Tempting Taste (Tempt Me Book 2)

by Sara Whitney

  She was surprised when he actually answered.

  “I don’t.”

  The curl of amusement in his voice had her looking his way.

  “I taste everything. Why do you think I wanted to find a gym close to the bakery?” He looked down at his forearms—his strong, corded, deliciously muscled forearms, and she lifted the camera in a flash, firing off several quick shots. When he realized what she was doing, his expression shifted to pained.

  “Oh, don’t do that!” she cried. “Those were getting good.”

  “You don’t need any of me,” he muttered, swiping a hand across his mouth.

  Good thing she’d just shot the last of the gorgeous sample cakes because she was ready to launch into a new fight. “I really do. You’re…” She sighed. “You’re magnificent, frankly. You’re as delicious as the things you make. If we don’t put that on your website, we’re idiots.”

  He started shaking his head as she spoke, his movements becoming more decisive with each word.

  “Erik.” His name, spoken in her gentlest tone, stilled him. “Trust me.”

  She held her breath, wondering if they’d be in for a repeat of last week’s disagreement in the kitchen, but he froze, a giant of a man enthralled by the force of her stare.

  Then his shoulders shifted downward a fraction of an inch. “I hate this.”

  “I know, baby,” she crooned, working quickly to move things into place. His apartment was shabby as hell, but that just might work. She turned her lights to face the wall, then put her palm to his chest and walked him backward until he bumped against the crumbling plaster over the brick. For the first time in their acquaintance, he looked startled. At her touch? Was the press of her fingers causing the unflappable man to flap? Without stopping to think, she smoothed her hand along his collarbones, hoping the gesture would soothe him. But she’d miscalculated; his breath caught as her fingers traveled along those dips and curves.

  She took a step back, not wanting to fluster him more than she already had, and raised her camera. It clicked as she captured his unguarded expression. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

  She watched through the viewfinder as he looked directly at her. “Teach me how to do that.” His voice darkened on the last words, and she almost dropped her camera.

  With effort, she forced a light laugh. “Come on. You had no problem ignoring me on the train that first night after I insulted you and then you fell asleep.”

  His lips twitched, and her camera captured it all. With the soft lighting falling on his face, his battered apartment wall served as a compelling backdrop for his square jaw, his sharp eyes, his impossible cheekbones.

  “That night on the L.”

  She kept clicking, too absorbed in the planes of his face to respond, and her not speaking for a change seemed to encourage him to fill the empty space hanging between them.

  “That night on the L,” he repeated, “you looked ready to pull every rivet and bolt out of the train car with your teeth.”

  She lowered her camera to study his expression without any equipment in the way.

  His blue eyes held her in place. “You were all I could see. The only thing.”

  The strength drained from her arms as she absorbed his meaning. He was telling her that he’d seen her that night, not Pam Ryan’s underachieving daughter or Finn’s funny, disposable roommate. Her.

  She carefully set the camera on the counter, avoiding the stacks of tempting desserts piled all around. Right now the biggest temptation in the room was the man who’d made them with his big, capable hands.

  Not sure what she was expecting to happen, she walked toward him, her gaze locked on his, and when she was standing a hairbreadth from his chest, she reached up to run the pads of her fingers gently along his jaw. “What if—?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Turn your head this way.”

  His eyes never leaving hers, he allowed her to shift the angle of his jaw a fraction, toward the window. But instead of fetching her camera, she lingered over the scratch of his stubble against her skin and his hot breath as he exhaled once, hard.

  “A-and I’d like…” Earlier, her greedy little eyes had followed every economical movement as he’d bundled his lion’s mane into a bun and, after not finding an elastic, impatiently secured it with a pencil he grabbed from the table. She was dying to reach up now and pluck it out, but she was afraid freeing his hair might break the spell. She was close enough to feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, and her eyes fluttered shut at the warm vanilla smell of his skin. The buzzing was back, although this time it wasn’t in her brain. It was in her chest, the tips of her breasts, between her thighs. This buzzing was going to make her do something stupid, but a very different kind of stupid than picking a fight on a train or counting on her mother to come through for her.

  His sharp inhale made her eyes spring open, and she found his burning gaze fixed on her mouth. His lips parted, and she waited for him to say something, to tell her to quit pawing him or to go pick up her camera, but this was Erik. He never used words when he could communicate in other ways, and right now the heat in his eyes told her not to stop touching him.

  So she moved her hands up to brush her thumbs over the crests of his cheeks and pulled him downward, closer to her, until those blue eyes filled her vision. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath a whisper across her lips, and oh God, then she was kissing him. He was so tall that he had to duck his head, and she took advantage of his position to step closer and press herself against him. Every part of him was strong: his hands, his shoulders, his thigh when she twined her leg around his. She wanted to climb him like an oak, to find shelter in the branches of his arms, to use him to shut out the realities of her life for a while.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her up without breaking their kiss so she was closer to all the parts of him she wanted to be closer to.

  “You’re the only thing I can see.” He pulled away to rasp his confession in her ear. “Ever since that first night on the train.”

  She shivered and twined her fingers behind his neck, chasing his tongue with her own while he pulled her down to grind against him.

  She’d die if he kept kissing her like this.

  Then again, she might die if he didn’t keep kissing her like this forever.

  The urge for more overwhelmed any other concerns. She took the hand that was gripping her hip and slid it up and over her rib cage. She felt the strength in his arm, pulsing under his skin, and knew he was allowing her to guide him. She reveled in it, the power he gave over to her, the sheer width of his wrist as her fingers strained to circle it. She dragged his hand closer and closer to where she needed it, until it brushed the underside of her breast. He shuddered, and she pressed against him harder, and then—

  His door buzzer screamed through the apartment.

  They broke apart, both breathing hard, and he dropped his hand.

  “Ignore it,” she whispered, seeking his lips again.

  Before he could respond, the buzzer sounded again, this time followed by a voice on the crackly intercom.

  “Erik? It’s Gina. Are you home?”

  “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head against the wall. At the clear shift in his mood, she pushed herself away and slid down his body. When she stepped back, her heart dropped. He’d just had his hands all over her and his tongue in her mouth, but his face was as impassive as ever. How did none of that have any effect on him?

  Well. Not all of him was unaffected. Her eyes swung to the front of his jeans, and she forced herself to look away as words like “massive” and “girthy” spun through her fevered brain.

  “Who’s Gina?”

  Her hushed question was uncharacteristically meek, and he closed his eyes, the lines bracketing his mouth making him look ten years older.

  “My fiancée.”

  Fifteen

  “Your what?”

  She recoiled as if he’d
slapped her, and part of him felt like he actually had. He willed his dick to calm the fuck down so he could think. Goddammit. Two hastily spoken words could’ve just fucked up everything.

  “No, I didn’t mean… It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “Not as bad as it sounds?”

  He felt her sense of betrayal, felt it down to his marrow, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. He was such an idiot. He’d been wondering all afternoon if Josie’s tits were as soft as they looked under the pink sweater—hell, all afternoon? Touching Josie had been the primary refrain in his brain for quite some time now—and when she’d stretched up to press her lips to his, everything in his body had turned staticky, hot, and hard.

  Then he’d heard Gina’s voice, and it all came rushing back: who he was, who Josie was, how impossible it was for the two of them to be together like this. And his brain had thrown the emergency brake in the worst way possible.

  What a shame it worked so damn well.

  “How is my putting my tongue into someone else’s fiancé’s mouth ‘not as bad as it sounds’?” Her incredulous tone lacerated, and she backed into the living room, putting the length of his apartment between them. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  He opened his mouth helplessly, but before he could figure out how to unfuck what he’d just fucked, there was a knock at the door. Josie stomped to the door and yanked it open.

  “Hi. Gina, is it?” Her aggressively perky greeting caused Erik’s lifelong friend to pause uncertainly in the doorway, as anybody would when faced with a seething redheaded stranger.

  “Um, hi?” Gina’s broad forehead creased in confusion, and her eyes found him where he was slumped against the far wall. “Is this a bad time? I tried texting.”

  He forced himself to stand up straight and own this mess as best as he could. “Josie, this is Gina Trendall. My fiancée.”

  The lines on Gina’s forehead deepened. “What? No I’m not.” She stepped into the apartment, lugging a suitcase almost as tall as she was, and said to the grim-faced Josie, “I’m really not.”

  “Okay, cool. That’s nice. You two obviously have things to work out.”

  Erik winced at the thick sarcasm in Josie’s voice. He hadn’t heard that level of venom from her since their earliest encounters.

  She walked briskly to the corner where they’d set up the makeshift photo studio and started cramming equipment into the various bags she’d brought with her. “You have Richard’s cell phone number, right?” Her tone was coolly polite as she settled the camera into its padded container.

  “Yes,” he said, wary about her change of subject and demeanor as she folded up the last of the lights.

  Gina ruffled a hand through her short brown hair and shot him a what’s happening here? glance, but he held up a finger to hold off her questions.

  Josie slung the various equipment over her shoulders until she had a hoop skirt of black vinyl bags surrounding her. “Okay. Tell you what, why don’t you talk directly to him about the last of the wedding-cake details? Cut out the middleman. I’ll email you when I get these pictures uploaded to your website.”

  He followed helplessly in her wake as she stalked toward the door. “Wait.”

  “For what?” She paused at the threshold, and when she swung around, he was startled to see not anger on her face but bleakness.

  His words failed him, as they always did when it mattered the most, and she turned toward Gina. “He never said anything about a fiancée, so that’s on me for assuming. Sorry I—” She shook her head, then looked his way with glassy eyes. “Sorry I forced you into all this, I guess.”

  Without another word, she was gone, leaving behind a phalanx of unspoken words, an apartment full of cake, and the woman Erik had once promised to marry.

  “Can I have some?” Gina asked, gesturing toward the pile of baked goods.

  Same old Gina. Leading with her stomach. “Sure. Whatever. Eat everything in the apartment.”

  “Challenge accepted.” She grabbed one of the slices and settled onto the couch, kicking off her orange Chuck Taylors. “So what did I just interrupt?”

  He plopped onto the couch next to her. “Nothing.” Everything.

  She shrugged and speared a chunk of cake. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate raspberry. She looked around the apartment as she chewed. “You haven’t changed a thing since I was here for Thanksgiving.”

  “Why would I?” he asked irritably. “I’ve been busy.”

  “With what? You quit the bakery. Unless Fancy’s making you jump through hoops.”

  “She doesn’t make me do anything.” He glared at his best friend, who smiled broadly in return. Everything about Gina was agreeable: her voice, her body, her demeanor. She’d been the nicest girl in school when they were kids, and he’d made a long-ago promise to keep her safe from the world in any way he could. He still wanted to protect her, but he’d handled it all wrong today. Blame whatever was happening with Josie for twisting up his feelings.

  She crossed her legs and settled her plate on her lap. “Of course not. Nobody makes you do anything you don’t want to do.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned forward to pat his knee fondly. “So what does she think she talked you into doing that you really wanted to do anyway? And what does it have to do with finally selling Pops’s land?”

  He sagged back against the couch, reminded of the twin comfort and irritation of someone who knew you better than you knew yourself.

  When he didn’t respond, her next pat to his knee was a little sharper. “You okay?”

  What a question. He was a mess. He was upside down and inside out. He was doing things and saying things and dreaming things he’d never considered before. Yet all he was able to muster was a short, “I’m fine.”

  “Pretty sure you’re not fine. Who was she?”

  “A friend.” He kept his voice flat and might have pulled it off if Gina hadn’t leaned forward to study him as closely as she’d just studied the selection of cake slices.

  She reached down and ran her thumb along the side of his mouth, then held it up to show him a smear of pink before rubbing the lipstick off on her jeans. “Want to try that again?”

  That got him up and off the couch. Unlike Josie, Gina’s touch didn’t jangle his nerves, but he couldn’t keep sitting there like everything was normal. An hour ago, he’d watched Josie prowl around the room, upset about her mother. Now it was his turn to feel so agitated about his own shitty decisions that he was ready to explode out of his skin.

  “I’m sorry, Gina.”

  “For what?” She licked a smear of icing off her fork. “I never wanted to marry you.”

  “I know.”

  “And you never wanted to marry me.”

  Unlike Josie, he wasn’t compelled to pace, but he couldn’t look at Gina’s sweet, familiar face while they had this conversation. He walked to the window and stared unseeing at the sidewalk two stories below.

  “No.” He sighed. “I didn’t.”

  “So why’d you tell the fancy redhead that?”

  He laced his hands around the back of his neck and forced himself to be honest. “Because I’m a fucking coward.”

  “Ah. You like her.”

  He nodded without turning around.

  “And you’re feeling guilty because you know how much Pops wanted us to get married.” He heard the couch creak as she stood. “So you told Fancy we were engaged because once upon a time you told Pops we were engaged, and it was the easiest way you could think of to put up a wall.”

  “Fuck,” he said softly.

  “You sure do love your walls.” She set her empty plate down and joined him at the window. “Erik, Pops is gone. I miss him like crazy, and I know you feel that times a million, but he wouldn’t want you to stick with a promise that makes us both unhappy. Just like he wouldn’t have wanted you to hold on to that land forever. He’d be glad you were putting those resources to better use.”

&
nbsp; He stuffed his hands in his pockets, wishing he could accept what she was saying.

  “You’re not honoring him by holding on to the past or by telling people we’re something we’re not,” she said. “Especially not someone you were just kissing.”

  Memories of Josie’s lips on his came flooding back, and he had to bite his cheek to keep his body in check. “She’s not who I should be with.”

  “Says who?” Gina asked.

  “She’s… well, you said it. She’s fancy.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “And she talks. Constantly.”

  “Heaven forbid you spend time with a well-dressed woman who forces you to use your vocal cords,” she said wryly.

  He huffed and leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms. Gina didn’t understand the cavern that stretched between him and Josie. If he walked into her fire, what would be left of him when their time together was over and she moved on?

  “What are you even doing here?” he grumbled.

  His abrupt question didn’t faze her; she’d been tolerating his communication style all her life. Instead of sniping back at him, she said placidly, “Moving to Chicago.”

  “That’s not until August.” She’d accepted a new IT job near Schaumburg, and he’d been planning to help her pack up her life in Iowa when the time came.

  “You haven’t been picking up your phone,” she chided.

  “Sorry.” Guilt over his selfishness pulled at him, particularly when he noticed discomfort on her face for the first time since her surprise arrival. “What’s going on?”

  She turned her gaze toward the window as a vehicle in need of a new muffler rumbled down the street. “I decided to move that timeline up a little.” Her ruddy cheeks flushed even redder. “I had a, um, a pregnancy scare.”

  That got him up off the wall. “A what? But you were…”

  “Dating Christine?” Her soft mouth drooped downward. “Yeah, well she and I broke up.”

  The back-to-back revelations knocked him sideways. “What happened?”

  Gina’s whole body deflated, and he cringed to think that he’d been such a shitty friend when she’d needed him the most.