“I needed you a little less kick-ass that day. But the next time I make you come, I want those damned things on your feet.”
Hearing him say make you come got her about halfway there. They’d established that her shoes made her feel tough. “You want me to be in charge here?” she asked. “Because I can do that.” But deep down—or not that deep down—she wanted him to take over. It was a very rare occasion when she didn’t run the room. But when it came to kitchens, Parker was definitely in charge. And she wouldn’t mind adding mudrooms to his resume.
“Nope. I want to show you that I can be in charge even when you have your I’m-better-than-you shoes on. And that you like it.”
12
Thank God. But she couldn’t resist saying, “Well, just so you know, I’m notoriously hard to impress.”
Parker paused and she could almost see the smile he was fighting. “I’ll bet you are, Boss.” He shook his head. “Probably why you have seven vibrators, right?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t talking about that.” Though, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been impressed in the bedroom. “And I don’t have seven!”
He chuckled. “Well, I think I’m going to need some time to prepare to impress you.”
“No!” She grabbed the front of his shirt. “I was just teasing you.”
“Oh, Boss, come on,” he said, shaking his head and taking her wrist, removing her hand. “You and I both know you’re not the teasing type.”
No, she wasn’t. But she decided to be honest. “But… I am. With you.” She wanted to tease and laugh and flirt and goof around. It was the most bizarre thing she’d ever felt.
He tucked a hand in his front pocket. “Sweet of you to say, but don’t worry, my ego can handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“Being just another one of the guys who goes all gaga when you walk in the room.”
“But I—” She paused. He went all gaga? Seriously? Parker Blake? She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, come on,” she mimicked. “We both know you’re not the gaga type.”
“But…” he said, stepping closer again. “I am. With you.”
She didn’t think many guys had actually ever been gaga over her. Maybe over her limo. Or her regular table by the window at the top three restaurants in New York. But not really her. And she felt a warmth in her chest thinking that Parker might be even a little gaga. He’d never seen her limo, and she’d never pulled strings for a last minute reservation. And now she kind of wanted to wine and dine him in New York.
They were teasing. Kidding. Messing with each other. That had to be it. Not only was he not the gaga type—at all—but surely he wasn’t leaving this room without touching her.
She whimpered softly at the possibility.
“But...” He leaned in, his lips nearly on hers. “Don’t worry, Boss. I intend to get my mouth on every inch of you eventually. But I need a way of standing out from the crowd with you.”
Another wave of heat hit her and she had to swallow before speaking. She didn’t even bother assuring him that he was already as different from the guys in New York as anyone could be. Parker knew that. She knew that he knew that. She just asked, “What do you mean?”
“I’m guessing that not only do not many of those New York suits make you scream when you come, they also don’t make you wait for… anything.” He lowered his voice. “Or beg.”
She blew out a breath. This guy was making her crazy. “I don’t want to wait.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Exactly.”
Got it. He was going to be in charge. Completely. Damn him. She thought about making a quip about finding someone who wouldn’t make her wait, but the truth was, there was no way that was going to happen. And she kind of thought he knew that too. And she was a little afraid of what he might do to punish her for teasing about that. “You want me to beg?” she asked.
“I really do.”
“I can do that now.”
She could almost feel the heat emanating from him. They both knew that she didn’t tease, and she never begged.
“I intend to hear that, Boss,” he said, the nickname now ironic. “But I’m going to let you use one of your plastic friends tonight, while you think about me, so that you have a really good comparison for when I get you all spread out and desperate.”
Desperate. That word should not be hot. And she should be a lot more annoyed than she was right now.
“So you’re really not going to put your hands up my skirt tonight?” she asked, propping her hands on her hips.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” He knelt on one knee in front of her, his hands going to the back of her calves.
Ava’s heart jumped into her throat, pounding hard, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t see him very well, but she could feel him. His hands skimmed up the back of her legs to her thighs and higher. He palmed her butt.
“Ah, thong,” he said approvingly as he felt her bare cheeks. “Is there lace? Please tell me there’s lace.”
A second later, he felt for himself as he hooked his thumbs under the thin strip of lace and silk that crossed each hip.
“I fucking love lace,” he muttered.
Then he jerked his hands apart, literally ripping that lace from her body.
Ava gasped, shocked and more turned on than she’d ever been.
Parker slid his hands back down her legs, stretched to his feet, tucked the ruined thong into his pocket, and said, “See you tomorrow,” as he started for the back door.
She scrambled to pull her thoughts together through the lusty haze. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. And you better not try to hide out here anymore. You need to work on the pies, at the pie shop, and if you don’t show up I will come and get you.”
She wasn’t sure she would mind that.
“What… But…”
He pulled the door open and stepped on the top step, but he turned back, his hand around the edge of the door as if keeping himself in place. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. It was more of a command than just a form of goodnight.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then he nodded. “Yeah.”
“By the way,” she said, before she could think better of it. “The other day when you thought you were seducing me with apple pie filling?”
She saw his hand tighten around the edge of the door, but he stayed where he was. “Yeah?”
“It didn’t work.”
“That’s not how I remember it, Boss.” His expression said clearly that he wasn’t buying that for a second.
But she shook her head. “The pie filling didn’t work. Because I was already seduced by then.”
He white-knuckled the door again but showed amazing restraint by nodding and then shutting the door firmly between them.
But Ava was still smiling as she made her way back into the house. She really did like getting the last word.
* * *
Parker tossed an egg up and down in his hand, lost in thought.
He’d actually walked away from Ava. A turned-on, please-put-your-hand-up-my-skirt Ava.
What the fuck?
Butter popped and sizzled in the pan in front of him, and he absently cracked the egg into the skillet. It was a good thing he could make bacon and eggs in his sleep, because he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be very on the ball this morning.
He picked up another egg, thinking about the night before. Daydreaming. For fuck’s sake. He didn’t do that. Not over women, for sure. Maybe he’d occasionally get sidetracked thinking through a new recipe. But women? Definitely not.
He also didn’t walk away from a woman who was on the verge of begging him to make her come.
Except Ava.
And why the hell was that? Because he’d wanted to be sure she remembered that he had the upper hand whenever he wanted it? Or because he’d needed to remind himself? Or because he really wanted to stand out fro
m the crowd of men who wanted to be close to her?
But no. It was none of that. It was the damned chicken salad.
Okay, the chicken salad hadn’t specifically gone through his mind while he’d been kissing her, but something had stopped him from going further. And on the drive home with Ava’s thong in his pocket and a raging hard-on, he’d figured out what.
He wanted Ava to love his burgers like everyone else did. But she’d never even tried one. He wanted everyone to be satisfied with the burgers exactly as they were. Exactly as they’d always been. And there was nothing wrong with being content with things that were just consistently damned good. But instead of the burgers, Ava had eaten his chicken salad. And she’d been wowed. And now he wanted to make her chicken salad, and other off-menu things, all the time.
He’d walked into that mudroom with clear expectations. So had she. They could have easily, happily, had quickie “burger” sex last night. But he couldn’t help it—he’d wanted to give her…chicken salad. Something unexpected. Something that would affect her. The woman barely gave food a thought, but she’d loved that chicken salad. That mattered to him. And if the food mattered, the sex definitely had to be amazing. Different. Special.
It was the perfect illustration of a battle he’d been waging within himself for a long time now. He wanted the diner, and his life, to stay the same. But he couldn’t help trying new things in the kitchen and being tempted to take them out front. Of course, the temptation was as far as it went. So far. Until now. Until Ava. She was making him think about, and want, and try new things.
The diner—the decor, the smell, the burgers, the routine and consistency, the sameness—had saved him after his father had died. It had been comforting. It had made sense to him. He’d been able to carry on, and it had given him a sense of control while reeling from the realization that everything could be ripped away in an instant.
And, as he’d told Ava, he thought maybe the diner did that for other people too. It was a place that didn’t change. That could bring back good memories with a simple bite. Where things were straightforward and made sense—because, dammit, ordering a jalapeno burger and actually eating the jalapenos made sense. And sometimes simple and easy were exactly what they all needed. Even if it was just for an hour in the middle of the day.
So why did he feel this nagging desire to change things up sometimes? Why couldn’t he just be content? Grateful? Blissful, even, that when he came to work, he knew exactly what was going to happen and how to handle it? There were no surprises in his usual work day. Something he’d always really appreciated.
Until Ava Carmichael had come along.
She surprised him nearly every day. And he wasn’t just getting used to it—he was enjoying it. He wanted more of it. And he wanted to surprise her too. He wanted to watch her eat his food and be wowed. And so much more. Apple pie shots, ripping her panties off, making her hot and needy in a mudroom…and then walking away from her to build the anticipation…those were all definitely new. Fun. Tempting.
Parker shoved a hand through his hair. So here he was, distracted, sexually frustrated, and with this battle raging between wanting everything simple and straightforward…and wanting new and wow and…Ava. Who was anything but simple.
Parker picked up another egg and, without thinking, heaved it at the wall behind him. It connected with a splat. He picked up a second one, chucking it in the same direction. The cracking sound was satisfying as was the sight of the thing exploding into pieces.
Of course, his thoughts went right back to Ava. But yeah, this felt good. He looked around. Bacon wouldn’t break. Bananas would make more of a thud. But an avocado… He grabbed one of them from the bowl and sent it flying like he was on the pitcher’s mound and had been given the signal for a fast ball.
It thudded against the wall, but broke open nicely, sending green globs flying. The eggs were best, but that wasn’t bad.
But he needed more. More noise, more pieces, more breaking.
Knowing it was a dumb idea even as he did it, he reached for a glass measuring cup, wound up, and threw it as hard as he could.
He relished the sound and sight of it shattering against the wall.
He stood looking at the glittering glass pieces on the floor and felt a smile spread. That did feel good.
Then he frowned. Shit. Now he had to clean it up. Especially because Ava would have to walk right through that mess if she came in his back door and, with her heels, she could easily slip or turn her ankle on the bigger glass chunks.
Ava.
It always came back to her.
He was so fucked. Which, ironically, was the one thing he hadn’t been.
And his ire was back. He started toward the broom in the corner by the back door when the smell of something burning hit him. He swung around, realizing he’d forgotten the fried eggs.
Son-of-a-bitch-fucking-dammit-shit. He stomped to the stove, grabbed the pan from the burner, tossed it to the back of the stove, then shoved his hand through his hair.
He was losing it. Completely. Because of the woman next door. Who wore ridiculous heels, didn’t even like food, and couldn’t bake a pie to save her life.
What the hell was he doing?
Pulling in a deep breath, he had only one idea about how to feel better. He managed to make a new plate of eggs and bacon and finally carried Hank’s breakfast order out to him.
Hank was the first one in the diner this morning. And most mornings lately. For years, he’d come in around seven a.m., prior to meeting his buddies at seven thirty. But over the past couple of months Hank had started coming in right at six when Parker turned the sign on the front door to OPEN. Hank said that even though Parker’s coffee always sucked, it sucked less first thing in the morning. But Parker knew the truth. Hank had started coming downtown early almost as soon as the Carmichael triplets had taken over the pie shop. Hank was keeping an eye on them.
And, even though the pie shop didn’t open until eight—at which time Hank and his friends moved over there for their “coffee hour”, which was really more like three hours—Hank planted himself in the first business to open on Main Street so he knew what people were saying and wondering about the girls. He’d corrected a lot of misinformation about the girls themselves, Rudy, and the will that had brought the girls to town. He’d also planted seeds about how hard Cori, Brynn, and Ava were working and what kind of people they were and how much he liked them. The older man had lived in Bliss all his life and was currently serving his sixth five-year term as the town’s mayor. Hank’s opinion carried a lot of weight, and his endorsement of the triplets meant that the rest of the town would give them a chance.
Parker had known that and appreciated it on some level even before all of this. Whatever this was between him and Ava. Now, he felt even more grateful thinking about it. As if Hank was doing Parker a favor.
Wow. He was a mess.
He set Hank’s plate down. “Sorry that took a little longer than it should have.”
“No worries.” Hank reached for the salt and pepper. “I lost part of a finger because of a woman once.”
Parker cocked his head to the side. “What?”
Hank held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. If you looked really closely you could see that his third finger was missing the very tip. “That’s not really ‘part of a finger’,” Parker told him.
“Well, it’s not part of a toe. Though I could have lost a couple of those too.”
“What the hell were you doing?” Parker asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
“Changing her tire.” Hank’s mouth curved into a soft grin. He wasn’t looking at Parker, but staring off into the distance, clearly remembering something fondly. “She was on the side of the road and I pulled over to help, of course. Got the thing jacked up and the flat off but then she started singing. Got caught up in her voice and the smile on her face and lost all train of thought—and the jack. Came crashing down and took the tip of my finger with
it.” The look on Hank’s face was one of pure adoration.
“Who was the girl?”
“My wife,” he said with a nod.
Parker realized he would have been disappointed if the woman in question had been a girl that got away. “What was she singing?”
“‘Come Fly With Me.’”
“Sinatra. Nice.”
“I was a goner for her from that moment on. Even bleeding profusely.”
Parker laughed. Then sighed. “What made you think of that?”
“You’re burning stuff in the kitchen. And throwing and breaking stuff,” Hank told him. “You never do that.”
“How do you know I didn’t just drop something?”
Hank gave him a look that said seriously?
“Fine, but how do you know it’s about a woman?”
“A sudden change in who a man is and how he acts? It’s always a woman.”
He’d give Hank the part about there being a change in how he acted, but who he was? Was that changing? Because of Ava?
But it only took a second for him to remember that he’d just thrown an avocado against his kitchen wall.
Parker thought for only a second about his next move. Hank’s eyebrows went up as Parker set the bottle of hot sauce on the table.
“You need to have a seat?” He gestured with his fork at the booth across the table from where he was sitting.
Parker sighed. He didn’t let people put ketchup on their eggs in here. Salsa was fine if he was serving them a Denver omelet. But hot sauce on fried eggs was borderline, and everyone knew its use depended on Parker’s mood. Today he was hoping for some advice, so was going to let Hank defile the eggs right in front of him.
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“Let’s hear it.” Hank scooped a bite of eggs doused in hot sauce into his mouth.
And Parker didn’t even care. That was how messed up he was. He slid into the booth and rested his arms on the tabletop. “My dad had a really specific idea about the life he worked to give me.”
Hank nodded. “I knew your dad. You and your mom were the most important things in the world to him.”
High Heels and Haystacks: Billionaires in Blue Jeans, book two Page 18
