“I can think of better things to do in the dark than sit.” He mustered a wink and a grin, but his voice still sounded strained.
“I see you’re feeling better. Want to talk?”
What was it about women and talking? Of course he didn’t want to talk, but she was truly concerned, and he didn’t want to lose her friendship.
He mussed her hair. “Want some hot chocolate?”
“Sure, chocolate’s great for broken hearts.” She stood and removed her suit jacket. Her blouse was rumpled underneath, buttons straining across her boobs.
“Mexican or Filipino style?” He tore his gaze from her chest and walked to the kitchen.
“How about regular? I’m boring.” She followed him and propped her elbows on the counter.
“In California, we don’t do regular.” He opened a tin and extracted wrapped chocolate disks. “I’ll hold the ancho chili powder, but do you want cinnamon?”
“Sure, cinnamon’s okay.”
“See? You’re not boring.” Dylan set water to boil. “What are you doing home so early? Don’t you have a date?”
“Boss let us go today. And no, I wasn’t about to go out with the guys. Did you know about models and bottles?”
“It’s crazy.” Dylan snickered. “Another reason why I don’t like bankers.”
Carina’s mouth hung open, like she couldn’t believe what he’d just admitted to.
“Present company excluded.” He chuckled and broke the tablets into the simmering water. “Don’t tell me you approve of their behavior. You saw that movie, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but our bank’s not like that. We’re not brokers.” Carina crossed her arms.
“Game’s the same. Selling.” He stirred to melt the chocolate, then measured the spices. “Want some turmeric? It’s got major health benefits.”
“Sure.” Carina bit her lips as if chewing on a pencil. “It’s more than selling. There’s a satisfaction that comes from working with a highly energetic team of people and making the world a better place since businesses exist to serve people.”
“You know, you’re cute when you’re trying to sell me something?” Dylan poured milk and sugar into the chocolate mixture and whisked it.
“I’m just helping you see the positive aspects of investment banking.” Carina perched on a barstool. “Why are you whisking the chocolate?”
“Do you like it frothy?” He licked his lips and couldn’t help wiggling his eyebrows. “How about spicing it up with a little cayenne?”
“Sure, hot and frothy sounds good. See? I am adventurous.”
“I never said you weren’t.” He lowered his voice as if he were letting her in on a secret.
She clasped her hands so tightly, her knuckles were white. “Right. That’s why I’m in banking. There’s always something new and challenging in the works. I’m sure you’re an excellent fit for banking.”
“Are you?” Dylan added pinches of cinnamon, cayenne, and turmeric into the chocolate mixture. Why was she trying so hard to convince him? Perhaps she was insecure with her choices. Overcompensating and feeling guilty about the fact that bankers were self-serving leeches.
“Sure,” she replied. “I’d like to think I’m the type of person well suited for banking.”
Dylan didn’t want to concede her that point. He couldn’t imagine her eating people’s hearts for lunch or selling them toxic mortgages guaranteed to sink them into an abyss of debt.
“Good for you. Are they keeping you busy at work?” He poured the whisked mixture into mugs and handed her one.
“Sure am. I’ve been promised a role in an important acquisition team.” Carina tipped the mug to her lips, looking proud of herself.
“Sweet. Not every intern gets this kind of exposure.” Dylan reached into the cabinet and took out a bottle of cognac and tipped it at her. “You want this spiked?”
“It’s spicy already.” She fanned herself but pushed her mug forward. “Sure, I’m underage.”
“As you keep reminding me.” He laughed and poured her a shot. “When’s your birthday again?”
“End of July.” She tipped the mug to her lips, wincing slightly.
“Wait, wait!” Dylan opened the freezer and took out a frozen whipped cream heart. “Nothing passes those lips until you have my heart.”
“There you go, flirting again.”
“Who me?” He peeled the heart from the wax paper and slid it into the sea of chocolate. “I meant every word.”
She blew on the cream heart, an endearing blush spreading on her cheeks. “You’re too complicated for me. My mother said not to mistake a guy’s words for his feelings.”
He held his mug to hers and tapped it. “A toast, to complications and mistakes, because life’s too boring without them.”
“Complications but no mistakes.”
“Mistakes have a way of surprising you.”
Hmmm … a meandering road with a few wrecks along the way might make her a more complete person.
He set his mug down and placed his hands on the counter on both sides of her, surrounding her from the back with his arms. He was either going to get kissed, or socked in the kisser, but he couldn’t stand dancing around her anymore.
Not tonight. Not when his world was falling apart and she’d thrown him a lifeline.
~ ~ ~
Carina froze, her elbows on the kitchen counter. Dylan’s warm breath tickled the back of her ear and his broad chest enclosed her in a cozy cocoon. How she wanted to lean back and melt into him, but it would not be wise, not when he was still hung up on another woman.
She took a lingering sip of the luscious chocolate, trying her best to appear unaffected by the deep longing washing over her. The spices in the drink raised heat below her belly, and a desperate need rumbled inside her. Dylan Jewell would be any woman’s dream date, clear bragging rights, a real rock star, and guaranteed good in bed.
Tingles perked her nipples when Dylan’s biceps brushed the sides of her breasts. Investment bankers were bold, even brash, worked hard and played harder. Definitely not hesitating, fearful of a guy who served coffee for a living, a guy Rebecca would squash under her Versace boot heel and never break a sweat.
She swallowed the spiked cocoa, placed it firmly on the counter, then turned herself on the barstool so she faced Dylan. No more withering wallflower, although she couldn’t think of anything witty to say. The alcohol emboldened her and she turned her face up, meeting his gaze with one she hoped challenged him.
He traced the outline of her face, his eyes never leaving hers. Carina’s heartbeat quickened, but whoever averted eye contact first would be the weaker one. Dylan solved the problem by tilting his head and leaning in. She closed her eyes and waited, and waited, and waited.
His breath, chocolaty with a whiff of cognac, hovered so close, but he made no further move.
Carina opened her eyes only to see the tail end of a smirk disappearing from his face. She shoved his chest. “Big tease.”
His eyes were unblinking. “I want you to be sure.”
“I’m sure I don’t want to.” Could she think of something that sounded less childish?
“Then nothing’s gained and nothing’s lost.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “I won’t deny I’m attracted to you.”
She wasn’t going to admit anything to him. Why wasn’t he backing away? His closeness charged the atmosphere with energy. Tension like a brewing electrical storm sparked in the short distance between them.
“You’re a walking hormone. You’re attracted to anything with ovaries.” She turned her face and flicked her hair from his reach. Goodness, she was so lame on the comebacks, and she slurred from less than a shot of cognac.
“Really?” He leaned back and rocked on his feet. “And what kind of man are you attracted to?”
Carina fiddled with her necklace and swallowed. “Certainly not ones with long hair who forget to shave and go around flexing their muscles like some crazy rock st
ar.”
“Glad you noticed.” Dylan caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “What do you suggest doing about our mutual attraction?”
He was propositioning her. Carina pressed her hands on his chest to keep him from closing in and hearing how hard her heart pounded. She couldn’t catch her breath and even though her mouth watered, she didn’t want to lick her lips.
“I, I don’t know. Sleep on it?” Carina’s mind and tongue were fuzzy. “I’m kind of drunk, so not likely to make the best decisions.”
Was she stupid or what? Practically inviting him to take advantage of her. “What I mean is you’re a mistake I don’t need to make.”
Yikes. That was a mean thing to say. Carina cast for an explanation, and when none came, she left her drink and excused herself.
~ ~ ~
Dylan loaded the empty mugs into the dishwasher. What kind of idiot was he to start something with her? Not only was she ambitious like Rebecca had been, she was smart, beautiful, and looked down her nose at him. Crazy rock star, forgot to shave, long hair. Dylan rubbed his jaw, making a sandpapery sound.
She was as uppity as the rest of them. The only use she had for him was to shop for her groceries and make her a latte in the morning. He’d thought taking her to the community gardens would show her what he cared about, the simpler life and helping others. But all she saw was the dirt and the bugs, and a guy who didn’t make seven figures and wear designer suits.
Dylan finished cleaning the kitchen and stormed into his room. Setting up the barbell, he lifted it onto the rack and stacked weights on each end. He added more weights to the leg extension and arranged the dumb bells in a row next to his bed.
Usually, he tapered his lifting as his muscles tired. But tonight he wanted to hurt, wanted to feel the burn, the pain in his body overshadowing that in his heart. It was a mistake to invite Carina to room with him.
Two years ago, he’d escaped the world of banking, not giving it a thought. Dropped out of the fast track and contented himself with the band and serving coffee.
He’d shielded his heart with women he had no interest in. Ones who looked at him as a temporary adventure, an artsy interlude while in college, before graduating to the real world of doctors, lawyers, and entrepreneurs.
Dylan increased the weight on the bench press. His chest ached and his arms were numb. Grunting with each lift, he pushed the pain from his heart to his fingertips. The weights clanked as he dropped them onto the bar, barely able to clear the height. Lactic acid pooled in his arms and chest.
One more set. He shouldn’t be attracted to tough, ambitious women. He hated the way they ranked people by labels: school, employer, department. As if someone from Harvard was superior to a person from Cal State, much like a Rolex outranked a Timex. People were people, not designer clothes.
His chest heaving and his breathing uneven, Dylan moved the barbell off the rack. One, two, three, four … five, uh, six, ooph … s-se-ven—. The bar wouldn’t budge … just one more inch … it thumped onto his chest. The jolt of pain knocked the wind out of him. He gagged and coughed, squirming under the bar.
He could rest a bit. Wait for his muscles to recover and give it a try. Sweat dripping down his face, he tried to collect his breath. One big push. Just one.
“Uuugggh.” He grunted and pushed, but his arms were numb. He’d read about guys who died with the bar on their chest. Lifting without a spotter. Stupid. Lifting after drinking. Even dumber. Lifting with a broken heart. Pathetic.
A vision of his mother passed over him. She’d understood him, encouraged and accepted him. She’d died too early, and if he didn’t get these weights off his chest, he’d be meeting her soon.
“Carina!” he shouted, his breath seething between his gritted teeth. “Carina, I need you.”
The door swung open.
Carina took one look and rushed to his side. “Dylan, you hurt?”
He strained, grunting against the bar. “Slide the weights off for me. I dropped the bar on my chest.”
“Okay. You’ll be okay. Please be okay.” She unclipped the collars and slid the weights, one by one, off the ends of the barbell.
He placed the empty bar onto the rack and rolled off the bench, hiding his face. He was a loser. That was what Rebecca had said—what Carina was thinking now.
Chapter 13
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Carina helped Dylan to his bed and leaned over him, pressing on his chest. “Does this hurt?”
“Everything hurts, but I’m okay.” He held his hand over his breastbone. “Thanks for helping me.”
Now that the crisis had passed, Carina noticed how close she was to him. Her hand lingered on his chest, but she was afraid to move it. “Maybe you broke a rib.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“I’m sorry what I said earlier about you being a mistake,” she stammered. “I don’t handle alcohol well.”
While he was lifting, she had gone online and browsed through Dylan’s Facebook profile, trying to figure out which girl had broken his heart, but none had stood out. The refrain from a song buzzed through her head, something about a mistake she couldn’t live without.
The muscles in his jaw twitched and he shook his head. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake.”
“It’s not you. I’m the problem. I don’t know what I want.” Now wasn’t the right time for emotional attachment. Learning, yes, experience, definitely, but feelings? No way.
His eyelids lowered half-mast as he stared at the hand on his chest. “Car, you don’t have to explain. Are we still friends?”
Relief settled on her like a warm hoodie. “Definitely. Sure you’re okay?”
A sly grin spread on his face. “I might have bruised my heart or something. Maybe you should check it out.”
Something about the way his voice inflected gave Carina the urge to take off her clothes. Dylan was quick to forgive and well, now that she had him in his bed half naked, she might as well get an education.
“Sure, I might have to remove your shirt to give you a proper examination.”
His eyes intently on her, he raised his arms, groaning slightly as she lifted the shirt over his head. His chest glistened and his six-pack ridged unevenly, the muscles on the right side higher, in a staggered, stair-cased fashion.
She ran her fingers over the ridges of his abs, her gaze following the line of hair below his belly button.
“Ahem.” Dylan cleared his throat. “There aren’t any broken bones down there.”
Maybe nothing broken, but he had a big boner tenting his sport shorts.
Moving to safer regions, she traced around his pectorals. “You don’t have any tattoos. Not even a tiny one.”
“Do I disappoint you?”
“I didn’t know what to expect.” Truth was she hadn’t seen many bare chests up close, and she definitely hadn’t touched skin so hot the sensation burned from her fingertips to that spot between her legs.
“You stereotyped me,” Dylan said, his voice husky. “Guitarist, rocker, barista, he’s got to have tats or body piercings.”
“And what do you think about me? Straight-A student, overachiever, anything else?”
His muscles tightened under her touch, but he kept his hands at his sides. “I’m betting you’re not very experienced.”
“You’re wrong.” Carina twirled her index finger around his nipple. “I’m extremely experienced.”
She was playing in the big leagues now, no sandlot pinch hitters. Dylan Jewell was a grand slammer if there ever was one.
His breath sizzled between this teeth. “Oh, really? How many?”
“How many what?” She’d bluff him. He teased her plenty, now it was her turn to get him back.
“You know, partners.” He quirked a single eyebrow.
“Hmm … plenty.”
Wincing slightly, he put his hands behind his head. “That’s wonderful. I like experienced women with plenty of pa
rtners. That means they know what they’re doing.”
“Absolutely.” She jutted her chin, trying to look confident. “What would you like me to do besides check for broken bones?”
“Carte blanche. Anything you wish. You saved my life, so I’m yours to take.” He trained his deep-blue eyes on her as a slow, seductive grin broadened his face.
Wow. How often would a woman get Playgirl centerfold material spread out for her enjoyment? Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Carefully, Carina placed both hands onto his shoulders, squeezing their rock-solid strength. She ran the fingers of one hand around the nape of his neck and moved the other down his side, stroking the muscles surrounding his waist. Warmth spread from her palms to her chest and heated her panties dangerously.
Dylan sucked in a breath as her hands wandered to his hips. She avoided the area of obvious engorgement and hooked her fingers under his waistband. His eyes closed, he arched his hips to let her wiggle his shorts off.
Even though Carina tried to keep his boxers on, they clung to the sport shorts and Dylan’s glorious cock popped into view.
Huge, uncircumcised, with a drop of liquid sparkling at the tip where the dark pink glans was partially exposed. What would it feel like in her hands? Would the skin be stretchy? She couldn’t help licking her lips. It looked … tasty.
A delicious shiver throbbed to her crotch and her pulse raced. If her panties were damp before, they were positively soaked now.
“Go ahead,” he muttered, his voice barely there.
Would he really allow her to touch it? What would happen if she stroked it?
She mustered the courage to reach for it, but when it jumped, she jerked her hand back. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Dylan had to have done that on purpose. Now he was probably laughing inside, although he lay perfectly still except for the throbbing of his lively rod.
Gah! I can’t do this. He’ll figure out I’m a fake.
She averted her eyes and pulled his shorts up, her hand brushing the tip as she struggled to stretch the waistband over it.
Dylan pulled her to his side so they were nose to nose. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
Whole Latte Love (The Jewells) Page 13
