by Meg Benjamin
He looked like one of those statues in European museums. David, maybe.
And she looked like a cook. With crazy hair and tattoos and multiple earrings. Another minute and he’d wake up and realize how wrong this was. Maybe he’d pat her on the butt on his way out.
“Darcy?”
She gazed up at his face. One dark brow arched above his brown eyes. “You ready for this?”
Oh yes, please. She managed a nonchalant shrug. “Any time, sport.” Oh yeah, right. You’re a real player.
His mouth edged up in a grin. “Is that a challenge?”
She licked her lips. It was getting harder and harder not to drool. “Maybe.”
He leaned over her slowly. Way too slowly as far as she was concerned. She thought about telling him to speed it up, but she had a feeling anything she said right then would be a croak.
He touched his lips to the side of her throat, running the tip of his tongue toward her collarbone. She gasped in a breath, not even bothering to pretend anymore. Her whole body was on fire by now.
His hands dropped to her breasts, cupping her, rubbing his thumbs across the nipples. She moved her hips convulsively, trying and failing to stay still.
“Shhh,” he breathed against her ear. “Take it easy, sweetheart.”
She turned her head, opening her mouth beneath his, nipping his lower lip, then sucking, plunging her tongue deeper.
He groaned, bending to straddle her body, then cupping her breast again, bowing his head to take her nipple in his mouth.
A burning thread seemed to pull taut between her nipple and her core, drawing her body tight. She moaned, running her fingers through his hair, feathering it against her breasts. Then she let her hands drift down his back, sliding over the tight mounds of his buttocks and then over his hip and down. She stroked the length of his shaft, her fingers tightening at she did
His head snapped up, dark eyes burning as he gasped. “Not a good idea.” He rested his weight on his forearms, staring down at her.
“Yes, it is.” One hand dropped to cup his sac, her gaze holding his. “Oh yes, definitely.”
He closed his eyes, groaning. “Christ, Darcy.”
“Give it up, King.” She let herself grin until he moved his fingers between her folds, rubbing them down through her moist heat. The red hot thread drew tighter, pulling up her knees, as he slid one finger deep inside.
She closed her eyes, her back arching, heels digging into the sheet below her. He rubbed his thumb across her clit, and she came undone.
The King leaned back, watching her face, lips curving up in a grin. “My, oh my, that’s a beautiful sight.”
She gasped again, managing to fill her lungs this time and resisting the impulse to punch him. “Bite me,” she muttered.
“Oh, lady—” he shook his head, eyes dark with heat, “—I want to so bad.”
Their gazes locked for another moment. “Do I need a condom?”
She shook her head. “Pill.”
He grinned again, slowly, then reached down to rub the head of his cock across her moist folds.
“Bastard,” she moaned.
“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” He brought the head to her opening, pushing in a quarter inch, then out again.
Well, hell. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing against his buttocks with her heels.
He drew a deep breath. “Impatient wench.” He dipped in again, then out, then in farther, pushing slowly against her tightening muscles.
“Hang on, babe,” he whispered. “Let’s ride.”
He plunged deep then, again and again. After a moment, she rose to meet him, their bodies joining, her hands in his hair. She pulled his mouth down to hers, letting her tongue plunge along with his rhythm. Yes, yes, yes.
He nipped her lower lip, then dropped to her shoulder, scraping his teeth along her collarbone as she felt the heat rising again. He plunged once more and the heat took her, her head arching back as she cried out.
And then he was coming with her, plunging deep again, his body shuddering with the effort of it as he lost all rhythm. Darcy wrapped herself around him, holding on tight to keep from flying apart herself.
He rested his forehead against her throat, breathing hard, then rolled to the side, taking her with him. She snuggled tight against his chest, feeling the throb of his pulse against her cheek.
They lay quiet for what felt like a long time as her breathing slowed again. She had the feeling they were both waiting for the other to speak first. Screw it.
“That was…memorable. Really memorable.” She blew out a warm breath against his chest as his muscles relaxed.
“Well, sweetheart,” he murmured. “They don’t call me the King for nothing.”
That time she did punch him.
Chapter Thirteen
Chico spent Monday trying not to think about Andy Wells. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Fortunately, his parents had a problem with their air conditioning he had to deal with and his Aunt Delia needed him to talk sense to his young cousin who was ready to drop out of UT and head for Afghanistan with the army. Both duties took him most of the day and a group of rowdy frat boys at the Faro required a lot of his attention that night.
But after hours he found himself back where he’d been Sunday night—wondering just what was up between him and his reluctant scientist. He couldn’t do much about the attention they were drawing, other than make her feel it was maybe worth it. He’d known from the beginning there’d be a lot of gossip. Their getting together was too unexpected for people to ignore—the ex-wrestler/current bouncer and the quiet chemist who just wanted to fade into the woodwork. His main concern now was where they were supposed to go from here.
Actually, he knew the answer to that question, or at least the answer as far as he was concerned. He just wasn’t sure what would happen afterward. Most of his sexual relationships had been pretty straightforward, with women who knew what they wanted and were clear on what they were signing up for. He wasn’t sure Andy fell into either of those categories. Tomorrow night was going to be interesting—that he knew already.
On Tuesday he showed up at the Faro around lunch time. He didn’t always put in an appearance during the day anymore since the lunch crowd was largely innocuous, but he felt like he needed to do something with himself besides sit around wondering what sex with Andy Wells was going to be like.
Bobby Sue was waiting tables, as usual. Tom had managed to get her to cut back to the lunch and early afternoon shift. At her age, Bobby Sue should have been sitting around crocheting doilies. Of course, neither Tom nor Chico could picture her doing that. Bobby Sue had worked all her life, and she was one of those people who planned on working until she dropped. Chico was willing to bet she’d find retirement miserable, even assuming she could afford it. Given her son Leon and his tendency to blow his income on whatever scheme came his way, chances were good she wouldn’t be affording it any time soon.
He spent the lunch hour keeping an eye on Leon to make sure he cleaned up his mother’s tables quickly so that she’d get a good turnover. He carried a few trays from the kitchen for her himself, ignoring Tom’s grin. Theoretically, he wasn’t yet on the clock. But since they’d never bothered to set his hours officially, the clock was whatever he wanted it to be.
Finally, he went out to the beer garden to drink a soda and take stock. He’d go home and grab some dinner in a little while just to get away from the Faro, then come back later and be a bouncer for the evening. And then he’d head over to Andy’s or not, depending on how he felt. He could always call her and reschedule if something came up.
Right. And when did you become a screaming wimp, Burnside?
Probably somewhere around the time he’d seen that mixture of dread and anticipation in Andy’s eyes when he’d talked about coming over Tuesday night. Hell of a lot there to live up to. Or down to.
He’d promised not to hurt her, and he intended to honor that promise in all senses. Only no
w he was beginning to wonder if calling the whole thing off would be the easiest way to make sure nobody got hurt.
“Afternoon.” Bobby Sue wandered onto the beer garden patio, carrying her after-lunch glass of iced tea. She dropped into the chair on the other side of his table, propping her feet in front of her with a groan.
Chico nodded. “Tough day?”
“No tougher than usual, I guess.”
He thought about suggesting she take it a little easier, but he and Tom had both been suggesting that for at least a year, and Bobby Sue had showed no interest in doing it. He knew a lost cause when he saw one.
She leaned toward him, faded blue eyes turning sharp. “You doing that barbecue thing?”
He frowned. “You mean the cook-off on the Fourth?”
She nodded, pushing a wisp of faded blond hair behind her ear. “Heard you was. That was good stuff y’all cooked last Sunday.”
He’d seen Bobby Sue sitting at one of the tables Sunday afternoon—Tom had run all the wait staff through on a staggered shift so they could have some barbecue for lunch. “Thanks.”
“Roy used to do all that shit. Cook-offs and such.”
Roy was Bobby Sue’s ex-husband. Chico wasn’t sure whether he was alive or dead. Bobby Sue didn’t seem to care much either way. “Yeah? What’d he cook?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t cook. Just tended the fire. And drank beer. That’s all most of them teams do anyway. Just drink and carry on.”
Chico gave her a cautious smile. He wasn’t sure exactly where this particular conversation was headed. “Did you help out too?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. I made up some three-bean salad now and again. Helped ’em clean up. Roy wasn’t any good with that. Got to know some of the barbecue folks when I was there.” She took a swallow of her iced tea. “Saw you with Andy Burke at that thing on Sunday. Don’t guess she’s still married to that asshole.”
So that’s it. He took a pull on his Coke. “No. She’s Andy Wells now.”
Bobby Sue nodded slowly. “That’s good. Went back to her maiden name. Wellses are good folks.”
Having met Eddie, Chico wasn’t sure he’d agree, but he let it go. “So you knew Andy’s ex?”
Bobby Sue nodded again. “Lew Burke. I knew him.”
Chico sighed. Clearly, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “And?”
“Pissant.” Bobby Sue shook her head. “Genuine pissant.”
He waited this time. Let her decide how much to tell him and when.
“One of them pissants who liked to tell everybody else what to do. And nothing was ever good enough for him. You’d hear him bitching from halfway across the parking lot. And he’d talk nasty to everybody.” She leaned back in her seat, gazing off at the bandstand as she thought. “Barbecue people, they’re always jokin’ around, makin’ fun. But Lew, he’d say things like he meant it. Tell everybody what shit they had on the plate and how his stuff was the only kind anybody’d want to eat. He was a real piece of work.”
“Sounds like it.” Of course, now he was curious about why Andy had stuck it out for three years. She didn’t strike him as someone who’d put up with a lot of crap from anybody. “So does he own a barbecue joint someplace?”
She shook her head. “Insurance or something like that. He’s one of them weekend guys who thinks he knows it all. But he doesn’t make a living at it.”
“Oh yeah.” He knew those guys. They came into the bar all the time. Some of them thought they could pick musical talent as well as he could. He begged to differ.
“You’ll meet him.” Bobby Sue drained the last of her iced tea. “Bound to.”
“I will?” Chico arched an eyebrow.
She nodded. “He’ll be there at that cook-off—unless he’s on his deathbed, or already dead. He goes to every cook-off in Texas. And he’ll want to win this one, seeing as how it’s the first time they run it. And he’ll want to meet you, seeing as how you’re going around with his ex. He’s not the forgive-and-forget type.”
Chico had had a lot of practice keeping his face impassive over the years. It came in handy now. “If he wants to meet me, he can find me. I’ll be around.”
“Lot of people are liable to be watching.” Bobby Sue gave him a dry smile. “My money’s on you.”
“Thanks.” All of a sudden he was sort of looking forward to meeting Lew Burke. Of course, that was likely to make even more people stare.
Being a cook was hell on your love life. Darcy already knew that much from having been one for as long as she had. No long-term commitments, no trail of broken hearts. Just a few hook-ups that lasted until one or the other of you moved on to the next gig.
She thought of that when the King rolled out of her bed before sunrise. She checked the clock. Four forty-five. Amazingly enough, it was almost time for her to get up too, since she was working breakfast. She pushed herself to a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
The King glanced back. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to wake you up. Got to go get some meat on.”
“That’s okay. I would have gotten up myself in another half hour or so.”
He dropped back down to the edge of her bed. “You coming up to the trailer this afternoon?”
She nodded, wishing she’d already had some coffee to jump start her brain. “Planning on it.”
“You know I’ve got a gig at the Rose tonight.”
Darcy blinked. That news managed to wake her up a little more. “Doing what?”
“Cooking ’cue.” He grinned. “What did you think—card tricks?”
“No, I just didn’t remember.” Now she did, of course. She’d have to spend part of the afternoon putting together the salads and sides. “I may be a little late getting to the trailer this afternoon.”
He paused in the doorway. “Why don’t you skip it today? We’ll see each other tonight. I can pick up the sides for the truck then.”
Her chest tightened slightly. Ridiculous. It didn’t mean he was blowing her off. But she hated the idea of waiting to find out. “So is this it? We’ve done the deed, so now you go off and do your thing? I go off and do mine?”
He paused in pulling his shirt over his head. “Is that what you think is happening here?”
Her chin came up combatively. “Just trying to find out where I stand.”
He stepped to the bed, cupping the back of her head in his hands, his fingers sliding through her tangled hair. She opened her mouth beneath his, letting her tongue rub along his teeth as the heat built again in her belly.
After a moment, he raised his head, breathing slightly harder than he had been as he rested his forehead against hers. “Damn, woman. I can’t stay. I’m already behind with the meat as it is. Plus I need to feed Porky.”
“And I’ve got to shower and get to the Rose.” She grinned up at him. “Thanks for straightening that out.”
“Any time.” His teeth flashed in the dim morning light. “See you tonight.”
She nodded. “See you.” At least she had a terrific view of his ass as he left.
Breakfast was the usual thinly organized chaos. One of the prep assistants was missing, which meant she was doing double duty running the kitchen and making sure they had enough vegetables prepped for lunch.
MG wandered in with Joe around eight, and Darcy pressed her into service. MG rarely did prep anymore since her musical career and her flock of chickens took most of her time, but she still had the chops, so to speak.
“You doing the barbecue tonight?” MG raised an eyebrow as she prepped a sink full of potatoes.
Darcy felt her face warm up, which wasn’t such a great idea, given MG’s sharp eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I take it his highness is providing the meat. So to speak.” MG was definitely grinning now.
“He’s doing brisket and chicken,” Darcy said between gritted teeth. “We’re taking care of the sides and dessert, just like usual.”
“So how’s it going?” MG picked up
another potato, removing the peel in an expert strip. “Are you getting to know each other or what?”
“It’s going.” Darcy sighed. “I don’t know where it’s going necessarily, but it’s definitely going.”
MG grinned again. “Hang in there. My money’s on you, Darce.”
Darcy hefted another tray full of salad plates to carry to the cooler. Hanging in there was about the best she could do at the moment. And she wasn’t entirely sure where she wanted things to go in the future anyway. Always assuming there was a future. In her world, that was never a safe assumption.
And when was the last time you checked on job openings yourself? When she’d first started at the Rose, she’d kept her eye out for anything coming up. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped doing that. You need to check around. Chef de cuisine jobs don’t just drop into your lap.
Right. She’d do that. She ignored the slight tightening in her shoulders.
Darcy wasn’t sure which group had ordered up the barbecue tonight, but they didn’t look like they were all that comfortable in western clothes. She’d never seen so many starched pairs of jeans in her life. A few women wore broomstick skirts and lacy tops, but even they looked like the whole concept of western wear wasn’t entirely welcome. She had a feeling they’d all have been much happier in Giorgio Armani.
“So who are these guys?” she asked Joe when he came down to check on things.
He squinted at the crowd. “Lawyers. I don’t remember what the group’s called exactly, but they’re some kind of Hill Country lawyer association.”
Darcy grimaced. “You’d think if they were Hill Country lawyers, they’d at least be used to wearing jeans, for Christ’s sake.”
Joe shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe they weren’t sure how formal they were supposed to be. My guess is you don’t get any points for downhome authenticity around this group.”
“Right.” By six she had the steam trays set up with corn and beans, along with coolers for the potato salad and coleslaw. She’d also fielded two requests for vegetarian barbecue that she’d referred to the Rose kitchen. Let Joe figure out what the hell that meant.
