyes suggested that he had more than truffle tasting on his mind.
Thank God. Because she sure did.
Obviously a fling was all they could have given his imminent move, but since she wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, that worked out fine. Even if their fling only lasted one night—hell, one hour—the way this guy had her hormones turning cartwheels, she’d take what she could get.
But his invitation brought reality back with a thump and she regretfully shook her head. “I’d love to, but I have a class and study session tonight. I have to head out in about an hour.”
Amusement kindled in his eyes. “Listen, I know you like to savor your truffles, but it won’t take you an hour to eat one.” He jerked his head toward his house. “C’mon over. I’ll even make a pot of coffee.”
Wow. He sure knew how to tempt a girl. All the warnings in the stacks of books she’d read about how women shouldn’t make themselves too available, how they should never accept an invitation for the same evening, flashed into her mind. And right back out again.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t play hardball.
Tapping her finger against her chin, she said, “Hmmm. That sounds good—except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“This nonsense about a truffle, as in one. That’s pretty stingy for a guy who has an entire box.”
He smiled, flashing those killer dimples, and she made sure her knees were braced. “Okay, more than one truffle. But that’ll present a problem for you, sharing-wise, as it seems you’re fresh out.”
“Of truffles, yes. But…” She hesitated, her courage suddenly failing her. C’mon, Carlie. You want him? Go get him. Be bold. Be daring. The worst he can do is say no and if he does, you’ll only have to avoid him for the next two weeks until he moves. If he says yes…
Drawing a deep, bracing breath, she shot him her best suggestive look then murmured in her best seductive purr, “But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to share.”
Her heart rate quickened at the unmistakable flare of heat in his eyes. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”
You. Me. Chocolate. Naked. And not necessarily in that order. “Well, of course it would have to be in the form of an IOU since there’s no time tonight, but I was thinking that you might perhaps enjoy…”
“Enjoy what?”
“A massage.”
Which, she hoped, would lead to her. Him. Chocolate. Naked. And not necessarily in that order.
4
“MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME,” Daniel said, pulling out one of the oak stools around the green granite snack bar that separated his kitchen from the small eating area. “I’ll be right back. Gotta change my shirt.”
“No problem,” she said with a smile.
He headed quickly down the hall and into his bedroom. After closing the door behind him, he leaned back against the wood panel and pulled in several slow, calming breaths.
What the hell was wrong with him? His heart was racing, his hands weren’t quite steady, and his stomach was
jittery. But even as he asked himself the question, he realized the answer.
He was nervous. In a way he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a teenager asking out his first major crush. Which was totally crazy. But there it was.
Pushing off from the door, he pulled his dirt-streaked T-shirt over his head then entered the adjoining bathroom. After tossing his shirt into the hamper, he washed his hands, frowning at himself in the mirror. Why the hell did he feel so unglued? She was just here for coffee and chocolate. A little conversation.
Well, that could certainly explain part of his nervousness. He found the whole “make small talk with women” thing very intimidating. It was like being lost in the jungle—scary, unfamiliar and you never knew when something might jump out and bite you. All those long, awkward pauses. Trying to think of something clever, or at least not boring, to say to fill the silence.
He knew zilch about the stuff women liked to talk about—shoes, make-up, clothes. Those topics invariably led to some variation of that trick “does this make my ass look fat?” question that has led to more conflicts than nations at war. Truth be told, the only interest he had in women’s clothes was what was underneath them.
Bottom line, he sucked at small talk, and when he walked back into his kitchen, he’d be required to make some since he couldn’t very well say to Carlie, “You just eat chocolate and do that sexy moaning thing, I’ll listen and we’ll leave it at that, okay?”
He dried his hands as he walked back into the bedroom, then selected a black polo shirt from his drawer. After pulling the soft cotton over his head, he tunneled his fingers through his hair and forced himself to acknowledge that the thought of making idle chitchat wasn’t the only thing that had him unsettled. No, it was her offer of a massage. The thought of her hands on him…he blew out a long, careful breath. Better not think about it now. No, now he had coffee and small talk to manage. If he started thinking about her touching him, he’d swallow his damn tongue again—not conducive to making small talk.
After taking one final deep breath, he opened his bedroom door. As he walked down the hallway, he saw Carlie, in profile, sitting on the oak stool, legs crossed, elbows resting on the snack bar, her chin propped in one hand, and his heart performed another acrobatic stunt. She looked really nice, just sitting there at his snack bar. Kinda like she belonged there. Which was ridiculous—just like the hundred other ridiculous thoughts he’d had about her today. Sheesh. He must be sleep-deprived or something.
When he entered the kitchen, she smiled. “Your kitchen is impressively tidy. I thought bachelors were slobs.”
“Can’t say I’m a neat freak,” he said, snagging the glass coffee pot then heading to the sink, “but I have to keep the place picked up or I risk being flogged by my Realtor. Apparently dirty dishes piled in the sink are bad for resale value.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Eight years. I grew up a few hours away, in Cartersville. It’s just outside—
“Sacramento,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise. “I’m from Farmington.”
He pondered that as he added water to the pot, then snagged a filter. “So we grew up not fifteen miles away from each other.”
“So it seems.” She grinned. “We probably saw each other at the mall a dozen times.”
“Doubtful. I rarely hung out at the mall, and besides, I would have remembered seeing you.”
“A very kind—and appreciated—attempt at flattery, but if you’d seen me in high school you would have run the other way.”
“Again, I’ve gotta say doubtful. But why’s that?”
She grimaced. “I can describe my look in one word—frightening. Bride of Frankenstein hair, braces, zits—not the sort of girl who attracted much male attention.” She batted her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “I’ve improved with age.”
He smiled. “You can say that again.”
Carlie’s breath caught at that smile and she offered up a silent prayer of thanks that she was sitting down because those darn dimples of his turned her knees to jelly. Since the urge to reach out and trace those sexy creases in his cheek was all but slapping her in the face, she forced her gaze down to his hands and watched him scoop coffee grounds into the filter.
Hmmm…he had really nice hands. Big, broad, long-fingered. Strong and capable. An image of them running up her bare thighs popped into her mind—
Okay, looking at his hands was not helping.
Better to get the conversational ball rolling again. “So why are you moving?” she asked, focusing her attention on his coffee maker.
“New job.”
“I thought you owned your own business. Something with computers, right?”
He nodded. “I build and maintain websites.”
Her uncooperative gaze had abandoned the coffee maker and slid back up to his face and she was captivated by his glasses sliding down his nose when he nodded. Since his hands were still busy scooping, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself, she reached out and gently slid the frames back into place.
He went perfectly still. Behind the black-edged frames, his gaze held hers. For several long seconds neither spoke. It seemed to her as if some sort of sexually charged steam engulfed them and her heart beat so loud she wondered if he could hear it.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Which was a total lie. There was a big problem and it had all to do with her battle to keep her hands off him.
“They slide down all the time. I probably should just wear contacts—”
“No!” she said quickly and a tad too loudly. His brows shot up and she coughed to cover her outburst, then added more gently, “I mean, your glasses…they suit you.”
“Right. It completes the computer geek look.”
“Well, not exactly. For the complete look, you’d need high-water pants, a white socks/black shoes combo and a pocket protector.”
His lips twitched. “I have that outfit. You want me to go change?”
Her gaze wandered over his broad shoulders and chest, which filled out his black polo shirt very nicely. The width of his chest suggested he must bench press computers as well as build websites with them.
“No need to change on my account,” she said, relieved she sounded so breezy. “You look…” Delicious. Incredible. Sexy as hell. So good I want to jump across this snack bar and freakin’ attack you. “Fine.”
“Thanks,” he said, then poured all the grinds in the filter back into the coffee can.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked.
“I, uh, lost count when you pushed up my glasses.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” His smile flashed, then he returned his attention back to coffee scooping.
She waited until he finished, absolutely not admiring his hands the whole time, then asked, “What’s the new job?”
“A manager for Allied Computers’ I.T. department. In Boston.”
“Huge change. What about your website business?”
“I’m not taking on any new clients, but I’ll continue to maintain the sites I’ve already designed. Updates aren’t that time consuming—not like designing and constructing a site—and it’ll provide a nice side income.”
“New job, new city—you must be pretty excited about all that.”
A frown furrowed his brow. “Uh, yeah.” He flicked the coffee maker’s “on” switch.
She studied him for several seconds while he busied himself putting the lid on the coffee can. “Must be difficult to leave this town behind.”
His head jerked up from his task and their eyes met, his filled with surprise. “What are you, some sort of mind reader?”
If only. She’d give a lot to know what was on his mind, to know if she was on his mind. “No. Just…empathetic. I’ve only lived in Austell three months and I already love it.”
“It’s a great place to live,” he agreed in a voice Carlie thought sou
nded decidedly wistful.
“I think so. I’m glad I decided to move in after all.”
“You weren’t going to?”
She shook her head. “My roommate eloped after I’d signed the lease and I would have lost three months’ rent if I’d backed out. Financially, the rent payment’s a stretch, especially with the cost of books and tuition, but I love the house and yard so much, I decided to just dip into my savings and suck it up for the next year until I earn my bachelor’s degree.”
“What are you studying?”
“Occupational therapy.”
“I’ve heard of that, but I can’t say I really know what an occupational therapist does.”
“We help people whose living skills have been compromised, through accidents or illness or birth defects.”
He came around the snack bar and sat on the chair next to her. “How did you come to be interested in that?”
Maybe it was because he sounded genuinely interested, or perhaps an attack of the babbles, but she started talking, and before she knew it, she’d told him all about her grandfather’s debilitating stroke and about Marlene, the incredible occupational therapist who had made such a difference in Pop’s quality of life.
“Pop and Gran had always been so active together—swimming, golf, tennis,” she said softly, an image of her beloved grandparents flashing in her mind. “His stroke devastated both of them. Our entire family. I was just finishing high school at the time, and after I saw the difference Marlene made in Pop’s recovery, I knew the career path I wanted to follow.” She drew a deep breath, enjoying the redolence of brewing coffee. “Unfortunately the school I dreamed of attending was expensive and money was extremely tight. So instead of starting college right away, I decided to get my license as a massage therapist. That way I could earn money for school and still work once I started classes. Now I go to school part-time, work part-time at The Delaford’s spa, and take private clients on the side.”
“The Delaford doesn’t mind you doing that?”
“No, since the spa is only open to resort guests. Which is one reason why Austell is so perfect for me. It’s central to both The Delaford and school. I just need to find a way to attract more private clients. Right now it’s all word of mouth. I don’t like advertising in the newspaper because no matter how the ad is worded, it still comes across like I’m running a massage parlor.”
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