Delicious

by Jami Alden

  “The feeling’s mutual, darlin’,” she replied, accepting her drink from the waiter and taking a big gulp. “And let me just tell you something.” She leaned in as though to impart great wisdom. “Other people like to take jabs at self-taught folks like you and me, and you just have to ignore it. They’re just pissed off that they ain’t gettin’ the same airtime. I’ll tell you something else, too, and don’t take it the wrong way.” She took another sip of her drink. “You’re real hot now, and that’s great. But at some point the next Reggie Caldwell is gonna come around and push you off your little throne.”

  Reggie sipped at her drink, not entirely sure where this was going. Was Georgia trying to reassure her or insult her?

  “So what you gotta do is cram in as much as you can while you’re hot, get your name out there and make all the money you can. Then, after a few years, you can open your own place if you want and live off your book royalties.”

  Reggie nodded in fervent agreement. “That’s what I’m trying to do, with this show and my next book. I’m hoping other things will come out of it before the well totally dries up.”

  Georgia winked at her and wrapped a motherly arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, honey, you still got at least a few more years in you.”

  Reggie smiled, but still a kernel of anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach. The truth was, she wasn’t sure how much runway she had left. What if Simply Delicious, USA didn’t get enough viewers? What if her next book bombed?

  What if Craig was right? That she was just a flash in the pan who would be back cooking for wealthy, socially overwhelmed Bay Area housewives in no time flat?

  “Now who’s this handsome devil I see with you?” Georgia looked expectantly at Gabe.

  “Gabe Bankovic,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I work for Reggie.”

  “Now how come none of my employees look like this?”

  Gabe’s expression stayed politely impassive, but Reggie saw that the tips of his ears burned a bright crimson.

  “Gabe’s actually a security consultant, kind of like a bodyguard,” Reggie explained. “I had some…trouble with a fan.”

  “Darlin’, if you ever get tired of hanging out with cute young things, you can guard my body any time.”

  The maître d’ came up and whispered something to Georgia, who politely excused herself. Reggie couldn’t wait to get a look at the menu, but her good humor at meeting Georgia Beaudine quickly fled as Gabe once again refused to sit with her and her crew. “What’s the big deal?” Reggie asked. “Do you actually think someone’s going to come into a crowded restaurant to harass me?”

  A muscle ticked in Gabe’s jaw as he put his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “Why can’t you trust me to do what you hired me to do?”

  Reggie raised her chin another few notches, infuriated by his attempt to physically intimidate her. “Why do you feel the need to embarrass me?”

  “Embarrass you?”

  “It’s bad enough I have some goon shadowing me, but when you refuse to act like a social human being, it makes me look bad.” She winced, hating how much that made her sound like a prima donna.

  “God forbid the big goon threatens your precious public image,” he bit out.

  “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of it! It’s not like we’ve even heard from scrotum boy in the past few days.”

  “Then maybe you don’t need me. Maybe I should go home.”

  “Maybe. But before you go, you’re going to sit down and have dinner with us like a normal human being.”

  Gabe couldn’t decide what irritated him more: being goaded into lashing out at her, or not sticking to his guns about not eating dinner with the group. He didn’t want to sit down like they were all friends. The whole situation felt too friendly, too intimate. It was appallingly easy to forget that she was a client, and not a date.

  In spite of himself, Gabe was being drawn inexorably into Reggie’s web. And the hell of it was, she wasn’t even trying to lay one. He simply found her smile, her laugh—not to mention her deliciously curved body—almost irresistible. For the hundredth time since he’d arrived in Boston, he cursed himself for getting into this impossible situation.

  But he couldn’t just abandon her as he’d so foolishly threatened. So, instead, he sat down next to her, shared dinner with the rest of the crew, and though he hated to admit it, had a damn good time.

  He knew Reggie enjoyed food, and it was a surprising pleasure to watch her eat. Unlike a lot of the women he had dated, she didn’t pick at her food or nibble at a salad. Her eyes lit up when she read the menu, her voice thick with anticipation as she said the ingredients out loud. “Listen to this,” she said, licking her lips. Lust fired in his groin and he couldn’t help but stare at her mouth as she pronounced each ingredient. He generally viewed food as a necessity, something he put in his body to keep it functioning. Never in a million years would he have imagined that risotto with mushrooms could sound so erotic.

  He prayed Reggie had the good sense to lock her bedroom door tonight. The way he was feeling right now, he had serious doubts about his level of self-restraint.

  When they got back to the hotel, Reggie was smiling blurrily, no doubt a result of the martini and red wine she’d consumed with dinner.

  He started for his room, but she grabbed his hand. “Stay up and watch TV with me,” she said, trying to pull him over to the couch. “I bet we can get them to send us up a bottle of wine.”

  Did she even realize what she was offering? Her smile was tipsy and guileless, but surely she knew, even in her somewhat inebriated state, that if he joined her on the couch, there would be no TV watching happening. God, he wished he could just throw caution to the wind and take her up on it.

  For a moment, he nearly caved. She was different from Marly. She treated the crew like old pals; she gave her sister a job even though the woman was more trouble than she was worth. She even put up with his constant rebuffs without turning into an icy bitch.

  Then rationality took over as he remembered flashbulbs, base insults, the feel of facial cartilage crunching under his fists. Followed by the threat of lawsuits, the embarrassment to himself and his colleagues, the humiliation of being fired for the first time in his life.

  He couldn’t risk going through that again. Not even for Reggie.

  “Come on, sit down,” she urged, clicking on the remote and patting the cushion next to her.

  He gently tugged his hand from her grip and backed away. “I should really go to bed.”

  Her lower lip pouted deliciously, begging him to lean down and take it between his teeth. “Party pooper.” She sullenly flopped back against the couch. Then she clicked off the TV and stood up too. “I guess it is kind of late.”

  They both retired to their rooms, and Gabe had removed his shirt and was about to unzip his pants when he heard her call out his name.

  He flung open her door, finding her pointing stiffly at something on the bed. She had changed into a tank top and loose cotton pants, and the bare skin of her arms prickled with goose bumps in the otherwise warm room.

  Gabe looked at the bed where she indicated, spying a scrap of fabric among the busy flower print of the bedspread. “What is it?”

  “I went to get in bed, and th-that was on my pillow.”

  Gabe knelt on the bed and gingerly picked up the fabric between two fingers. As he held it up he realized he held a pair of black thong panties adorned with a viscous white fluid.

  Unthinkingly, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder and pulled her out of the room. “It’s okay.” He lifted it up for closer examination.

  Peering over his shoulder, she whispered, “How could he have gotten in here? No one else knows we’re here except for Natalie.” Grimacing as Gabe held the underwear up to the light, she said, “Are you sure you should be touching that? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  A familiar aroma teased his nose. Frowning, Gabe lifted
the panties toward his face.

  “Oh my God, what are you—” Reggie’s revulsion-filled outburst ended with a gagging noise.

  Gabe sniffed once, twice, and again just to be sure. “Cinnamon.”

  “What?”

  “This isn’t semen. I think it might be lotion, or maybe hair conditioner.” He sniffed a third time, wrinkling his nose. “It smells kinda like…cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon buns,” Reggie mumbled.

  “What?” Gabe asked.

  “My lotion. It’s called cinnamon buns. It smells like, well, cinnamon buns.”

  “At least we know he didn’t jerk off into your panties.” Gabe sighed. “Is it possible that your lotion spilled in your suitcase and got on your underwear?”

  Reggie’s dark eyebrows snapped together in a frown, and she folded her arms tightly around her chest. “No, it wasn’t there when I left for dinner, and I always keep my toiletries separate from my clothes to prevent spills.” She rubbed a tired hand over her eyes. “But I don’t know, we move around so much, packing and repacking…” She sighed and walked out of the room.

  Gabe looked at the delicate scrap of fabric dangling off his fingers and thoughts of her juicy ass framed in stretchy black lace careened across his brain. He dropped the thing like it was covered in cyanide and willed his erection to take a breather.

  He found Reggie in the kitchenette pouring herself a glass of water. Her hand trembled, causing little waves to ripple through the liquid. “I’m becoming completely paranoid,” she laughed shakily. “A guy sends me a couple of notes and weird e-mails, and I have him sneaking into my hotel room to frolic in my underwear. I’m worse than Carrie with her doomsday scenarios about him closing down production.” She shook her head and took a long drink. Her eyes met his, huge and dark with wariness. “You don’t think he was in here, do you?”

  Gabe didn’t know what to believe. On the one hand, toiletry spills were common enough. On the other hand, it was certainly odd that it would have landed only on a pair of sexy panties, and that they would in turn end up on her pillow. This whole situation was like nothing he’d ever seen. Most stalkers didn’t keep themselves hidden. They wanted their victims to know who they were, because in their deluded brains they actually thought their victims would return whatever twisted version of love they felt.

  Something wasn’t right about this whole situation. He could feel it in his gut.

  Then again, his gut had also told him Marly Chase had really cared for him, and look where that had gotten him.

  Reggie lifted a shaky hand to her face, brushing her hair back in a nervous gesture. “I can’t believe I’m letting this get to me. It’s all so surreal and strange, the idea of having a stalker. Why me? What makes me so interesting that a stalker would even notice me, much less follow me?” She was trying to convince herself that it was nothing, that she was blowing the whole thing out of proportion. “And how could he even know where I am? Nobody knows where I am but you and Natalie.”

  “Maybe Natalie inadvertently gave someone your schedule.”

  Reggie sighed and leaned her head back to stare at the ceiling. “She’s so scatterbrained sometimes, I suppose it’s possible. But who would care? Who do I know who would bother to do this? I’m just an average girl who likes to cook.” Her voice cracked and she looked at him helplessly.

  Unable to stop himself, he stepped toward her, until he could just feel the soft press of her breasts against the bare skin of his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head into the shelter of his chest. With a relieved sounding sigh, she fell into his embrace, leaning fully against him as her arms went around his back.

  Her hot breath wafted against his already heated skin, and he became excruciatingly aware of his colossal mistake. Even as a spike of desire hit him straight in the groin, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

  His hand came up to cup her cheek, and for a few seconds he could do nothing but stare at the soft curves of her lovely face. “Reggie, you are anything but average.”

  Her gaze was unwavering, uncertain as it locked on his. She nervously licked her lips. Gabe chased its path with the pad of his thumb.

  With that, logic fled, and the tenuous hold on his control snapped.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he crushed his mouth down on hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth with no preamble, no finesse whatsoever. The wine hot taste of her tongue rushed through him, his cock immediately going ramrod stiff. He backed her against the counter, his knees bending slightly as he rocked his erection against the giving softness of her belly.

  She emitted a soft, surprised cry against his tongue, her hands running frantically down his back and sides, digging her short nails into the muscles along his spine.

  He squeezed her ass, groaning as the firm, lush flesh spilled over his palms. One hand came up to knead her breast, rubbing, pinching at her nipple hard enough to wring a sharp cry from her throat.

  His other hand snaked around, pressed flat against her belly, then lower to cup her between her legs. He tugged the strap of her tank top down her shoulder, exposing her breast to his eyes and his lips. He pressed the heel of his hand against her mound, and even through the twin layers of underwear and pajamas, he could feel the wetness already drenching her sex. Groaning, he bent and sucked her nipple into his mouth, pulling hard as he shoved his hand down the front of her pants.

  Her plump, juicy pussy wept against his hand, and for a second he was afraid he was going to come in his pants like some fucking thirteen-year-old.

  Reggie didn’t help matters, her busy little hands deftly unfastening his belt and trousers. Her hot palm slid inside the waistband of his boxers, nearly bringing him to his knees as her soft palm pressed against the burning flesh of his rock-hard cock.

  Cupping her ass in his palms, he lifted her off the floor and set her on the kitchenette table, swiftly stripping her of her tank top and yanking off her pants and underwear.

  Then she lay naked before him, spread out like a gourmet feast. Cheeks flushed, mouth bruised, hair tousled, she looked like a raunchy porn fantasy of the girl next door gone bad. The deep pink folds of her sex winked at him through her dark curls, the hot little bud of her clit peeking out, begging to be stroked and sucked.

  Lust powered him forward, his motions almost frantic as the voice in his head warning him to stop faded in the wake of pure unbridled need. Aching with the need to taste her, he sank to his knees, roughly shoving her thighs apart as he buried his face against her. Wildly, he plunged inside, savoring her salty sweet taste, his tongue licking along her tight passage and emerging to circle hotly around her clit. “God, Reggie, you taste better than anything I’ve ever known.”

  Her hands fisted in his hair in response, hips bucking against his face. Shaking, chest heaving like he’d run a fast mile, Gabe stood up, shoving his pants and boxers off his hips in the same movement. Pressing his palms on the pliant skin of her inner thighs, he spread her wide. He gripped himself in one hand as he guided himself to her dripping core, soaking the head of his cock in her juices as he shook with the effort not to explode.

  With one firm, unrestrained thrust he shoved inside, wringing a surprised cry from her throat. For a millisecond he paused, afraid in his wildness that he’d hurt her. He rained soft, soothing kisses across her cheeks and suddenly, unbelievably, she was coming, clenching and shaking around him as she gripped his ass hard, grinding against him like she wanted to swallow him whole.

  He threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut at the almost unbearable heat and tightness. So good, so perfect, a million times better than he remembered. She gripped him hard, rippling and kneading around him with the force of her orgasm. Realizing he had no reason to hold back, he began to thrust slick, unrestrained, deep strokes as she took every hard inch of him. She thrashed beneath him all the while, moaning and clawing at him in a frenzy of need.

  Nothing had ever felt this good. No woman was this tight, this hot, this slick
, this wild as she clenched around him.

  Suddenly, she stiffened, her mouth open on a silent scream as she peaked again. His cock swelled another inch, his balls tightening as the force of his orgasm built at the base of his spine.

  One tiny, still functioning brain cell whispered that maybe the reason she felt so fucking good around him was because he had completely ignored the need for a condom.

  He moved faster, harder, toes curling as waves of a bone-shattering release ripped through his guts. That same functioning brain cell prompted him to pull out just in time, his cock throbbing and jerking against the soft skin of her belly as he soaked her with the force of his release.

  Shaking, his arms gave out under his weight and he collapsed on top of her, resting his forehead against hers.

  Eyes drowsy with satiation, Reggie threaded her fingers through his hair and captured his mouth, a purr of satisfaction vibrating through her entire body.

  Gabe pulled away, released his grip on her hips, and rested his cheek on the table beside her head. “Son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Seven

  The languid warmth coursing through Reggie’s veins abruptly froze at Gabe’s soft swear.

  His softly whispered “Son of a bitch” was not a curse of satisfaction.

  Proving her point, he hastily levered himself off her. Without meeting her gaze, he quickly dragged his trousers back up his hips and zipped them with a quick jerk of his hand.

  Reggie propped herself up on her elbows, trying to regain enough of her faculties to reach for her own clothes. If she put any weight on her legs right now, she feared they’d buckle beneath her.

  Still not looking at her, Gabe went to the sink and wet a dishtowel, tossing it in her general direction. By some miracle she managed to catch it, then used it to wipe up the tacky remnants of semen off her belly. At least he’d had the decency to use warm water.