by Gayle Kasper
To her, more than once a month would be often. She had very little time for the culinary arts, beyond a fast sandwich or a salad hurriedly tossed together before she had to get back to the business of running her shop. “Do you entertain?”
One dark eyebrow rose in amusement. “Ah, the lady has a nosy streak.”
“Dinner parties,” she added quickly. “Do you do dinner parties?”
He shook his head. “I’m not into the social scene, if that’s what you mean. I prefer to keep things simple. A few healthy meals for myself, an occasional barbecue, that sort of thing.”
He took out a butcher-block chopping board and began dicing ingredients.
“If you don’t think too many cooks spoil the broth, I can help,” she offered, setting down her wineglass.
He turned and smiled. “How are you at beating eggs?”
“Just try me.”
His smile widened. “Don’t tempt me, lady.”
She felt a hot blush taint her cheeks. “I meant my ability.”
His eyebrow only raised.
“My egg-beating ability,” she clarified.
He shoved a bowl and whisk toward her. “Let’s see some wrist action then,” he said in challenge.
She slid off the bar stool and reached for a blue apron, dangling from the copper peg rack on the wall, carefully avoiding the red one with the invitation to kiss the cook. She suspected the man didn’t need any encouragement. There was danger enough just being in this kitchen with him. “Wrist action coming up.”
She cracked eggs while he grated cheese, working side by side. It was a nice feeling—like when they’d spent the day exploring the ghost town.
Fiona beat the eggs harder. She was beginning to forget she had another life, a life to go back to once this wedding finally came off, a whole other existence, one that didn’t include a man with beautiful shoulders and a powder-blue shirt that rendered his eyes more vivid than the sky.
Nick’s broad hand came down on hers. “Don’t beat ’em to death, Fiona. Use a gentle touch so you don’t break down the protein.”
She glanced up. “Right. Gentle.”
A short while later they were seated on the floor of the living room, Nick’s perfect omelettes spread out on the glass-topped coffee table in front of them.
“Nick, this is wonderful,” she said after one bite, a bite that had melted in her mouth. The man could definitely cook.
“We make a good team,” he said with a dangerous smile. He leaned over and refilled her wineglass.
The wine, the food, the evening alone with Nick was a heady experience. She wanted him to kiss her again. Like he had earlier in Winnie’s kitchen. Once or twice she’d thought he might when his gaze had strayed to her mouth, lingering there just long enough to raise her body temperature.
Or maybe it was the wine. It was a light blend, with a delicate bouquet, that went well with the fluffy omelettes. She took another sip and studied him over her goblet. He ate with gusto. It was, no doubt, the way he did everything.…
That thought made her smile. Nick would be the perfect lover, hot, passionate, giving. She set her goblet down on the coffee table, realizing she’d had far too much.
“So, you think your father and Auntie are in love.” Nick didn’t look at her, but concentrated on his plate. “When did this change of heart occur, might I ask?”
She tucked her feet under her on the floor. She’d kicked off her sandals earlier, making herself comfortable in his living room. “Today,” she said quietly. “Watching them together, seeing the concern in my father’s eyes, the brightness in Winnie’s. Nick, I’ve decided to take back my objections to this wedding. If it’s what Dad wants, what Winnie wants, then I intend to be happy for them.”
Nick glanced over at Fiona, studying her for a long moment. She meant it. She was selling out, going over to the other side, leaving him as the only dissenting voice. “I see.”
“Nick, I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel. The only thing I’ve ever wanted was for my father to be happy—and I think he can be, will be, with Winnie.”
He took a swallow of wine. “Then you believe two very different people can be happy together?”
“In certain circumstances, yes. At least, that seems to be the case with Dad and Winnie.”
He pushed a straying tendril of hair away from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek. Her hair was soft and thick and he wanted to plunge his hands into it, revel in its luxuriousness. “And what about us, Fiona? We’re just as different.”
She started to speak, then stopped and caught her lower lip with her even white teeth, worrying it slightly. At that moment he knew he wanted to kiss her, had to kiss her, to taste the differences between them.
He inclined his head, lowering his mouth to hers, to the sweetness he knew he’d find there. He found that and more. He found need, need as strong as his own; and that, he feared, would be his undoing.
He wished one of them had the power to say no, to pull away, to end this now. He wished one of them had the power to resist the temptation that had hung in the air between them, possibly from the first moment they’d met, certainly from the first moment they’d kissed.
As he sank into the divine taste of her, he knew the power to resist wouldn’t come from him. He didn’t possess it.
They didn’t touch—except for their lips—but he felt as hot as if Fiona had her hands on him. He kissed each succulent corner of her mouth, then the sensitive skin along her neck. “Different is nice,” she murmured. “Very nice.”
He was dying here—drowning in the scent of her, the flowery fragrance of her hair, her musky feminine scent of want, need.
He had to touch her, had to feel her softness, her heat. Hand trembling, he slid his wineglass onto the coffee table, then cupped her face between his palms. With his thumbs he stroked the hot blush of her cheeks, while his mouth sought hers again. He could romance those lips all night, until she was swollen from the taste of him. He kissed them, bathed them with his tongue, nipped their fullness.
She made a soft groan of pleasure and murmured his name. Her voice, low and husky, vibrated on his senses. His name had never sounded so intimate as it did falling from her lips.
He drew her against him. This time it was his turn to groan out in pleasure as she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her lush breasts into him. Yes, different was very nice, indeed.
He reveled in the differences of man and woman, this one woman, who fit so perfectly against him. He groaned again as he thought about their other parts that would fit together so perfectly, too.
Fiona was certain nothing would ever feel so right as this, the taste of Nick’s mouth on hers, their bodies pressed against each other—his, hard and strong and male, and hers, soft and pliant and female.
She could sense the barely controlled passion in him and knew that she held the power to unleash it, to tempt him into dangerous territory, territory from which there would be no going back. It was a power that carried with it a frisson of fear as well as a headiness. And it was that headiness she relished at that moment.
His tongue teased at her lips, begging them to part. “Open for me, Fiona.” His words were a warm murmur, a command, and a supplication.
She possessed no will to refuse him. Her lips parted, quivering with her need for him. He tasted like the wine they’d shared and the saltiness of their evening feast. He sampled and explored as if to learn all her moist secrets. Heat coiled through her, spreading like a river of wildfire along her veins, then coalesced in a blaze at the core of her being.
She wanted Nick Killian, wanted him to make love to her. Now. Tonight. It was a decision born of passion, not reason. She’d lost all sense of reason with that first kiss. She knew she’d regret this tomorrow, but tomorrow was a long time away.
“Make love to me, Nick.” Fiona barely recognized her own voice. It was ragged with unspent passion, husky with want.
Nick sucked in a breath, Fiona’s request sober
ing him. He drew back and framed her face with his hands. He wanted her, wanted her now, more than he’d ever wanted any woman. But a sense of right warred with opportunity. This was Fiona asking, a woman who could possess his soul, a woman who believed in happily-ever-afters and lifetime commitments.
And although the thought of making love to her for a lifetime held delicious possibilities, he knew nothing, least of all commitments, lasted forever.
Fiona stared into his face that was full of doubt—and something else, something indefinable. She’d blundered. Nick was a man who wanted to make all the moves. He’d been turned off by her blatant proposal of lovemaking.
Or maybe she’d misread him. Maybe he wanted only a bit of innocent fooling around, not to share his bed with her.
She felt like a fool and her cheeks flamed beneath his hands. She grasped his wrists, ready to break the only physical connection they shared, except for his stunned gaze that hadn’t left her face. “Nick, forget that, forget I asked—”
“I don’t think I can forget, Fiona.” If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never forget the seductive sweetness of that asking. He’d never had a proposition more enticing.
“Try,” she begged.
She dragged his hands from her face, then turned away from him, but not before Nick had seen the heat in her cheeks. She’d misunderstood his hesitation, thought he didn’t want her when, God help him, the exact reverse was true. He wanted her so badly, his body sang with an ache so keen, so exquisite, he was certain a night of cold showers couldn’t soothe it.
“Fiona, look at me.…”
“I—I can’t.”
He reached for her chin and stroked it with the flat of his thumb. Just touching her made his body throb with an agonized ache. “I want you,” he said, his throat nearly closing off with desire.
She shook her head. “Don’t go all chivalrous on me, Nick. The lady asked, so the lady should be obliged—I don’t need that.”
“I know what you need and it’s the same thing I need.” He drew her hand to his body, placing it against his hardened flesh. “Does that feel like chivalry?”
He prayed for control. The feel of her warmth against him nearly sent him into orbit. He struggled for clarity. Truth. Fiona needed the truth. “I only hesitated because I know I can’t give you what you want, Fiona.”
She withdrew her hand and turned her face up to his. It was beautiful in the dim glow from the lamp. So perfect, so trusting.
“I can’t give you forever, not because I don’t want to …” He wanted to reach into the night sky and pluck down the moon for her. And half a dozen stars to go with it. “… but because I don’t believe in forevers.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Nick, I know that, and I wasn’t asking for forever. I wasn’t thinking past this night, this moment.”
“I was. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
Nick couldn’t hurt her; Fiona could only do that to herself. If she let him stroke her cheek the way he was doing now, if she let him caress her with his soft gaze, if she didn’t pick up and run from his condo this very minute.
“I should send you away for your own good,” he whispered, “but heaven help me, I don’t think I can.”
“Oh, Nick.”
He didn’t say another word, just reached out and kissed her, long and deep and hungrily. Then he picked her up and carried her to his bed.
NINE
Nothing about the room registered in Fiona’s mind, except maybe the moonlight that streamed through the windows, painting them in a cool, silver glow.
Nick set her on her feet in the center of the bedroom and kissed her again, slowly, tenderly. Then he drew back and studied her for a quiet moment. She knew he was offering her the space to think, to change her mind about what they were on the brink of.
She tried to summon up her good sense, but the man standing there in front of her eclipsed it. There was not a shred left to taunt her into flight, retreat.
She wasn’t thinking about forever; she wasn’t even thinking about tomorrow. She reached up and traced his lips with the tip of one finger and was sure she heard him swallow hard, a reaction to her touch. It made her feel wanton.
She lowered her hands to the first closed button on his shirt and slowly, methodically, worked it loose, then the next. Whenever her fingers brushed against his bare flesh, his body tautened, further proof that she affected him.
Her courage, her blatancy climbed the Richter scale.
His hands rested on her shoulders and he slowly kneaded them as she worked. When she came to the last button above his belt, she tucked her fingers beneath it to free the tail of his shirt. His abdomen went washboard hard and he sucked in a breath.
A laugh rose up from her throat.
“You think this is funny?” he asked. “Just wait until I get to you.”
Delicious heat suffused her.
She undid the final button and parted the fabric, then ran her palms across his chest, over the muscles beneath his hot skin, tangling her fingers in the dark chest hair.
Leaning close, she sucked one flat nipple. At his groan of approval she moved to the other, planting a kiss on it, then laving it with her tongue. He grew rigid, holding himself in taut control. Heady with excitement, she trailed one nail down the center of his chest to his belt and struggled to work the buckle. She was suddenly shaky, all thumbs.
“I could offer the lady a little assistance, but I think I’m enjoying this.”
Oh, he was enjoying this, Fiona was sure of that. She could tell by the way he tensed as he tried to restrain himself, his soft gasp of pleasure at her touch. Nick was hers, all hers, at least for tonight.
Finally she got the buckle loose and reached for the zipper below it, lowering it over his hardness, the proof he wanted her. She let her fingers brush against his firm erection as she eased the metal lower. He sucked in a breath and grasped her hand. “You’re killing me, Fiona. Driving me mad. But then I think you know that.”
She suppressed a laugh. “I know that.”
“Well, just remember, paybacks are hell.”
Oh, it wouldn’t be hell; it would be heaven and then some, Fiona was sure, but she let him finish the task of getting out of his slacks. He did so in haste, discarding his shoes and socks.
Fiona gasped as he stood there before her in the moonlight, clad only in taut, straining briefs and his unbuttoned dress shirt, like some magnificent warrior, male and fierce. She smiled at his underwear—a passion-red body-molding silk. “These aren’t as wild as the tiger stripes that tumbled out of your suitcase that day at the airport,” she said in a soft whisper.
“Fiona, about that underwear. I have to confess, lady-killer briefs are not my usual style. They were a prize at a bachelor auction. One female official’s idea of an … honorarium for participating.”
Fiona wasn’t sure whether she could believe that or not. But whatever the story, he was wearing them now, looking enticingly male and lusty.
She swallowed hard. He was beautiful, tanned and lean, shoulders wide, hips narrow, legs strong and powerful, and she looked her fill. Then he tilted her chin up and tasted her lips, a slow, heated kiss, full of the promise of what was to come. “I want to see you naked, Fiona,” he murmured against her mouth, his breath caressing and hot.
She shivered slightly. Her boldness of a few moments before dissipated. She stood stock-still as he ran his fingertips over her skin, the curve of her neck, the length of her arms. He found the hem of her T-shirt and teased the garment up and over her head, then dropped it to the floor beside them. His gaze skimmed her lacy white bra, then he bent and planted a kiss on the rounded swell of each breast that peeked above the cup.
Heat coiled through her and she tangled her fingers in his hair as he slipped his tongue beneath the fabric, bathing the delicate skin there. Fiona arched against him, wanting more.
“Help me get you out of this,” he murmured, reaching for her back clasp.
She loved his
clumsiness with women’s apparel, despite the fact that she suspected he’d had plenty of experience ridding women of their intimate clothing. But she didn’t want to think of that now. She reached back and undid the closure.
Nick’s breath caught at the sight of her. With her hands still half behind her back, the lacy scrap of her bra slid away, revealing her high, firm breasts and her nipples, taut and dusky pink in the moonlight.
He caught her arms, pinning them there behind her back as he flicked his tongue first over one, then the other raised nub. He heard her sharp gasp as he slowly circled each.
It was only fair that she endure a little of the sweet misery she’d inflicted on him. He wanted to bring her pleasure, more than she could stand. He wanted to hear her cry out his name and arch against him, unable to bear the passion. He wanted her to belong to him tonight, solely and completely.
He kissed his way downward along her breastbone, over her flat, firm stomach. Then, reaching the waist of her pink shorts, he slipped them down the length of her, letting them pool at her feet. He ran his hands over the pink lace of her panties, feeling her heated skin through the fabric. He’d wanted to make love to her slowly, make it last for both of them, but he wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic band and shimmied the scrap off her.
Something mystical came over him when he saw her standing there nude before him. In the cool glow of the moonlight, she could have been a flawless alabaster statue—except that he’d felt the fire and fever of her. Fiona wasn’t stone. She was all-too-real flesh and blood. And in a short while she’d be all his.
He trailed a finger over her hipbone. “Oh, lady, you are so beautiful.”
Fiona trembled beneath Nick’s touch. He caught her hand in his, then led her to the edge of the bed. There, he paused.
“I want to make love to you, Fiona, but only if you’re sure you want this.”
She knew that if she hesitated with even a flicker of an eyelid, he’d wrap her in her clothes and send her on her way. And that she couldn’t bear.
