Take It Off the Menu: A sizzling, accidentally married rom com! (Mile High Matched, Book 3) (A Mile High Matched Novel)

by Christina Hovland

  “Probably.” She dropped her grip on the pillow, moving her fingertips to his cheek. Exploring the stubble there.

  “Definitely,” he repeated. “I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the other night. Every day since we got back from Vegas.”

  Oh. Well.

  She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. “Then you should.”

  He didn’t kiss her. No, he moved his hands from her sides, gripping her wrists instead. Holding them above her head, he moved his mouth to hers. Lips to lips, skin to skin, he explored her mouth.

  Tonight, he took his time. Tasting. Exploring. Feeling every inch of her mouth.

  “I miss you at work,” he said between kisses.

  “You don’t want me there,” she assured. “Kitchens and I don’t get along.”

  Like, at all.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  Now that, that she didn’t expect. “What?”

  “You found your calling. You love your work. You’ve got clients who adore you. Yeah, I’m proud of you.”

  She sunk her teeth in her lip. “Really?”

  No one had ever said that to her before.

  “Yeah. But I’ve been thinking about giving you cooking lessons,” he whispered against her cheek.

  She pulled back, pressing her eyes into slits. “You really think that’s the best use of our time together?”

  “Well.” He moved his hands down along her torso to the edge of her nightgown. “How do you feel about a lesson right now?”

  The nerve endings in her thighs buzzed as he traced circles there with his fingertips.

  “I kind of like what we’re doing here.” She squirmed so his fingers were closer to her sex. “Without the kitchen stuff.”

  “Trust me?” he asked.

  Of course, she did. He was Eli. She trusted him more than anyone else these days. “Yes.”

  “Let’s start with the basics.” He pressed little kisses along the edge of her neck. “How to boil water.”

  She turned her head to kiss his throat. “I know how to boil water.”

  Little breaths from his mouth played at the sensitive skin under her earlobe.

  “Not like I’m about to teach you.” The rough timbre of his voice vibrated through the darkness.

  Right then, Marlee really wanted Eli to teach her how to cook. Specifically, how to boil water without burning it.

  Scooting out from underneath him, she pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it on the ground beside the bed before shimmying out of her underwear. Without a word, she squirmed back underneath him—back to the same position as before. This time, sans clothes.

  Eli chuckled—a husky sound that made the hair on her neck stand on end. He trailed his fingertips along the side of her cheek.

  The last time she’d been intimate with Eli, she’d been more than half-drunk. From the vague recesses of her mind, images of him and the way he felt against her, inside her, flashed through her mind. So, on a logical level, she knew he was built in all departments—even the erection department. But totally sober? Him pressed against her thigh?

  She couldn’t help it, her mouth dropped open.

  His hand slipped between her legs. Her body seemed to gravitate toward it, craving the touch right at her core—where she wanted it most. Her heart thrummed, practically purring like a kitten.

  Her arms looped around his shoulders. He raised himself over her, his hands still massaging circles on her inner thigh.

  She’d seen firsthand in the kitchen how exceptional he was at multitasking. Here? He took it to a whole new level.

  “The key is to start the boil slow.” His lips were trailing along her neckline, down the slope of her breast, and to her belly button.

  “I kind of like fast.” She toyed with the black strands of his hair.

  The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he laughed. “We’ll get there. The boiling point of water takes time. Don’t rush it. You rush it, it’ll just frustrate you.”

  He moved his mouth lower down her torso. Slowly.

  She could see how not rushing it might frustrate her, too. Still…she’d worked in his kitchen long enough to follow what he said when it came to cooking.

  Her skin tingled where his mouth pressed against it, even as his fingers closed in on their target. And when they met it?

  She gasped. “Yes, chef.”

  He groaned. “Fuck.”

  “I think the water’s boiling.” She used her hands to tilt his head so his gaze met hers.

  He groaned again.

  “I think it’s time, Eli.” Her words were a whisper.

  The smile on his lips brushed against the heat of her core, meeting his fingers there. “Only a simmer. We’ll get to a full boil soon.”

  Mouth and hands and pressure and bliss—Eli rubbed and sucked and did his thing. She moaned, fisting her hands into the sheets until he pushed her over the edge of release. She was falling. And Eli was there to catch her.

  When she finally came up from bliss, he sat up slowly, a grin on his face that made her insides warm.

  Boiling water was pretty damn fun.

  He moved from the bed, nearly making her cry. With his erection standing tall, he disappeared to the bedroom. Then he hurried back, a small plastic square in his hand.

  “Tell me you have another tuxedo condom,” she murmured, the back of her knuckles brushing the pillow over her head as she stretched.

  “No such luck.” He drew the remarkably normal condom over the length of himself.

  Her cheeks heated, the intimacy of what he did so intense. They’d been sharing a home for a month, she’d invaded his life, but watching him prepare himself to take her? For some reason, with Eli, the move sharpened everything to a level far past what she’d ever experienced with just sex.

  This wasn’t just sex.

  Not like before.

  This was Eli. They would wake up tomorrow and still live together. Still be married. Still have to get through the rest of the divorce.

  Tonight, though? Tonight, he would be inside her.

  She spread her thighs to make room for him, took his weight, and breathed his scent of oak and Eli. As she arched her back to meet him, he seated himself inside her warmth.

  Like it was the first time for them.

  “Eli,” she whispered, catching his gaze. He had to know that it was only him in that moment. Only them.

  His eyelids fell heavy. The thick cords of his neck pulsed with his restraint. She moved, urging him on. “I’m ready for you.”

  That was all it took. He snapped.

  He pressed inside her, stretching, filling. She moved against him, urging him on. There were no words—there didn’t need to be. He set the rhythm and she matched it, meeting each thrust with a tilt of her hips.

  The water was at a boil and they were on fire.

  Together.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eli’d had sex with his wife.

  He peeled his eyes open, turning toward Marlee. She was still sleeping.

  He needed to go back to the night before. Start it over again. Not complicate an already complicated situation. He didn’t want to go back, though.

  Marlee was a beautiful woman, there was no one in the world who could deny that. Marlee may have lived in a world where women worked out fourteen hours a day to sculpt their bodies into masterpieces, but she didn’t have to. Marlee’s body was perfect as it was. The curves, the comfort of her wrapped around him. Her breasts heavy and real. Laugh lines starting to etch around the corners of her eyes that many in her world would’ve Botoxed away. But Marlee didn’t. They were part of who she was.

  Yes, she was real.

  And right then, she was his.

  He’d never wanted someone to be his before. Didn’t want the responsibility that came with anything long term.

  But with Marlee sleeping next to him? His heart tied itself into a confused knot.

  He had a full day ahead of him.
Food to make for people he didn’t know. What he needed to do was roll out of bed, hop in the shower, and get his ass to work. Get as far away from Marlee as he could before she got any further under his skin.

  What he was going to do?

  Well, he was in bed with Marlee. And she was his wife…for now. So he was going to kiss her. Then they’d see what came next.

  A restart of a different kind—not to erase anything, just to relive it.

  The tips of her fingers twitched in her sleep. As though she was one of the fairy-tale princesses coming out of slumber that his sisters used to watch on VHS, her eyes fluttered open. She stared vacantly at the ceiling before settling her gaze on him. “Hey, chef.”

  This was not a fairy tale. He was not a prince. But he had a bona fide princess in his bed, and she just called him chef. A shiver slid down his spine.

  He moved closer to her, pressing his lips against hers, opening his mouth to experience all that was Marlee. She was an early morning buffet, and he planned on sampling everything.

  “Morning,” he said against her mouth.

  She leaned her head against the pillows, Eli poised over her. She reached for his arm, threaded her fingers with his, and lifted her mouth to his.

  “Morning,” she whispered against his lips before starting back up where they’d left off, tasting him like he was one of the German chocolate cupcakes she loved so much.

  The kiss was deep. Tongue against tongue, naked body pressed against naked body, her nipples pebbled against his chest.

  His erection went thick against her thigh, ready to take anything she was willing to offer. She squirmed so the tip of his erection ran along the bundle of nerves at her center. It took only the smallest movement on her part for him to slip between her thighs, right against her damp core.

  Fuck him, he groaned with pleasure. She was ready to snap, and he wasn’t even inside yet.

  She sighed, her center wet and ready for him. Their bodies moved on their own accord, sliding against each other, the tip of him slipping against her entrance.

  There was no control here for either of them. This wasn’t drunk sex. Definitely not controlled intimacy. This was pure carnal desire. Two bodies doing what they were made to do.

  He started to push forward, her wet warmth acting as an invitation he was not about to turn down.

  “Eli.” She ground herself down against the tip of his penis. Her mouth opened, small breaths coming quickly. “I need you.”

  The three words sucker punched him in the gut.

  She needed him.

  He was being totally irresponsible, mounted between her legs, his dick practically seated inside her without any protection at all.

  This was a mistake. He withdrew faster than if he’d dropped a hot pan on his hand in the kitchen and scurried to stand next to the bed.

  Marlee’s forehead scrunched up. “What’s wrong?”

  His hands went to his hair. He was totally messing this up. Everything.

  “Eli?” Her voice held a note of hurt.

  Dammit. How was he supposed to fix this now?

  He’d had sex with Marlee. Then he’d almost had unprotected sex with Marlee.

  Now, she looked like her heart had been broken, and this time, he was responsible for that.

  This is why he didn’t do this shit. A quick hookup. That’s what he was good for. Not sex with someone who mattered, someone he absolutely couldn’t hurt.

  “Eli?” she asked again, confusion clear in her tone. He could tell the second she realized what they had been about to do. Her mouth dropped, and not in ecstasy. She scooted back, away from him. “Oh my God.”

  She swallowed hard, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. Her lips stretched into a thin line, and she pressed her hand over her mouth.

  What was he supposed to say to her? That he liked her? That he was cool with them as a them, but that she couldn’t need him? He couldn’t be responsible for her? They could have sex all day, but they’d almost had unprotected sex. And unprotected sex meant babies and babies meant responsibility, and now, his skin was flushing and his heart racing.

  They didn’t say anything, but their gazes never left each other.

  His erection still jutted in front of him, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

  Marlee gripped the sheet so hard her knuckles were white. “It’s okay. We didn’t…”

  Heart pounding, breaths shallow, his fingertips numb, he was two steps away from a stroke. He needed to hit a wall, needed to shoot off his rocks, needed to get the fuck away from Marlee before he took the heart that Scotty had bruised and finished it off.

  Marlee opened her mouth to speak, but in that moment, Eli did something he’d never done before.

  He ran away.

  Not literally, but he broke the connection of their gaze and bolted for the bathroom. Then he turned on the shower, ran his hand along his shaft, and refused to let his mind go to Marlee. This was purely a release. No thought involved. With one hand braced on the tile shower and the other on his erection, he finished himself off, letting the water wash away any remnants of what he’d done.

  And when the water ran cold, he tucked a towel around his waist and cautiously opened the bathroom door.

  It was silent.

  No Marlee.

  No Lothario waiting at the door for him.

  Nothing.

  This was exactly what he wanted. To be alone.

  But Marlee’s face when he’d turned away flashed in his mind. The hurt had been as clear as the sun shining through the blinds in the bedroom.

  He got what he wanted, but what would it cost him?

  He had fucked up. Eli couldn’t think straight all morning at work.

  “Who is this for?” his mom asked.

  She’d stopped by on her way to Whole Foods. He packaged up the chicken cordon bleu he’d made especially for Marlee, plating it as best as he could in the little box.

  “I’m taking it over to Marlee. Are you hungry?” He added a second box of seven-layer bars to the brown bag.

  “I’m always hungry, but I’m not going to stop you from going to see your wife.”

  “Mom.” He leveled a stare at her. “Don’t start.”

  “It may be the only time I get to say that. I want to enjoy it until the divorce goes through.” She pursed her lips in the way that only she could.

  She’d made it clear she was thrilled about the marriage, not so much about the divorce.

  “I’ll walk you out.” She grabbed her wallet, heading for the door.

  He grabbed a box of seven-layer bars for her and walked with her to the curb, opening her car door so she could climb in. She patted his cheeks before she got in. “Tell Marlee we need to have a family dinner soon. You. Marlee. Me. Dad.”

  He would do no such thing. A family dinner was a bad idea and just another opportunity for his mom to try to convince them to cancel the divorce so she could have a daughter-in-law.

  He shook his head, kissed her on the cheek, slipped the box of desserts to her, and headed next door to the flower shop to give Marlee his best peace offering.

  He wanted to rewind the clock. All the way back to the night before when they’d first had sex so that he could push pause then. Not wait until he was nearly balls deep before coming to his senses about what a bad idea it was to fall for the woman he was divorcing.

  Jase’s cowbell clanked against the glass. No one greeted him.

  “Mar?” He shifted the bag in his arm.

  “Marlee has left the building.” Jase ducked out of the cooler. “But I am here for all your floral needs. What’ll it be? An I’m-sorry-I-screwed-up bouquet or a sorry-I’m-a-dense-dumbass houseplant?”

  Marlee wasn’t there? Not that she had to check in with him, but he hadn’t realized how often they usually talked throughout the day until right then. Random texts, popping in to see each other. He’d gone nearly six hours without a Marlee hit. It was making him edgy. “Where’d she go?”


  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that.” Jase shrugged.

  Eli set the paper food bag by the cash register. “Bullshit.”

  “Yes, it is.” Jase lay out a vase and a bunch of purple flowers. “She went to lunch with her mom.”

  Fuck a duck.

  “Why’d you let her do that?”

  “Her mom showed up here. Nice lady. Asked Marlee if she could buy her a meal. Marlee balked, but not much. Seemed like she wanted to go.”

  “When will she be back?” This wasn’t Marlee withdrawals. This was just Eli checking she was okay after he walked out on her this morning and then she walked out on him right into the clutches of her mom.

  “After lunch.” Jase gave him a funny look. “What did you do? Judging by how quiet she was today, you fucked up something.”

  “Nothing.” Eli should’ve headed back to his kitchen. He didn’t. He pulled up a stool to Jase’s design counter, because he was a masochist who didn’t want to deal with his own head. So he’d let Jase deal with it. Which was probably worse. Much, much worse.

  “Hold tight.” Jase grabbed his cell, tapped out a message, and dropped it back on the counter. “We’ll wait for Brek and Dean. They’ll want in on this.”

  That was not what Eli had in mind to clear his head. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve got a case of the Marlees.” He clipped the ends off the purple flower stems. “And when I had a case of the Heathers, you all gathered around and gave me shit advice. Same with Brek when he had the Velmas. And Dean when he had the Claires.”

  Eli sighed. “There’s no use lying—Marlee’s burrowed under my skin nice and tight.”

  “Yeah, I realized that when you started bringing her lunch and busting my balls for stealing her.” Jase shoved the flowers into the vase. Not shoved exactly, he took his time doing it.

  Eli missed Marlee in the kitchen, but she was in heaven working for Jase, so he couldn’t be pissed about it for long. Jase must’ve misunderstood his silence, because Jase didn’t get serious often. Not taking anything serious was kind of his thing.

  Right then, though, he turned to Eli, and in total seriousness, he said, “Have you seen how good she is at floral design? She could run her own fucking shop.”