One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  And wasn’t that what you told yourself when you got hired at the Quikky Snak? That it was only temporary? Aren’t those the words you use to fool yourself?

  “Shut up.”

  Yet another reason she could never work as a psychologist, she mused as she plunked down in front of the TV. She talked to herself too damn much.

  At loose ends, she picked up the yellow baby blanket she’d begun knitting a few weeks ago. Stress-knitting was her prime coping mechanism, and in her family, baby blankets were always in short supply. Her sister Jessica was having number three. Annie and Belinda already had a pair each.

  Thanks to their overactive reproductive systems, Kiki was running out of patience. And yarn. Each of her sisters had perfect little families, with seemingly perfect husbands who took out the trash, loaded the dishwasher and woke up to feed the baby without being asked.

  She didn’t begrudge them their happy lives. She loved them. But the idea of seeing all three rosy-cheeked families in two weeks at the annual Wyatt family Christmas bash unraveled her. Once again, she’d be alone. As she’d been alone every year since Nico.

  It wasn’t as if she could ask Vincent. The book would be finished by then. Even considering inviting him was ludicrous. He’d probably laugh in her face.

  Sorry, honey, I don’t do family functions.

  The guy got itchy at the mention of anything family-related, and she wasn’t going to press the issue. Their conversation about her night job hadn’t been about his feelings either. Sure, he might’ve just been concerned, as he said. Or he might’ve been trying to strong-arm her while he still needed her around.

  Well, too bad. Part of her new lifestyle included going with the flow. Enjoying the moment. If that required ignoring things she couldn’t change, she’d damn well do it. Staying the course meant more than angsting over Vincent’s inability to deal with anything outside of his comfort zone. If he even wanted to.

  She had two priorities at the moment—helping Vincent to write his story and getting a job. Beyond that, she decided to seek her zen.

  Over the next couple nights, she worked on wiping the lingering urge to invite him from her head. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. They were just friends, lovers, and co-writers, even if the latter wasn’t entirely accurate. It was his book. But with every scene she helped him write, she began to feel as though it were her book, too.

  He’d loved her sex scene. Of course he’d made some alterations, but overall, he’d offered more praise than corrections. They still argued over word choices and plot devices, and she still quoted from her guide on erotic romance more often than he liked. But being with him made her happier than she’d ever been.

  Best two weeks of her life? Vincent’s injury, her doubts about his sincerity and their lack of sex the last few nights aside, yes, absolutely. Even if it wasn’t a perfect situation by a long shot, she couldn’t deny he’d triggered parts of her she hadn’t been sure would ever respond again.

  At least half of them while she was still dressed.

  The night before he was due to get his stitches out, she arrived at his door a few minutes early. Tonight, they would write Julia and Nathan’s next sex scene, and she’d come prepared.

  Not only had she brought candles and music, she’d included something else in her bag of tricks. Something a bit out of her comfort zone. She’d been a little embarrassed—make that a lot embarrassed—to rent the movie from the video store, but she’d done it.

  Kiki grinned. I’m a romance writer, hear me roar.

  She was flying so high on her nervous adrenaline that her lips were already puckered for a kiss when Vincent opened the door. The move didn’t do her much good. He barely glanced her way before shooting a dark look over his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, unwinding her blue backup scarf. She’d trashed the one she had worn the day they’d gone sledding.

  He gestured toward the melee behind him. “See for yourself.”

  Bathsheba scampered around the lopsided tree Vincent’s grandmother and her fiancé were decorating with strands of popcorn. If that wasn’t enough, Brent and Lynsay were singing carols in loud, off-key voices that made the dog howl.

  In spite of herself, Kiki laughed as she waved at her best friend. As much as she liked Lynz and Brent, she couldn’t help wishing they’d stayed upstairs tonight. “Pretty tree.”

  “I forgot you go in for all that Christmas crap, too.”

  Hearing Vincent’s clipped tone, Kiki lifted a hand to his cheek. “Rough night?”

  “Too many people crowding around.”

  She frowned, suddenly really glad she hadn’t mentioned her parents’ party. He obviously wouldn’t even want to go as her friend, never mind as her lover. Or—gasp—as her boyfriend. Pipe dream city right there.

  When he drew her into his arms and brushed his mouth over hers, she didn’t bristle. She’d begun to get used to his easy displays of affection. “I prefer you and me,” he added, almost as if he could read her mind.

  She smiled against his mouth. It was so hard for her not to give into him, she didn’t bother trying. “Me, too.”

  “We might not get a lot accomplished tonight. I’m not sure how long my guests,” sarcasm laced the word, “are going to be here. I would’ve called and told you not to come, but I don’t have your number.”

  She tried not to feel affronted he didn’t want her to hang out with the others. Failed miserably. “It’s okay.”

  “None of this is okay.” Rather than disappearing into some shadowy corner to sulk, he picked up a popcorn ball and tossed it to Bathsheba. She nipped it in mid-air, then collapsed on the rug, gnawing happily.

  “How long has everyone been here?”

  “Too long, if you ask me.” He helped Kiki off with her coat though his gaze never left his grandmother. “She’s getting married at New Year’s. Can you imagine?”

  “No.” Apparently, Lucille was determined to forge ahead, despite her grandson’s misgivings. Strong woman. “You’re all right with that?”

  “If it’s what she wants, I guess I have to be.”

  “Well, once you hit seventy, your choices should be entirely—”

  “Seventy?” Pleased to see him smiling again, Kiki let him tug her toward the tree. “Better not let her hear you say that. She’s barely a day over sixty-nine.”

  Somehow she found herself decorating and singing carols with the rest of them. Vincent didn’t join in, but he managed to keep his grumbling to a minimum. Once in a while, Kiki even caught him grinning as he sneaked eggnog to the dog.

  Then Lucille brought up the wedding.

  “Alistair’s sons and their families are all flying in. We’re keeping it to just family and a few friends.”

  “How many people are you planning on, Mrs. Buonfiglio?” Kiki asked, trying to cover Vincent’s silence.

  “Oh, we’re keeping it small, since it’s such short notice. But we’re not getting any younger.” Lucille laughed. “Better to have a smaller ceremony with the people who count. Some of the family from Sicily’s coming over, and with Alistair’s sons and their wives and children, we’ll have a good crowd.”

  “A crowd is right,” Vincent agreed, gripping the arm of his recliner. “How many people does small mean to you?”

  “No more than seventy-five,” Alistair answered, clearly sensing trouble.

  Vincent’s eyes widened. “Seventy-five? How many sons do you have?”

  “Six.” Alistair’s voice rang with pride. “Three of them were All-Americans at Texas A&M.”

  “No kidding.” Brent grinned. “Sounds like I’ll like your sons. I played ball in Texas, too.”

  Enough chatting commenced that no one seemed to notice Vincent’s exit. Or so Kiki thought until Lucille laid a hand on her arm. “You can’t keep chasing after him.”

  “I’m not chasing.” Okay, so she was. Just a little. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Let him be. If he wants space, give it
to him.”

  Kiki blew out a breath. He probably wouldn’t talk about what was bothering him, anyway. She could screw Vincent’s brains out, help write his book, and play his little nursemaid. But their families and conversational topics deeper than what each other liked in bed were off-limits.

  She’d had that rammed home last night, hadn’t she? In the book, Nathan spent a short stint in the hospital and that had reminded her of Vincent’s trip to the ER earlier that week. But when she’d asked Vincent why he hated hospitals so much, she’d gotten a gimlet stare.

  How he’d become a romance writer because of his grandfather’s death was the only story he’d ever told her about his family. For pity’s sake, she knew more about her former co-workers at the Quikky Snak.

  Hell, she knew more about her mailman.

  “I like the tree.” Kiki summoned a smile. “This place needed something.”

  “He doesn’t think so.” When Lucille pressed pause on the portable CD player, ending Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, both Lynsay and Brent groaned. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

  “Wait.” Kiki walked toward Alistair. With his suspenders, plaid vest and shiny gold timepiece dangling from his right pocket, he resembled a stereotypical grandfather. Completely nonthreatening, despite what Vincent thought. “I never congratulated you the other night.” She looked between him and Lucille. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

  Alistair dropped his gaze to the plastic flamingo ornament he held. “Too bad her grandson doesn’t feel the same.”

  “Vincent’ll come around,” Lucille murmured.

  But from the worry lines fanning out around her mouth, she didn’t seem so sure. After the displays of temper Kiki had seen from Vincent, she wasn’t sure, either.

  “Give him time.” Kiki patted Alistair’s arm. “He probably just needs to work through it for himself.”

  “You’re his girlfriend?”

  The question caught her off-guard. “Uh, no. We’re just—”

  “Sleeping together.” Lucille shoved her Christmas CDs into her tote bag. “One thing you need to know about my grandson, Alistair. Vincent doesn’t have girlfriends. He has lovers.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “It’s not that simple,” Kiki said.

  Climb up on the buffet, little chicken wing.

  “Whatever you say.” Skirting the dog, Lucille gripped Alistair’s hand and led him across the room. “I wish you luck, dear.”

  A moment later, the door closed behind them.

  Lynsay walked over to kiss her cheek. “Brent and I stopped by here on our way to Cielo’s. DJ Flex is playing. Why don’t you come with?”

  “I’ll pass. I need to….” Play nursemaid again? “Stay here for a while.”

  “Have it your way.” Lynsay squeezed her arm and motioned to Brent. “C’mon, soldier. We’re outta here.”

  “Good luck,” Brent said quietly as he passed her.

  Then she was alone.

  “Luck,” Kiki whispered, studying the half-decorated tree. Gooseflesh rose on her arms while she rubbed her chilly elbows.

  She wouldn’t go off and leave him alone, even if she was sorely tempted. He needed someone who cared enough to stay. He needed her, whether or not he realized it.

  Glancing down, she saw Vincent’s dog sitting at her feet. She rubbed the silky fur between Bathsheba’s ears then walked down the hall, oddly comforted by the mutt’s nails scraping on the hardwood floor behind her.

  She heard the music as she stepped inside his bedroom. Marvin Gaye, his favorite. Vincent was sprawled on his bed, his right arm over his eyes. To some, that pose might represent defeat. But Kiki knew him better than that. He was trying to rein himself in.

  When he dropped his arm and saw her lingering in the doorway, the blaze in his dark eyes proved he was losing the fight. “I heard the door close a couple times. Figured you’d left with the rest of them.”

  “Nope. I’m here for the long haul.” She combated the ire in his tone with the softness of her own. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  She bent to untie her boots and straightened to find him staring at her. “It’s only you and your grandmother, isn’t it? Before your grandfather died, it was just the three of you.” She narrowed her eyes at his clenched jaw. “Before you tell me it’s none of my business, you’re my business, at least while we’re hitting the sheets.”

  “Haven’t been hitting anything the last few days.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Kiki sat down next to his bare feet. “I’m not asking for any reason except that I care.”

  “I can ask questions, too.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Ask, and I’ll answer.”

  “Now you’re Miss Forthcoming all of a sudden.” Annoyance smoldered in his eyes. “You haven’t even given me your damned phone number. All I know about you is what makes you rake your nails down my back.”

  Without looking at him, she rose to retrieve the pen and legal pad out of his nightstand drawer. He’d left them there the night before the snowball fiasco, after they’d decided to do some brainstorming in bed. She’d had to laugh because he’d had an idea not two minutes after they’d finished making—

  Sex, she reminded herself, flipping to a fresh page. They’d had sex. She scribbled furiously, then tore off the sheet and handed it to him. “Anything else?”

  Vincent gazed at her phone number. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t be.” She sounded a lot more ballsy than she felt. Acting lessons often came in handy. “So why are you?”

  He took a breath when she sat down beside him. “My grandfather’s only been gone five years. Alistair probably only wants her money.”

  “She has some?”

  He toyed with the ripped threads in the hole of her jeans. “Not much, but maybe enough for some canny old guy to think he can finesse it away. Over my dead body.”

  Kiki traced her fingertip over the back of his hand. Unlike Vincent and his offhand touches, she was completely aware every time she laid her hands on him. “Have you considered he loves her? That she loves him?”

  “So why didn’t she tell me? She just sneaked around seeing him while I thought she was mourning my grandfather.”

  “She probably still is. Just like you are. Do you really believe one love precludes another?”

  “It should.” His face tensed until she could practically count the lines etched into his forehead. “How can she love Alistair if my grandfather’s memory still means a damn thing to her? If this was really above board, she wouldn’t have hid it for so long.”

  “She was afraid of your reaction. Understandably so.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But it’s been just us for so long, and now she’s bringing in a fleet of his people. Six sons. Christ knows how many wives and kids. Not to mention extended family.”

  When she only grinned at him, he cocked his head. “How big’s your family, anyway? You’ve got three sisters, right?”

  “Yep. It’s pretty standard. Mom, Dad. Both sets of my grandparents are still alive. Then there are my sisters and their husbands and kids. Assorted aunts, uncles and cousins, too.”

  “Man alive.” He shook his head. “Am I the only only child left in America?”

  “Possibly.” She linked her fingers with his. Squeezed. “You’ve mentioned before that you’re not into the big family thing.”

  “I don’t get the big family thing. How do you handle all those people?” He shuddered. “All those emotions, all that drama?”

  She cleared her throat as she gazed down at their joined hands. “The first night I came here, I saw your grandmother on my way out. She told me she had an appointment, and she was all dressed up. She looked so happy.”

  “Why you didn’t tell me?”

  “I’m not sure.” He slid his hand from hers, and she sighed. She’d figured he would. “I suspected something was up, but I didn’t want to get in
volved. I hate secrets. Like this whole writing thing. Every time I have to lie to Lynsay….”

  “It’s none of Lynsay’s business.”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  “So you have to go to confession to her?”

  Trying mightily not to roll her eyes, she shifted on the bed and pulled her leg closer to her body. “She wonders why I’m here all the time, and just what the hell’s going on with us.”

  “So let her wonder. We don’t have to explain ourselves to anyone.”

  “Do you really want her to think we’re—”

  “Having sex? As she already knows?”

  “But we spend a lot of time together,” Kiki pressed. “Because she doesn’t know about the book, she might get the impression there’s more to it.”

  Vincent studied her expressive face. “What if there is?”

  Kiki stared at him as if she’d been hit in the face. Score one surprise point for the home team. If only he hadn’t surprised himself as well by asking the question, he’d probably feel suitably smug.

  “Like what?” she shot back.

  That was the problem with asking questions. They usually required answers.

  He drew her to her feet. “Let’s dance.”

  “Isn’t that my line?” she asked as he pulled her into the gentle sway she’d showed him the other night. Really gentle, since he wasn’t taking any chances with his arm.

  “Yeah.” He brushed his lips over her temple. “You’re a great romance writer.”

  “What?”

  “I told you this already, but your sex scene blew me away.” He nudged her chin up with his thumbs. “Minute I was asleep, you could do it. But not with me beside you.”

  She bit her lip. “It needed work.”

  “Yeah, it did, and we fixed it. But you have talent. Real talent, Kiki, the kind people poke and prod for years to make something out of. Instead of doing something with it, you’re just letting it go to waste while you apply for filing jobs.” He hadn’t expected the last part to come out, but once it had, there was no taking it back.