One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “Boy, don’t sound so encouraging. Jesus. There’s no music. It’s dark. I’m tired.”

  “If I had a tiny violin, I’d play accompaniment to that whine, but I don’t. Deal, Buonfiglio. Slide your feet like this.” She demonstrated. “Now add a little hip roll. Just pretend we’re horizontal.”

  “If I’m pretending that, I’m losing the pants. And I can’t do that out here because my ass—and other vital things—will freeze.”

  She laughed and lifted her face toward the sky, leaning backward to collect snowflakes on her lips. And she kept dancing.

  He cooperated, feeling like a complete fool. Thank God no one was around to see him. But he couldn’t deny it was surprisingly easy to keep up with her. She was a good teacher, slowing down when he needed her to, speeding up when she sensed he got what she was doing. Then she grabbed his hips and added a whole new dimension to their dance.

  Shit, are we actually dancing?

  “Sort of,” she said, leaning up to give him a quick peck. He must’ve asked the question aloud. “Just add a little more hip action, then I’d say yes, we’re dancing.”

  “Never gotten that request before,” he muttered.

  Kiki grinned, linking her arms around his neck without putting any pressure on his sore shoulder. “You feeling okay?”

  Parts of him were feeling much more than okay. His feet remained mostly still, but his hips had a rhythm all their own. “Mmm-hmm. This isn’t so bad, actually.”

  Her laughter made the long evening without her slide into a distant memory. “There’s a rule, though.”

  “A rule?”

  “Uh huh.” She whirled around to face the other direction and hooked his hands around her waist. As they swayed together, she glanced over her shoulder. “Since I popped your dancing cherry, you can only dance with me.”

  “Easy rule.” Vincent grinned and fanned his fingers over her torso.

  “I’m sure I can make it harder if you’d like.” Blatantly, she rubbed her ass against his erection. “Mmm, though we’re doing just fine with that already, aren’t we?”

  He let his hands wander under her shirt. Her skin felt so damn soft, like a bed of fluffy snow. His thumb skimmed the twist of metal in her navel, and his breath tripped. “God, is that a bellybutton ring to go with your hot-as-hell tattoos?”

  “It is.” She lifted her voice above the tinkling wind chimes. “I had a feeling you’d like it.”

  He craned his neck to take her mouth. Cool peppermint and hot Kiki spun into an intoxicating mix, drenching his senses. “I want you,” he murmured against her lips, meeting her gaze. Illuminated only by the flashing Christmas bulbs, her pupils swallowed most of the gray. “Kiki, I need—”

  When a car door slammed in front of the house next door, he closed his eyes. The spell had been broken. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved.

  What had he been about to say?

  “Vincent. Isn’t that your….”

  He glanced at her, then followed the direction of her gaze. Two people strolled up the walk arm-in-arm, so lost in each other that they didn’t realize they were being observed.

  One of them was his grandmother.

  She was wearing last Christmas’s faux fur—he got her a new one every year—over a shimmery evening gown. He couldn’t make out the color, but there was no mistaking the way she was whispering to the man cradling her elbow.

  Part of him registered that his hands were still under Kiki’s shirt, all but cupping her breasts. But the rest of his mind turned off.

  Kiki wiggled free of his hold as the happily chattering couple ascended the steps. They took their time, obviously still unaware they were being watched from the shadows of the porch.

  The man saw them first. “Lucille,” he said, releasing her arm.

  His grandmother’s grip faltered on the To-Go bag she carried. Harvey’s, Vincent noted, glimpsing the splashy red logo. One of the most exclusive places in town.

  Better and better.

  “Vincent. And?”

  “Kiki Wyatt,” Kiki supplied. “We met at the hospital.”

  “I remember. You’re the girl who….”

  “Got him shot.” Kiki released a short laugh. “My sole claim to fame.”

  “I was going to say the girl who wouldn’t leave him all night. The girl who cried as if her heart were breaking.”

  Vincent didn’t know which of the two of them looked more uncomfortable, but from the tight pinch of her mouth, he’d bet it was Kiki. She rubbed her bare elbows. “Yeah, well, it was a difficult day.”

  Lucille pulled off her leather driving gloves by the fingertips. “Yet you’re still together.”

  “Oh, we’re not—” His sharp glance caused Kiki to fall silent.

  “What we are isn’t the issue,” Vincent said, sliding his left arm around Kiki. He gritted his teeth against the quick flare of pain. “Who is he, Gran?”

  Lucille glanced at the well-dressed older man beside her. Though he said nothing, he held Vincent’s gaze.

  Whoever he was, he wasn’t backing down.

  “My fiancé,” she said finally.

  Chapter Nine

  Kiki’s first thought was to flee. This was clearly family drama, and she wasn’t family.

  Her second thought was that it was two against one. Not that she saw Lucille’s engagement as worthy of confrontation, but Vincent’s rigid stance indicated that he did. So it looked as if she was staying.

  Even if he wasn’t anything more than a friend, he meant something to her. She didn’t like seeing him hurt. And she couldn’t call the expression twisting his features right now anything but hurt.

  She looped her arm around Vincent’s waist and tried to draw him away. If she could talk to him alone, maybe she could get a handle on what his problem was. But he wouldn’t budge.

  “Your fiancé,” he said evenly. He jerked his chin at the honking ring on Lucille’s left hand. “So that’s an engagement ring.”

  Kiki thought that was obvious, but she didn’t comment. Neither did Lucille. She must’ve known Vincent wasn’t finished.

  “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

  “Long enough.” Lucille smoothed a hand over her windswept silver-streaked chignon. “Alistair and I have been seeing each other since the summer, and we got engaged just after Halloween.”

  “Alistair?” Vincent curled his hands into fists, despite the pain Kiki knew the gesture had to be causing him. “He doesn’t even look Italian!”

  Was that a requirement to enter their family? Because she sure wasn’t. She was mostly English, with enough Scot thrown in to make it interesting. But Italian? Uh, no. Not that she’d be needing to pass any Buonfiglio entrance exams anytime soon.

  Lucille’s brows rose. “And Kiki is?”

  As silly as it was, Kiki hunched her shoulders. She’d never wanted to be Italian particularly, though she certainly admired their men as a species. But right now she almost wished she could mention a long-forgotten cousin or aunt to make up for her supposed shortcomings.

  Me? Of course. Let me tell you about my thrice-removed uncle Lorenzo Giovanni Wyatt.

  Vincent scarcely looked her way. “She’s not up for discussion. This is about you and Alistair.” His hand tensed on Kiki’s hip. “I asked you about that ring. You evaded the question. How could you keep something this huge from me?”

  Kiki blinked. For years, he’d hid his romance writing career—even from his own grandmother, the one who’d prompted him indirectly to start writing—yet he was accusing someone else of keeping secrets?

  “I asked if you were sleeping with her,” Lucille waved a French-manicured nail in Kiki’s face, “and you told me no. Do you think I’m blind? But you’re still standing here in judgment of me and what makes me happy?”

  “There isn’t a comparison between the two, and you know it. Kiki and I are involved, fine. So what? We’re both single.” He swore colorfully under his breath, adding in somethin
g that sure as sugar sounded Italian to Kiki. She hadn’t even known he spoke Italian.

  Not that that was sexy or anything. Her belly fluttered.

  “Alistair and I were both single and perfectly able to decide to embark on a relationship together.”

  “You’re barely single.” Vincent’s eyes threatened to bug out. “Christ, it hasn’t been that long since Pop.”

  “It’s been five years, Vincent.”

  When Lucille stepped forward and cradled Vincent’s face in her hands, Kiki’s throat burned. Even though he towered over his grandmother, for that instant he resembled a confused little boy, and everything inside Kiki ached for them both.

  “Five years, sweetheart. I know you don’t like remembering that, and neither do I. But we both need to start moving on. Honey, I want you to be happy for me.” She smudged her thumb over Vincent’s jaw, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Vincent.” Kiki laid a hand on his forearm and winced at the heat pouring through his shirt. Talk about being steaming mad. “Maybe we should all go inside and sit down.”

  “You go inside and sit. I’m taking a walk.”

  Then he did just that, leaving the three of them to stare after him as he rushed down the steps without paying the thin sheen of ice any heed.

  She wanted to go after him. Nearly did, too, until Lucille grabbed her hand. “Let him be.”

  Kiki swallowed over the dryness in her throat, and narrowed her eyes to keep Vincent in her sight a moment longer. For God’s sake, he didn’t even have a coat. “You should have told him,” she said quietly. “It’s not my business, and I know that. But secrets hurt people. Yours hurt him.”

  “What choice did she have?” Alistair asked, speaking in a rumbling baritone that didn’t match his frail appearance. “You saw his reaction.”

  Kiki pushed her hair behind her ears as a cold wind blew across the porch, skittering the last few leaves that had survived the snowfall. When she shivered, Alistair removed his coat and tucked it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you.” She tried to smile, but inexplicably, she felt close to tears. The night had been a whirlwind of emotions, from depression to elation to jealousy to arousal. Tears were all that were left.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Lucille said, urging her forward. “If you intend to stay.”

  She thought of her car, parked at home in her driveway. Well and truly stuck, she was. “Looks like I am, at least until my friends are ready to go.”

  Twenty minutes later, Kiki found herself hovering in Brent’s doorway, eye-to-eye with most of his naked body.

  And what a body it was. The man had more muscles than should be legal, but at least he’d wrapped a towel around his waist before answering her knock. “What’s doing, Kiki?” He waggled his brows. “Wanna join the party?”

  Lynsay was sprawled on the couch behind him, also wearing nothing but a towel, and smoking a cigarette.

  Kiki sighed. Apparently her best friend’s interest in Brent had zoomed past the exploratory stage to full-on nudity.

  God, sometimes she envied Lynsay’s chutzpah. And her ability to handle whatever romantic partner she was dealing with—male or female—without damaging her manicure.

  “She’s got her own party going, Brent.” Lynsay took a lazy drag. “She’s not interested in ours.”

  “Then why is she here?”

  Kiki backed up a step, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, but Vincent took off, and his grandmother’s in her own apartment with her boyfriend—uh, fiancé—and I don’t have a ride home. I can’t just hang out here, waiting for him to come back.”

  “Slow down.” Brent rested his reassuringly large hands on her shoulders. “Granny’s got a fiancé? Since when?”

  “Since after Halloween, I guess. Vincent just found out.”

  A muscle ticked along Brent’s jaw as he nudged Kiki into the hall and shut the door behind him. Lucky thing that this was only a three-family house because his near-nudity might freak out normal neighbors. “Do me a favor, Kiki. Stick around. He won’t want to talk to me or else I’d go down there and wait for him myself.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He wants to be alone.”

  Brent shook his head, rippling the thick cords of muscle in his neck. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’re good for each other. Whatever Vincent believes, being alone isn’t what he needs.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m his friend. His closest one probably, though he’d never admit it. He doesn’t think he needs anyone.” His indolent mouth stretched into a smile. “He’s wrong,” he added, turning back toward his apartment.

  “Wait,” Kiki began, but Brent had already gone back inside and shut the door.

  She curled her toes inside her high-heeled boots. Her feet were killing her, and her eyelids were so heavy she’d need to invest in some toothpicks soon. But unless she wanted to walk the three miles home or interrupt Vincent’s grandmother and her fiancé, it looked as if she wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

  Resigned, Kiki headed back downstairs to Vincent’s apartment. Even the dog had vanished. Not surprising, since Bathsheba seemed to make frequent use of her doggie door. But right now, she needed company, and there was none to be had.

  Unlike Vincent, she had no problem admitting how much she needed people. Well, people that weren’t men, anyway. And they barely counted.

  She tried watching some TV, but that gave her too much time to think. Where was he? Maybe Stacie lived nearby. Maybe he’d sought her out and taken the comfort from her he didn’t want from Kiki. She had certain comfortable things Kiki didn’t. Like really large breasts.

  “No.” She hit the off button on the remote. “Shut up.”

  Her next stop was the kitchen for some wine. He kept some on hand, probably to woo his female companions. But it was a cheap brand and tasted like watery mud. So did the tortilla chips she ate standing up at the counter.

  At a loss, she retreated to his bedroom. She shed her boots and jeans, then eyed his bed. She’d already spent a healthy amount of time in that bed, but she’d never gotten into it alone.

  She’d never actually slept in it, either. Even the night she’d lulled him to sleep with oral favors, she’d stayed awake and listened to him breathe.

  Not that she’d be sleeping now. But she was still shivering and wrapping herself in sheets that smelled of Vincent—and herself, she realized, picking up a hint of vanilla—would offer some much-needed warmth.

  She turned on the bedside lamp, a leftover habit from childhood, as she did every night when she crawled into her own bed. Her father had always understood snapping monsters lurked in closets and hadn’t wanted her to be afraid.

  Her last thought before she closed her eyes was of Vincent. And when she woke to darkness, he was her first. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come home?

  Heart beating fast, she threw back the covers. She bumped solidly into the man who’d been holding her while she dozed, and relief crashed over her like a tidal wave. Thank God.

  As the scent of Vincent’s aftershave drifted over her, she relaxed into the mattress. Relaxed into him. His arm tightened around her stomach, and he sidled even closer until his breath heated her neck. Her eyes shut again, almost against her will.

  No. Get him up. He’ll drive you home.

  “Forget it.” His voice trickled into her consciousness, as sleepy and slurred as the night she’d held him on the floor of the Quikky Snak. “You’re mine tonight.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from snuggling against him. Or from letting his steady breathing lull her back to sleep.

  When he woke, Kiki was in his arms. Though he didn’t know the play-by-play of how she’d gotten there, gratitude soared through him. Followed swiftly by a sort of dizzy delight that she’d stayed. That she was his for a while longer.

  Soft. She was so soft, and warm. So giving as she moved with him. Rising to take him in, the covers shrouding he
r back as she arched.

  His lips clasped her nipple and she cried out, her fingernails dragging down his hips. She clamped around him. Squeezing. Taking. Giving more.

  As his own climax neared, he thrust harder, seating himself more deeply inside of her. Pure heaven. She writhed against him, around him, milking his orgasm for all it was worth.

  She panted against his neck, her fingers fumbling for his. And holding on to her, he let go.

  He tasted himself on her lips when she finally found his mouth with her own and relived the memory of waking to her lips encircling his cock. Yeah, he could get used to this.

  Lingering, he brushed kisses over her cheeks, chin, and jaw, loving her with needy flicks of his tongue. Finding her in his bed last night had been a gift. Just holding her while he slept had comforted him in ways he didn’t have words to explain.

  “I’m like a guy,” Kiki murmured, interrupting his disordered, sex-hazed thoughts.

  She rolled off him and he got to his feet. Somehow he’d gotten on a condom. He was amazed he’d remembered. She made him want to forget everything but her. “Funny, I never noticed.”

  Even the moment it took to clean up seemed too long, but the feeling of her settling on his chest once he lay down again was his reward. “I mean, with sex.” Laughing, she licked his earlobe. “Most mornings, I wake up raring to go. There’s usually no one around for me to take my hormones out on.”

  “I’m willing to be your test subject for as long as you wish.”

  Her hesitation warned him he wouldn’t like what she said next. He was right.

  “Or for the next two weeks, whichever comes first. Speaking of which….” She inclined her chin. “We lost a night. We’re behind.”

  It shouldn’t matter she took every opportunity to mention that the end of the book represented the end of their relationship. She was just being practical. Long-term, what did they really have in common?

  Vincent speared his fingers into her hair and captured her lower lip with his teeth, needing to see the unguarded pleasure slip back into her eyes. The pleasure only he could give her. “So we’ll do two chapters tonight.”