Eat Your Heart Out

by Jill Shalvis

  “Yeah.” She looked at her shoes, then into his face. “Can I come in?”

  He stepped aside, and when she brushed past him, her hair catching on him, her scent filling his senses, he nearly forgot to shut the door behind her.

  “I just wanted to clear some stuff up,” she said, walking into his living room, turning to face him. “You know, before you leave. First of all, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For seeking revenge on you for making me, um—” She blushed. “Hot for you. I know you were just doing your job, bringing out the sexiness of the show and teaching me how to do it, and I’m sorry I turned on you like that. I wanted to make you hot back and…well, it was juvenile. I can see that now.”

  Suddenly he felt very friendly. And very happy she’d come to see him. “I don’t want your apology.” He stepped toward her, so relieved at having this last chance at seeing her again he felt weak.

  “You…don’t?” When he took another step toward her, her eyes darkened. “What do you want?”

  “Isn’t that just the million-dollar question?” He tipped his head back and pretended to ponder. “What do I want? Hmm… How about I want to know if you’re as scared as me that this is over?”

  “I—”

  He put his hands on her hips and tugged her close. “How about I want to know if you really came here to apologize or to satisfy this unquenchable need we have for each other?”

  “Um…”

  “And how about I want to know if you meant it the other day when you told me you weren’t wearing any damn panties, and are you wearing any now?”

  Her eyes flashed, and she slid her arms around his neck, putting her mouth on his before he could ask her the rest, before he could tell her he’d discovered the L word for the first time in far too many years and that he wanted to know if she could possibly feel the same.

  He wanted to tell her he didn’t want to leave—what a joke that was—but he really didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay forever and become a small-town man who put his nose in everyone else’s business.

  But he couldn’t say a word because she’d opened her mouth on his, deepening the kiss, and every single thought flew right out the window.

  Then she wriggled and wriggled until she had enough room to yank his shirt out of his pants and over his head. Before he could so much as blink, she’d sunk to her knees before him and was working on his belt, which she promptly tossed over her shoulder.

  Her fingers danced over his raging erection as she looked at him coyly. “I’d better be careful with the zipper.”

  “Yeah, you’d—” His words were choked off because she tugged down the rest of his clothing, leaving him with no blood left in his brain with which to formulate a sentence, much less a thought.

  “There,” she said cheerfully, sitting back on her heels and looking at him with sleepy, sexy eyes. “You’re the first one naked this time. I think I like that. A lot.”

  With a growl, he lunged at her, sprawling them across the carpet. It didn’t take him long to unbutton her sweater and tackle her jeans off, where he learned she had indeed gone commando. Rolling, wrestling, laughing, he finally caught her beneath him, grinning at her like the love-struck fool he was.

  “You got anything more for me than that smile, Mitch?”

  “Are you kidding?” In case she hadn’t noticed his erection to beat all erections, he nudged her with it.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you plan to do with that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Might I suggest you hurry?”

  “Suggestion considered.” And finally, finally, he sunk into her glorious body.

  Her smile faded, and so did his. Her quiet moan echoed his. And they clutched at each other, his favorite part, feeling her nails bite into him, seeing her dazed, just-as-gone gaze meet his.

  Mitch was damn glad it wasn’t just him feeling this way. He was so glad it was almost enough to make him weep, but then she arched up and took him even deeper within her and he was lost.

  Completely lost.

  “Hurry,” she whispered again, and he was all too happy to oblige.

  * * *

  He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a contented, warm, sated Dimi curled at his side. “Okay,” he said. “We’re definitely even.”

  With a groan, she came up on an elbow to look at him. Her hair fell into his face, and though he blew it out, it hit him again.

  He thought that just maybe he’d be content to have her hair in his face for the rest of his life. He should tell her that. Wanted to tell her that.

  But she was looking at him with a good amount of wariness, and he sighed.

  “What do you mean,” she said, “we’re even?”

  “I played low and dirty to get you to change your persona for the show. Remember?”

  “Definitely. You teased and tormented me and basically made my life a living hell.”

  “Uh-huh. Your show became wildly popular, you got a new contract and a great raise and you found you loved this wilder side of yourself, you poor, poor abused baby. Having me…what was it you said? Tease and torment you. Kiss and touch you. And you hated every minute of it, I know.”

  She glared at him, making him laugh. “Don’t give me that look,” he said. “Because in return you played low and dirty to drive me crazy with lust, and you know it. So we’re even. And now…” He stroked a hand down her slim back, loving the feel of her against him. “And now it’s time for a compromise so we don’t kill each other.”

  “Why?” Her eyes went a little flat. “You’re leaving, remember?”

  “Yeah, about that.” He sat, slid his hands up her arms and tried not to get distracted by the sight she made sitting there tousled and naked and annoyed. “That’s the compromise part.”

  CHAPTER 13

  DIMI LEAPT UP. She knew what was coming. A man’s idea of compromise meant he got to go back to Los Angeles and send for her whenever he needed his itch scratched.

  Or maybe he’d show up here every once in a while, all dark and beautiful and ready to melt her with just one wicked smile.

  And she would melt, she had no doubt. All he had to do was crook one little finger and she’d drop to the floor in a boneless puddle of Jell-O.

  Pathetic, that was her. Feeling very naked, she searched for her clothes and came up with Mitch’s shirt. Good enough.

  Mitch stood, too, and reached out to touch her cheek. “It’s on inside out.”

  So was her heart. Darn it, how had this happened? How had she fallen for a guy who could never take her seriously?

  “Dimi…” He took her hands in his and stilled her movements. “Did I scare you when I said it was time for a compromise?”

  “Of course not.” Scoffing, she broke away and went searching for her panties.

  “You didn’t wear any, remember?” Mitch sighed when she hauled on her jeans. He reached for his pants. “You going to answer me, Dimi?”

  “You don’t scare me.”

  “The word compromise sure did.” He put his hands on her shoulders and made her look at him. “What did you think I meant, I wonder?” He searched her gaze and shook his head. “It was a doozy, whatever you came up with.”

  “I need to get going.”

  “Uh-huh.” He nodded companionably. “I understand. I know the feeling all too well. Things take a wrong turn or something tugs on your heart, just run like hell. It’s been my escape choice for two years, as well.”

  “I’m not running away.”

  “Liar,” he chided softly, holding her still when she would have torn away. “Why don’t you just listen then, since you won’t talk to me? Can you do that, I wonder?”

  No. God, no. “You’re the one who’s leaving,” she said desperately.

  A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Which brings me back to the whole compromise thing.” He brought her to his couch and sank down on it, tugging her down, as well, so they fac
ed each other.

  Only he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his hair looked as if someone had run their fingers through it—which of course she had—and her poor overwhelmed senses could only imagine how it would be to still be on the floor all tangled up with him.

  Bottom line, she wanted him, darn it, and her heart felt as if it was going to burst, and she couldn’t believe she’d shown up at his house like this. She should have left it alone after their pizza goodbye, but no, she’d had to see him one more time.

  “I don’t know what’s going on inside that head of yours,” he said, gently tapping her temple. “But you look as if your puppy just got run over by a Mack truck.”

  The lump in her throat grew to enormous proportions. How was she supposed to do this, say goodbye and not let him know how much it hurt?

  She couldn’t, she just couldn’t, so she simply sat there, tears welling in her eyes, unable to speak a word without falling apart.

  “Oh, Dimi.” He closed his eyes tight and then opened them. They were suspiciously bright. “I’m not good at this serious stuff. But I don’t want to leave. Crazy as it sounds, I like this too-damn-small town, and I like the show, and all the people involved in it, but most of all, Dimi, this is about you.”

  She blinked in surprise, and a tear fell. Scrubbing at it impatiently, she gaped at him. “Me?”

  “Yeah. I was hoping you’d agree to meet me halfway on this thing.”

  “Thing?”

  “You know, what we have between us. Look, I thought maybe you could teach me how to get a little serious once in a while. And maybe I could teach you to let your hair down, so to speak, and not just for work. We could meet halfway.”

  Her heart leapt straight into her throat, but she was afraid to put seed to the wild hope. “Halfway,” she whispered. “As in once in a while you come up from southern California, or I come down from northern California?”

  “As in I never leave.”

  “That’s not much of a compromise,” she told him, nearly giddy. Was it possible? Could this work?

  “No, I realize that.” He reached for her hand. “But that’s me being selfish because I can’t see us in Los Angeles. I can’t see us anywhere but here.”

  Us, she thought. My God, he’s using the us word.

  “The compromise part comes next,” he said, looking directly into her eyes with a touching, endearing uncertainty. “It’s where I tell you I am wildly, madly, helplessly in love with you, and you agree to try to feel that way back for me.”

  “You mean…”

  “I love you, Dimi. I want to be with you forever, through white serviceable underwear and oysters and tampons and everything. I want it all.” He let out a slow, purposeful breath. “Now say something back. Please. You’re killing me, just looking at me all wild-eyed and repeating everything I say but saying nothing I want to hear.”

  “Well, I have to repeat one more thing.”

  He looked destroyed. “Okay.”

  “I love you.” She smiled through her tears. “I want to be with you forever, through white serviceable underwear and oysters and tampons and everything.”

  The brilliance in his smile dazzled her. So did the bone-crushing hug he gave her.

  “And for the record,” she said, still holding him tight, “you’ve already taught me to loosen up quite a bit, if you’ll recall. So that means really it’s just teaching you to be a tad more serious. We can start with lovemaking.”

  Pulling back, he looked at her in surprise. “There’s something wrong with my lovemaking?”

  “Only that we haven’t made it to a bed yet.”

  “Easily remedied,” he said, standing and scooping her into his arms. “In fact, let’s work on that immediately.” He gave her a particularly naughty smile. “It might take a while, though.”

  “I hope so.” She loved being against him like this and snuggled closer, her imagination already off and running. “Maybe all night long?” she asked hopefully.

  He laughed, then bent and kissed her. “Try for the rest of our lives, Dimi.”

  Her heart tipped. “Yes,” she sighed, setting her head on his shoulder. “For the rest of our lives.”

  * * * * *

  Need more Jill Shalvis? Keep reading for an excerpt from her next heartwarming women’s fiction novel,

  RAINY DAY FRIENDS

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Anxiety Girl, able to jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound!

  Most of the time karma was a bitch, but every once in a while she could be surprisingly nice, even kind. Lanie Jacobs, way past overdue for both of those things, told herself this was her time. Seize the day and all that. She drew a deep breath as she exited the highway at Wildstone.

  The old Wild West California town was nestled in the rolling hills between the Pacific Coast and wine and ranching country. She’d actually grown up not too far from here, though it felt like a lifetime ago. The road was narrow and curvy, and since it’d rained earlier, she added tricky and slick to her growing list of its issues. She was already white-knuckling a sharp turn when a kamikaze squirrel darted into her lane, causing her to nearly swerve into oncoming traffic before remembering the rules of country driving.

  Never leave your lane; not for weather, animals, or even God himself.

  Luckily the squirrel reversed its direction, but before Lanie could relax a trio of deer bounded out right in front of her. “Run, Bambi, run,” she cried, hitting the brakes, and by the skin of all of their collective teeth, they missed one another.

  Sweating, nerves sizzling like live wires, she finally turned onto Capriotti Lane and parked as she’d been instructed.

  And went completely still as her world darkened. Not physically, but internally as her entire body braced for all hell to break loose. Recognizing sign número uno of an impending anxiety attack barreling down on her like a freight train, she gripped the steering wheel. “You’re okay,” she told herself firmly.

  This, of course, didn’t stop said freight train. But though she’d been plagued with overactive fight-or-flight preceptors, all of which were yelling at her to run, she couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t.

  Not this time. Which didn’t stop the dizziness or sudden nausea, or make her lungs work properly. And that was the hardest thing about these attacks that were new to her this year, because it was always the same fears. What if it never stopped? What if someone saw her losing it and realized she was broken? And the worst part … what if it wasn’t an anxiety attack? Maybe this time it was a seizure or a brain aneurism.

  Or a stroke. Hadn’t her great-aunt Agnes died of a stroke?

  Okay, stop, she ordered herself, damp with sweat now and doing that annoying trembling thing where she shook like a leaf. Breathe in for four, breathe out for four, and hold for four.

  Repeat.

  Repeat again, all while listing the meals she’d had yesterday in her head. Peanut butter toast for breakfast. Tuna salad for lunch. She’d skipped dinner and had wine and popcorn instead.

  Slowly but surely, her pulse slowed. It’s all good, she told herself, but because she wasn’t buying what she was selling, she had to force herself out of the car like she was a five-year-old starting kindergarten instead of being thirty and simply facing a brand-new job. Given all she’d been through, this should be easy, even fun. But sometimes adulthood felt like the vet’s office and she was the dog excited for the car ride—only to find out the destination.

  Shaking her head, she strode across the parking lot. It was April, which meant the rolling hills to the east were green and lush and the Pacific Ocean to the west looked like a surfer’s dream, all of it so gorgeous it could’ve been a postcard. A beautiful smoke screen over her not-so-beautiful past. The air was scented like a really expensive sea-and-earth candle, though all Lanie could smell was her forgotten hopes and dreams. With wood chips crunching under her shoes, she headed through the entrance, beneath
which was a huge wooden sign that read:

  Capriotti Winery, from our fields to your table …

  Her heart sped up. Nerves, of course, the bane of her existence. But after a very crappy few years, she was changing her path. For once in her godforsaken life, something was going to work out for her. This was going to work out for her.

  She was grimly determined.

  The land was lined with split-rail wooden fencing, protecting grapevines as far as the eye could see. The large open area in front of her was home to several barns and other structures, all meticulously maintained and landscaped with stacks of barrels, colorful flower beds, and clever glass bottle displays.

  Lanie walked into the first “barn,” which housed the reception area and offices for the winery. She was greeted by an empty reception counter, beyond which was a huge, open-beamed room containing a bar on the far side, comfy couches and low tables scattered through the main area, and walls of windows that showed off the gorgeous countryside.

  It was warm and inviting and … empty. Well, except for the huge mountain of white and gray fur sleeping on a dog bed in a corner. It was either a Wookie or a massive English sheepdog, complete with scraggly fur hanging in its eyes. If it was a dog, it was the hugest one she’d ever seen, and she froze as the thing snorted, lifted its head, and opened a bleary eye.

  At the sight of her, it leapt to its four paws and gave a happy “wuff!” At least she was hoping it was a happy wuff because it came running at her. Never having owned a dog in her life, she froze. “Uh, hi,” she said, and did her best to hold her ground. But the closer the thing got, the more she lost her nerve. She whirled to run.

  And then she heard a crash.

  She turned back in time to see that the dog’s forward momentum had been too much. Its hind end had come out from beneath it and it’d flipped onto its back, skidding to a stop in front of her.

  She—because she was definitely a she, Lanie could now see—flopped around like a fish for a few seconds as she tried to right herself, to no success. With a loud woof, the dog gave up and stayed on her back, tail wagging like crazy, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.