Wine, Tarts & Sex

by Susan Johnson

  For a man who had seen all there was to see of the sordid underbelly of the world, perhaps he, more than most, could appreciate serenity.

  Sixteen

  Jake had just walked into Liv’s bedroom and quietly shut the door in order not to disturb her when the phone rang.

  Coming awake, Liv saw him first and smiled.

  He nodded at the phone. “Want me to get it?”

  “I’d better. I wouldn’t want to explain to my mom what you were doing here at this hour of the morning.” Reaching for the bedside phone, she picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, said, “False alarm,” and lying back down, hit the Talk button. “It’s way too early, Shelly.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’ve been at work for two hours.”

  “That’s because you’re driven to succeed. Kindly keep in mind when you have these early morning impulses, I’m semiretired.”

  “I haven’t heard from you since you so rudely left us in the lurch at Taglio’s. He must be good.”

  After a moment’s hesitation in which Liv debated lying, she said, “He is.”

  “Tell me every little detail, or I’ll come out there tonight and see for myself.”

  “Don’t waste your time.”

  “So he’s not there?”

  Silence.

  “I knew it,” Shelly crowed. “Whenever you talk like someone’s around, someone’s around.”

  “Okay, so you win the prize. I’ll call you later.”

  “Is he in bed with you?”

  “Good-bye, Shelly.”

  “Let me say hi.”

  “We’re not in the eighth grade. Otherwise, I would.”

  “Selfish.”

  “You betcha.” Liv hung up the phone. “It was Shelly,” she said.

  “I heard.”

  “She’s embarrassing.”

  He grinned. “What are friends for?”

  “She wants to meet you.”

  “Is she as good-looking as you?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “No you’re not. That’s a typical man question.”

  He laughed. “Look, I was just teasing. I’m not even remotely curious.”

  “I shouldn’t care.”

  “And I should be curious.”

  “So this is strange.”

  “I think we’ve already established that. The question is not over the strangeness, but the resulting consequences. And with that in mind, I’m here to tell you that Janie is busy with the detective her husband sent out from New York. Matt is looking at kittens in the barn with Amy, and we are conveniently alone for at least-”

  “Long enough,” Liv interrupted, grinning. “Do I have time to eat that French toast you’re holding?”

  “Sure. What I have in mind won’t take long.” His smile was wicked. “Let me rephrase that. The first time won’t take long. The rest depends on whether we’re left alone or not.”

  “It’s my house.”

  “I didn’t want to say it, but yes, it is.”

  “So I may do as I please.”

  “Or occasionally as I please.”

  “Why don’t we discuss that after I eat.” She held out her hand, suddenly ravenous. Or maybe the sight and smell of apple-cinnamon French toast and bacon had triggered all her taste receptors.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, pushing away from the door.

  “If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re actually submissive.”

  “I wasn’t under the impression you were looking for that kind of man.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Just checking.” He smiled faintly as he handed her the plate. “Would you like me to feed you?”

  “If I wasn’t starving, I’d say yes. It sounds like fun. But since I am, I’ll pass this time.”

  It didn’t matter; he wasn’t in a hurry. He figured the kittens would prove entertaining for some time. As for Janie, she’d been working that private eye to the max. He didn’t anticipate Janie needing company anytime soon. Uncorking the syrup, he held the bottle over the plate. “Say when.”

  He poured and poured, looked up in query, then poured some more.

  “When,” Liv finally said.

  “You like French toast with your syrup, I see.”

  “It’s syrup from my maple trees. Jeez, how do you get the bacon to stay so flat?” The four pieces framing the French toast were picture perfect.

  “The right pan, the right temperature, and years of practice. ”

  “You’ll have to show me. My bacon is always a tangled mess.”

  “But then you’re not the patient sort.”

  She glanced up, a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth. “Is that a slur?”

  “Did I imply I was looking for a patient woman?”

  She smiled, took a bite of bacon, and said, “Good,” between chews. “Because you’re way too hot. What can I say?”

  He smiled. “You’re my aphrodisiac of choice, too, babe.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he waited while she ate, feeling oddly content. As though he might have made the right choice coming out here to Minnesota. All the tension commensurate with his West Coast life had disappeared into the ether. Not that a ton of orgasms weren’t likely to prove relaxing.

  “These apple slices are heavenly-all buttery and caramelly. I suppose those take patience, too,” she said with a grin.

  His brows lifted ever so faintly. “Never rush anything, babe. That’s the secret.”

  “You’re good at not rushing in more ways than one.”

  Her smile was definitely enticing, her lips shiny with syrup and allure. “Pleasure shouldn’t be a race. It should be more like a marathon.” He smiled. “Circumstances allowing, of course.”

  “And your judgment is superb in every instance,” she murmured.

  He grinned. “You’re just easy to read.”

  “You mean you’re not psychic?”

  “With your one-track mind, I don’t have to be.” His dick swelled larger as memories of last night inundated his brain, her fondness for sex a real turn-on. Shifting slightly to give his hard-on growing room, he said with observable constraint, “Are you about done?”

  Her aquamarine gaze met his from under her lashes. “Should I be?”

  He found it necessary to clear his throat before replying. “That’d be great,” he said tautly.

  She held out the plate.

  Taking it, he glanced at the door. “I should lock the door.”

  “If only. There’s no key. It’s long gone.”

  “I’ll shove a chair under the doorknob if that’s okay with you. With a three-year-old around.” He shrugged.

  “Be my guest.”

  As he rose, set the plate aside, picked up a chair, and moved toward the door, Liv lay against her pillows watching him, feeling an extraordinary degree of satisfaction and contentment. He’d allowed her to sleep, brought her breakfast in bed, and was now about to further reward her with sex. Was she basking in the sweet clover of life or what? “You’re spoiling me,” she murmured. “All the fabulous food… and you… and him.” She nodded at his blatant erection as he’d half-turned at her words of approval. She grinned. “It’s all quite heady.”

  “My pleasure.” A smile warmed his eyes. “And it’s not as though I don’t get spoiled in return.”

  “This is all waaay too perfect. When does the tornado hit?”

  “Cynic. Maybe life’s always good.” Shoving the chair in place, he moved back to the flamboyant bed.

  Her gaze narrowed. “Pul-ease.”

  “Okay, so it’s not always this fine,” he said, sitting beside her. “But what the hey-let’s take advantage of ”-his brows rose-“whatever this is.”

  She was mildly unnerved by the degree of happiness he inspired. And it wasn’t just his cooking or his sexual skills. He was different from the other men she’d known. Sweeter, kinder, truly obliging, conveying pleasure with a kind of deft benevolence. “I have to brush my teeth,” she
abruptly muttered, and throwing back the covers, jumped out of the other side of the bed.

  “Was it something I said?” he drolly inquired.

  She spun around. “I’m beginning to want you too much. I don’t like it.” Snappish, taut words. Turning away, she walked to the bathroom and once inside, slammed the door shut.

  He didn’t quite know if her combatant statements pleased or displeased him.

  On the other hand, he’d always subscribed to the theory that introspection was much overrated. Particularly in his dealings with women. Furthermore, his long-held belief in that principle had always served him well. So no way was he going to enter any labyrinthine web of emotional curiosity, even if Liv was more intriguing than most.

  Shit always happened.

  He never made plans when it came to women.

  He didn’t even think of making plans.

  It was safer that way.

  By the time Liv returned to the bedroom, she’d had sufficient opportunity to lecture herself sternly about confusing sex with affection. As she’d brushed her teeth, she’d looked into the mirror and chided herself for being stupid. Everyone knew that honesty and openness were bad karma when it came to sexual fun and games.

  What had she been thinking?

  “I’m good now,” she declared, smiling her camera-ready smile as she walked out of the bathroom, wearing a robe now as though in added defense against her outrageous desires. “Forgive my lapse of judgment. I talk too much.”

  “Hey-say whatever you want.”

  Her brows rose in perfect arches. “Because you don’t really listen anyway?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It looked like you wanted to.”

  “Unless you’re a mind-reader, you don’t know what I wanted to do.” He grinned. “Except that.” He held out his hand. “And I want you too much, too. We’re both a little goofy. No sense in making a federal case about it.”

  “Exactly.” He made it so easy to go with the flow. He knew all the right moves. Better not to question how many women it had taken to acquire such practiced charm.

  As her hand slipped into his, he pulled her between his legs and lifted his face. “Kiss me now that you’ve brushed your teeth.”

  She grinned. “Where?”

  He grinned back. “We’ll do that later. Right now”-he pointed to his mouth-“here.”

  In the confirmed goofiness of their moods, their kiss was extra sweet and then not so sweet and ultimately a kind of melting ravishment that left them both breathless and wanting more.

  “I’m too old to waste time kissing,” he said, panting, lifting her off his lap and jerking off his T-shirt and tossing it.

  “And I’m too sexed-up.” After a night of orgasms, all her senses were heightened, her body seething for his touch, overstimulated, eager, impatient. She reached for the tie on her robe. “Nice T-shirt,” she said with a nod toward the rumpled garment on the floor.

  “I found it in the back closet,” he said, standing to take off his jeans. “I like your logo.”

  Her Liv Bell Wines T-shirts were promo items; she had stacks. “A friend of mine’s a graphic artist. Keep it and think of me.”

  “Right now I can’t stop thinking of you. It’s like I’m fifteen again and horny as hell.” His jeans and boxers discarded, he dropped back onto the bed and stretched out.

  “Lucky me to be able to take advantage of your horniness. ”

  He opened his arms and smiled up at her. “Come on down, babe. We’re open for business.”

  She leaped at him, giddy, infatuated, as willing as he to give in to her vaulting desires, no longer questioning what she was feeling. He was the cherry on the top of her sundae, the frosting on her cake of life, the man who could ring all her bells.

  He caught her in midair and lowered her gently until she lay on him, warming all his senses, gratifying a newly susceptible contentment he’d not been aware he possessed. Framing her face in his hands, he just looked at her for a moment, taking in her fresh-faced beauty: the rosy-pink softness of her full lips, the green blue of her straightforward gaze, the smattering of freckles across her fine nose and cheeks that made her look younger than she was.

  She could have asked what he was thinking, but on her own emotional roller coaster ride, she held her tongue. She couldn’t possibly talk about feeling something more than sexual attraction. He’d bolt for the door. “Hey,” she finally whispered. “Don’t forget how greedy I am.”

  His smile was instant.

  Practiced, she thought, but engaging and full of charm.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said smoothly, focused once again, rolling her under him in a smooth, supple movement that belied his size and weight. “You’ll be wanting a few orgasms first to take off the edge, and then we’ll play.”

  Seventeen

  It was four in the afternoon when Jake woke with a start.

  He lay very still, his heart pounding, his fight-or-flight reflex on red alert at the unusual circumstances. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept the day away with a woman after sex. Fuck.

  With every primal impulse exhorting him to flee, he quickly considered his options. Go or stay? With his libido operating at the max, it was a five-second smack-down.

  Any and all perceived liabilities were kayoed.

  Major horniness the winner.

  And bottom line, he reminded himself-Liv wasn’t the clingy type. She was a self-reliant, independent woman who had a life of her own. He wasn’t in danger of losing his free agent status.

  His pulse rate began to subside, the hair on the back of his neck settled into place, his tension abated. It wasn’t the end of the world that he’d dozed off. After two nights of hot sex and little sleep, not to mention a morning romp, anyone would have done as much.

  Having rationalized his squeamishness, he decided he might as well take advantage of his sound decision-making skills. Rolling over on his side, he took in the fine view. Liv was sleeping on her back, her hands flung over her head, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts inviting his touch. Unconsciously flexing his fingers, he recalled the feel of that ripe, pliant flesh. Not a single silicone insert to jar one’s fingertips; just fucking made-to-be-sucked world-class tits.

  His cock apparently shared his enthusiasm for her boobs, jacking up into action mode with renewed energy after a well-deserved rest.

  So the question was, should he let her sleep or not?

  Did she need her rest, or would she rather wake up with a cock inside her?

  Liv had kicked away the sheets in the warmth of the day, exposing her faint bikini line at hip and thigh. She apparently tanned topless; he hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe he’d just been too busy chasing orgasms to pay attention.

  There was no question, though, why she’d been a top model for so long. Liv was quintessentially female. Lithe, curvaceous, fresh-faced and-he smiled-gung ho about sex.

  Not to mention she liked his cooking.

  Or more to the point, he liked cooking for her.

  If he’d been attuned to the warning bells in the distant reaches of his brain-currently muted by lust-he’d have noticed the unprecedented phrase, He liked cooking for her.

  But he didn’t for the above mentioned reasons.

  Instead, he found himself suddenly occupied with the thought of food and a possible supper menu, when he should have been in his car driving home.

  Even more strangely, he didn’t give a rat’s ass that he was veering off his well-trodden path of male independence.

  In fact, he had more or less decided to wake Liv and ask her whether she wanted hot or cold food for supper. He found he was starved. And no wonder; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “I’m hungry,” Liv murmured, her eyes still shut.

  He smiled, not even questioning the bull’s-eye eeriness of her comment in light of their felicitous affinity. “And I’m planning our supper menu.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “
Are you going to stay and cook?”

  “You betcha.”

  “I am one lucky woman,” she whispered, her lashes framing the smile in her eyes. “Let me count the ways…”

  “Amen, babe.” His voice was gentle, his mouth as he leaned over to brush her lips gentler still. Then, unnerved by the wave of tenderness spiking through his senses, he quickly pulled away. “How would you like to be my sous-chef?”

  “I’d be honored,” she replied, picking up on his ultracasual tone. She had no more intention than he of giving in to dewy-eyed feelings, no matter the sweetness of his kiss. Not when he literally made women squeal in excitement when they saw him. God’s truth. She’d seen him on Entertainment Tonight when his L.A. restaurant had opened. He’d been all preternaturally cool eye candy while the women in the opening night crowd had screamed like crazed groupies.

  “Feel like a shower first?”

  Dragged back from the video clip in her mind, she looked blank. “Huh?”

  “Would you like a shower first?” Polite and tactful, like he’d seen that blank look before. Like he was used to women zoning out at the sight of him.

  “God, yes. I reek of sex.” So she’d joined the line of groupies. Not that she had a single regret when she was the happy recipient of super sex à la Jake Chambers.

  Their shower took slightly longer than anticipated, primed as they were for sex. But even hungry sex eventually gave way to more potent hunger pangs.

  “How about a rain check, babe,” Jake finally murmured, water streaming down his face. “I’m getting weak from starvation.”

  She hesitated, then decided she couldn’t be completely selfish forever. “Sure,” she agreed, although nothing about him appeared to have weakened-neither his hard cock nor his strong arms holding her impaled on his erection.

  “Down you go, then.” Unlacing her legs from around his waist, he set her on her feet. Stripping off his condom, he pulled the shower curtain aside, pitched the condom into the wastebasket under the sink, and turned back to her with the kind of focused energy she’d come to know. “Need a last rinse?”

  She nodded, thinking she could use his undivided attention for the next week or so as well. But still rational enough not to utter such heresy, she dutifully waited to be rinsed off.