Taste for Trouble (Blake Brothers Trilogy)

by Sey, Susan

  “Help me what?”

  She couldn’t see him moving forward but every time she looked away then looked back he was closer. He was stalking her, she realized. The realization sent a hot thrill arcing into her stomach, a thrill she couldn’t identify, exactly. Panic? Fear? Anger?

  Anticipation?

  “Transition,” she said, firming her voice up with a heroic effort. “From guy to man. And from what I’ve seen, we have a ways to go.”

  “Ah, Bel. You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He closed the distance between them with a single bold move, propped his hands on the counter on either side of her hips and leaned in. “Since you turned up, I’ve been feeling more manly every minute.”

  She sucked in a breath but the air had gone hot and dense between them. Every molecule separating their bodies vibrated with something Bel refused to name. “See?” she said, and if there was a panicked squeak in her voice she ignored it. “That’s exactly the kind of thing that was probably cute five years ago. But now?”

  Not so much, she’d planned to say. It’s not so cute anymore. But then he leaned in and nuzzled at the hair she’d tucked behind one ear.

  “Now?” he asked, his voice low and pleasantly rough, like a cat’s tongue.

  “Now it’s just—” she began but trailed off. It was hard to form a complete thought with her entire being focused on the inch of space between that gorgeous, perfect mouth of his and her earlobe. She must have wanted to say something, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what it might have been. Couldn’t imagine why she’d been chit-chatting while he was gearing up to do whatever this was to her nervous system anyway.

  “Just what?” He buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in as if she were oxygen itself. A thrill of pure pleasure shot straight through her. “Because I have to tell you, I don’t feel cute.”

  “How do you feel then?” The sound of her own voice shocked her. When had her brain given her mouth permission to speak? And who had authorized a question like that? And in that voice? All throaty and kiss me now?

  Still, when he drew back to gaze at her with those silver-green eyes alight with lust and amusement, she stared back and waited for her answer.

  “Do me a favor?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Shut up a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m about to show you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Oh.” She paused while her sluggish brain connected the dots and arrived at the startling conclusion that he was about to kiss her. “Oh! No! You should definitely not do that. I’d prefer it if you just, you know, told me. Or not.” She gave her watch a desperate glance. “Wow, is that the time? I really ought to get back to—” She broke off, unable to say the word bed with his beautiful mouth two inches from hers and intent emblazoned all over his pirate’s face.

  He sighed. “Bel.”

  “What?”

  “Shush.”

  She frowned at him. “I’m sorry, did you just shush me?”

  “Lord, you’re making this difficult.”

  She stared at him. “I’m a difficult woman.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I just did.”

  He sighed again but closer this time, close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. Her stomach jittered itself right up into her throat.

  He slid one hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and she froze. Her brain said calmly you shouldn’t be letting him do that at the same time her entire nervous system said Yes, please.

  “Um,” she said, her internal gears grinding.

  “Shush,” he said again.

  A spike of outrage shot through her at being shushed two times in a row but it melted immediately into a confused little puddle. Because then he was kissing her.

  It occurred to her, vaguely, that she might be in some sort of fugue state. It was supposed to be kind of like sleepwalking, right? Where you could walk and talk and interact, but weren’t actually conscious and therefore not responsible for your actions? Fugue states weren’t at all uncommon, she told herself. She’d read about them.

  Besides, she couldn’t think of any other possible reason why she was simply standing there, in a threadbare robe and a fifteen-year-old t-shirt, letting the man responsible for the demise of both her job and her wedding kiss her.

  But, lord, what a kiss. If his mouth looked like perfection, she didn’t even have words for what it felt like. All she knew was that he smelled like mint toothpaste and warm man, and that he took possession of her entire body with a fluid ease that had every scrap of her DNA thinking reproduction.

  His body fitted itself against hers as if they’d been custom-designed to dovetail just like this. He moved with the smooth assurance of a man whose mastery of his own body was absolute, but without the air of entitlement that usually went with it. This kiss didn’t demand so much as ask.

  No, not really ask, she thought through the fog of his hands in her hair, the magic of his mouth on hers, the potent invitation of his body against hers. It was more coax than ask. Come on, that kiss seemed to say. Where’s the harm? Just a taste, see?

  He lingered over her lips, as if he had all the time in the world. As if there were nothing more important than learning the shape and taste of her. As if there might be a quiz later and he, by God, was going to ace it.

  How long, Bel wondered with a start, had it been since somebody had kissed her and actually paid attention? Made her pay attention?

  Then his mouth opened over hers. Just slightly, an invitation to a deeper dance. A hot thrill shot straight from her head into the pit of her stomach and she froze.

  An invitation required a reply.

  A dance took two people.

  He’d asked, and now she had to answer.

  She knew what she wanted. She wanted to open her mouth under his. She wanted to savor the hard press of his thighs against hers. She wanted that sparkly wave of heat to keep streaking straight from her belly to the ends of her hair where it turned the air around them dangerously electric. She wanted this kiss to go on and on so she could bask forever in the unprecedented luxury of being...God, it was stupid to even think it but the word that kept popping into her head was cherished. How else could she describe being at the perfect center of another person’s mental, emotional and physical attention?

  It’s professional suicide, her brain said sternly.

  Yep, her body answered.

  It’s an aberration, her brain snapped. A momentary trick of the libido.

  Yep, her body said. And what if it never happens again in my lifetime? Am I really going to let myself shrivel into old age without once having participated in this kind of kiss?

  Will you please grow up? her brain asked.

  Will you please shut up? her body responded.

  She hesitated, her hands awkward and uncertain in the space between deciding and doing. Then she finally released the counter she’d been gripping with desperate strength. She inched her fingers tentatively up toward that sunshiny mass of hair they’d been itching to dive into all day.

  Just do it, she told herself. For once in your life, take a chance.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and screwed up her courage and—

  He pulled back and shot her a wry, lop-sided smile. She eased her hands surreptitiously to her sides.

  “No, huh?” He shrugged as if she’d declined a stick of gum rather than an invitation to his bed. No, not his bed, she realized with a sinking humiliation. More likely the kitchen floor. The counter, if he was feeling ambitious. “Bummer.”

  Bel gaped at him. Bummer? Had he really just said bummer?

  Yes, indeed, her brain said, a trifle smugly. He is exactly the sort of man who says bummer when denied sex.

  Bel dragged the lapels of her robe together over her pounding chest and leaned back as far as the counter digging into her spine would permit. “Do you think you could—” She made a little shooing motion. He lif
ted his hands in easy surrender and stepped back. “Thanks.”

  She cleared her throat and made a valiant effort to do the same with her head. She ought to be relieved, she told herself. Relieved, outraged and maybe even a little ashamed. And she was, all those things. It had been a close call, after all—the underdog Libido had had the reigning champion Will Power on the ropes for a minute there. She couldn’t deny it.

  But what insane, self-destructive part of her psyche had tossed disappointment into the mix?

  There it was, though. A tiny, persistent spurt of disappointment. Gave up pretty easily, didn’t he? it said.

  She yanked out the thought like a weed from her garden. Of course he gave up easily, she thought. If James Blake were in the habit of expending any sort of effort or patience in difficult situations, she wouldn’t have a job. Or, all right, maybe she would have a job but she’d be sleeping with it. Him. Whatever.

  Okay, she told herself. New plan.

  Clearly, she had a weak spot for sunny man-children who thought women ought to fall into their laps like ripe peaches. It was probably in her DNA, same as her hair and her eyes and her height. A wave of old bitterness backed up her throat and she thought thanks, Mom.

  But whatever, right? Just because it was part of her didn’t mean she had to embrace it. She couldn’t control what she felt, only how she acted. And lust was no different from any other emotion when she got right down to it. Being angry didn’t give you a license to act angry, did it? No. Of course not. Self-control. Grownups practiced it all the time, and she was better at it than most. It had gotten her this far, hadn’t it? It would get her the rest of the way.

  But at least now she knew. She had a rogue lust gene at work somewhere deep in her DNA, the kind that, without close supervision, derailed careers, families and entire lives. And she ought to know. She’d seen it in action, up close and personal, more times than she’d care to count.

  It was a blow to have discovered it in herself, but at least now she could be prepared. No more sneak attacks from her own army.

  She gave James a cool look. “Do you treat all your colleagues this way?” she asked.

  He gave her an easy smile in return. “Only the pretty ones who turn up half-dressed in my kitchen after midnight.”

  Bel lifted her brows and maintained a polite silence.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “They don’t have to be in the kitchen after midnight.”

  She let the silence draw out and drop below freezing.

  “Or half-dressed.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “But hey, I draw the line at pretty. And at girls. They totally have to be women. Not that there’s anything wrong with people who go, you know, the other direction. But for me, personally, I prefer girls.” His smile broadened. “They smell nice.”

  “A ringing endorsement.”

  He cocked his head. “Should I apologize?”

  “For what? Being a guy?” She lowered her chin and gave him what she hoped was patient look. “You’ve been gearing up to make your move all day, James. Do you think I’m surprised?”

  “A little.”

  She shook her head. “Please. You have your own unique sense of timing, I’ll give you that. But the move was coming, one way or the other. It’s actually a bit of a relief to have it behind us.”

  “Is it?”

  “Sure,” she said, her tone nice and brisk. “Asked, answered. Check it off the list. Move along.”

  He stared. “Rejecting my move was on your to-do list?”

  “Making the move wasn’t on yours?”

  He considered that one. “All right. Maybe. What else is on there? Your list?”

  She grimaced. “After what I saw tonight?” She picked up the pot from the stove, frowned at the remaining water and dumped it in the sink. She might be in difficult straits, but she wouldn’t make tea with twice-boiled water. A girl had to have standards. She put fresh water on to boil and said, “Your family. Right at the top. Big, bold letters.”

  “My family?” he asked, and his sudden, intense stillness had the hair on the back of her neck standing up. “What about them?”

  Bel threw him a look over her shoulder. “They’re a problem, James.”

  “They’re my problem,” he said. “Not yours.”

  “Sorry, but no.” She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her waist. “Trust me on this one. Kate Davis’ personal standard for civilized behavior does not include hanging around with people who a) drink to excess, b) harass waitresses into unemployment, or c) stalk their favorite strippers.” She met his eyes steadily. “Your family is a problem and unfortunately for both of us, you don’t have any problems that aren’t mine right now.”

  “Okay,” he said, and rubbed absently at the stubble on his jaw. Bel could hear the sandpaper rasp of it over the hiss of the gas burner at her elbow and immediately wished she couldn’t. It made him too...physical. Too real.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll give you that one. What do you propose?”

  She hesitated and he said, “Come on, Bel. Don’t tell me you haven’t spent the entire night making a list—Top Ten Ways to Fix James’ Life. I’ll bet it’s color coded and cross indexed, too. So let’s have it. I know there’s a sub-list titled Family Disaster Solutions. What’s on it?”

  “You’re not going to like it,” she said.

  “I know. Say it. You won’t be the first.”

  “I have a feeling I won’t be the last either. But okay.” She shrugged. “Your brothers are a problem, James. A big one. You need to cut them loose. You do, and half your problem disappears.”

  He considered her, then nodded slowly. “No.”

  “No what? No, I’m wrong? Or no, you won’t?”

  “No, you’re right. But I won’t.”

  She sighed. “They’re grown men, James. They’ll be all right.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “What’s your family like, Bel?”

  “Small.”

  “Brothers? Sisters? Folks?”

  “Just my mom and me.”

  “You close?”

  She gave him a grim smile right back. “No.”

  “Is that no, as in we chat on the phone once a quarter? Or no like, I quit bailing that junkie out years ago?”

  Her smile went from grim to downright frosty. “Neither. We’re just different people, and the lives we chose for ourselves don’t really mesh. It took a few years for everybody to accept that but eventually it was a relief.”

  He gave her a skeptical look and said, “How very practical.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So now that we’ve established your complete ignorance of how a normal family operates, let me tell you this: my brothers and I are a package deal. You deal with me, you deal with them. Their problems are my problems.”

  “Even if you are their problem?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Think it through, James. They act like overgrown teenagers because that’s all they have to be. That’s all you’re letting them be.”

  “I’m not in charge of what my brothers do, Bel.”

  She snorted. “Please. Through you they have free housing, hot cars, unlimited funds, and access to an endless stream of women who enjoy the dubious glory of sleeping with pro athletes and their hangers on. Forgive me for being blunt, but you’re the proverbial golden goose. What guy in his right mind is going to walk away from that?”

  “Wow,” James said, regarding her with an unexpected mix of amusement and pity. “Your childhood must’ve been worse than I thought.”

  She frowned at him, stung. “What do you mean?”

  “All that crap Will was flinging tonight about who makes the money, who gets the girls, who’s got the juice? It’s not about my job, or his job, or anything else.” He smiled at her. “It’s just what brothers do.”

  “What?”

  “We give each other shit. It keeps us humble, see?”

  “R
eally.” Bel gazed at him in wonder, not bothering to make it sound like a question. He believed this. He truly did.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Trust me on this. I don’t like to brag but the fact is, I make a lot of money. A shit load. Way more than one person deserves, especially for playing a game.”

  “Amen,” Bel said.

  “And I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. Obviously I do.” He grinned. “We all do. But it does complicate things.”

  “What kinds of things?” Bel asked. “Certainly not the rent or groceries or car payment sorts of things.”

  “Well, no. Granted. But it does get kind of difficult after a while to tell the difference between people who enjoy your company and people who enjoy your money.” He spread his hands. “My brothers are the only people on this earth I trust to tell me the truth. They loved me before I was famous, believed in me before I’d earned it, and if I blew out my knee tomorrow, they’d still be here to help me figure out if I wanted to sell used cars or insurance, see? That’s how family works.”

  Bel felt her eyebrows heading for her hairline and James shook his head at her. “Or should work anyway,” he said.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. And because I know that’ll stick in your craw, I’ll just break the rest down real simple for you, okay?”

  “Oh thank you,” Bel said, laying the back of her hand against her brow. “My poor little head is just spinning. So much enlightenment all at once, you understand.”

  He grinned at her but it was all teeth and no eyes. He said, “You can either a) draw a big black line through anything on that To Do list of yours that involves getting rid of my brothers, or b) you can find yourself a new job.” He folded his arms and leaned back against the opposite counter. “Multiple choice, just the way you like. Real easy.”

  Bel considered him. He stood across from her, all lazy slouch and wry half-smile. But his eyes were completely serious and she was starting to understand she needed to look there first for her clues on how to deal with this man.

  “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” she asked slowly. “Torpedo your career to keep this unhealthy, inbred thing you’ve got going with your brothers alive?”