One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  He leaned into her space. “Today was the second time you nearly snacked on me with your eyes from across a room.” He paused a beat, angling his chin up, challenge in his eyes. “If I’m not wearing my uniform, of course.”

  Miranda fought a wince. She couldn’t deny that one. His eyes were a stony gray under the black slash of dark brows and they weren’t happy. “Look, it wasn’t on purpose.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

  One of his brows arched. “So you’re rude by nature?”

  “Not on purpose!” She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “I don’t know, I’m just getting the package and moving on. It’s nothing personal, you’re just—”

  He tipped his head to the side. “The delivery guy?”

  She could feel her cheeks flaming. “It’s not personal,” she said stubbornly.

  “I’m not sure if I should be offended or relieved.”

  “Go with the good one,” she said, bending her lips in what could pass for a smile. Man, she didn’t want to keep him interested in her, but she couldn’t be rude to his face now that he was a flesh-and-blood person.

  He tucked his thumb into his belt. “Miranda, do you know how long I’ve been delivering to your place?”

  Her stomach did a slow turn at the way he said her name. His voice was a throwback to the DJ era. It had this extra purr to it that made her think of tangled sheets and lots of red wine. God, that wasn’t good.

  Fuck the red wine, go with tequila.

  That long-ago voice in her head chilled her right down to the marrow. She cleared her throat. “I’m going to say awhile.”

  “Three years, give or take a few months.”

  “Hell,” she muttered.

  “Know how many times I talked to your dog and called her by name?”

  She winced, full on this time. “All right, all right, I know I’m a shit, Nate.” She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Happy now? Yes, nasty Miranda ignores the blue-collar boy but secretly finds him really hot from across the room when he’s in a sweater or button-down plaid shirt. Let me go open my laptop and write the romance novel when I get home.”

  His eyes deepened, drawing her in. “Skip the romance novel and meet me at The Gryphon at eleven o’clock.”

  “What?” she blinked. When had that become a segue into asking her out?

  “Come to a concert with me.” He stepped into her dance space and her heart rate went haywire. “My brother’s band is playing there tonight. They’re good.” He pressed closer. She could feel the heat off his body a mere inch from her breasts, but he didn’t close the gap. “If it sucks you can go home. I’ll change my route and you’ll never see me again.”

  Her skin flushed as she resisted the urge to take that last step and touch him again. She remembered how hot and hard his body was at the club. The way he made her feel petite and feminine, but out of control at the same time. The way he made her simply want. And wanted to scream when MJ’s voice came flying out of her mouth. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  This so wasn’t a good idea.

  He smiled, a flash of white with a slightly crooked eyetooth that made her want to dive in and take a bite.

  You know you want to taste all of that until you’re wearing his sweat.

  She turned and walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She didn’t know if it was the voice or Nate that she was running from.

  Chapter Four

  Unwilling to be at the mercy of their public transportation system, Miranda pulled out of her small parking garage. Merging into Friday night traffic took guts and a little bit of crazy, so she closed one eye and stepped on the gas, ignoring the blare of horns that followed her.

  Crap, she hated driving downtown. What the hell had she been thinking when she’d said yes? The temptation to turn around was overwhelming. She didn’t do the date thing. She didn’t even remember how. For God’s sake had she ever dated? She’d ended up with various men over the years, but no official dates or dinners with the option to back out.

  Who the hell put themselves through that? It was masochistic. She tugged at the halter top she’d put on. It was the type that took the option of a bra right off the table. She was insane. It wasn’t as though she needed to go out to a concert last minute.

  Wasn’t that against some rule? Don’t go out with a guy the same day he asks or something? It was one of those stupid girl rules. Made you look— Hell. What did she care if she looked desperate? She wasn’t. She didn’t want this. She’d had a temporary bout of insanity when he’d asked her out.

  “Stupid, Miranda.”

  It’s because you don’t know how to have fun and I do.

  Ignoring the voice, she pulled up to The Gryphon and took advantage of parking around the corner. Spending thirty dollars was worth it if she needed to make a run for it. Trading keys for a tag, she climbed out and let a bouncer-esque type take her car.

  Swallowing a snicker, she watched him try to bend his burly self into her Honda hybrid. It was a little bit on the close quarters end for her, and he had an extra hundred pounds on her at least.

  She heard the strains of bass and heavy guitars as she turned the corner. She glanced down at her cell, noting she was five minutes early. She tucked it in her little string purse, the strap of which she wound through the belt loops of her skirt, tying a knot at her hip. Skin prickling, she forced herself to breathe.

  It wasn’t as if he could say anything if she stood him up. She could… “Sweet Pete,” she muttered as his shoulders came into view. She didn’t know how she knew they were his shoulders, she just did. His midnight hair was tousled and still damp as he turned around. His profile was enough to unfurl the knot of hormones and send them shooting through her bloodstream like a speedball.

  He can make you feel like that again. He can put that little bit of legal speed in your system. Can’t you taste it?

  She closed her eyes, willing that voice to go the hell back where it belonged—her past. She opened them and Nate’s long neck, scraped clean of stubble this time, gleamed in the low red lights that burned over the marquis. His white button-down shirt was turned back at the elbow and the unbuttoned tails fluttered in the breeze off the Bay.

  She couldn’t do this. She turned to go back to her car. What she needed to do was to go back home where she belonged. Not here. Anywhere but here, where ghosts wanted to thrive so very badly.

  “Miranda.”

  She stopped, turning around and swallowing a groan. A tight, ribbed white tank hugged his chest and midsection, carving out the sun-kissed skin so that it seemed even more touchable. A silver buckle glinted low on his hips, showing just how cut he was.

  Take. Now. Pull that shirt up and touch.

  She ground her molars together and forced her lips into a smile. “Hi, Nathan.”

  The full lips that fired up her hormones again quirked into a half-smile. “You look amazing.” He looked down at her boots, his Adam’s apple bobbing in reaction.

  She knew they were a little over the top, but it was the only thing she had that would protect her from trampled toes and went with the rocker vibe of the music.

  “I’m probably going to have a few dreams about those boots.”

  She couldn’t help the smile. “Did you get tickets?”

  He held up two tickets.

  She plucked one out of his fingers. “Sure of yourself?”

  “I had a feeling you’d be too proud to stand me up.” He stood beside her, urging her forward. “I’m not entirely sure on the follow-through, but I’m willing to ante up.”

  “How much is the first call?”

  He smirked, looking down at his ticket. “Forty bucks.”

  She looked down at her ticket and the discreet price in the corner from the ticket booth and the level they were on. “So we’re on the floor?”

  “Can you handle general admission?”

  She smiled up at him. “Glad I wore the boots. I’m game.” The last tim
e she’d been to a show, she’d made sure to have the modest second-tier seats. It was safer there, anonymous and away from the action. And now there she was, right in the thick of things like old times.

  She stepped through the doors of the newly remodeled club. It didn’t hold that many people, but instead of the seedy dive she remembered it was sleek and modern. Jet-black walls were coated in murals that picked up the red glow bouncing off lights and modified black lamps.

  He surrounded her again, instinctively shielding her from a group of teens shoving their way inside. He yanked her out of the way as a pair of bouncers hauled a wildly twisting twenty-something guy out the front. Long fingers gripped her hip, burning through the flimsy summer-weight material.

  Drag him into the bathroom and show him my version of an opening act.

  MJ clamored in her brain, needs and sensory memories feeding off the bodies and the atmosphere so close to her old life in Los Angeles. And even with all the bodies in the room, there was a citrus freshness coming off him that made her want to get closer.

  Just one touch, that’s all it would take. He’s willing. You can see it in his eyes. Take… He’ll make you feel alive again.

  Because she wanted it so bad, she slid away from him into the throng of people trying to get to the front of the club where the stage shone under a red wash of lights. She felt him at her back as the room started to fill.

  He pulled her aside lightly, his fingers teasing down her arm until their hands were clasped. “We’re both tall enough to get a good look if we move over here.”

  She held her breath, her skin alive with that simple touch. Really, how long had it been since someone had done something as simple as hold her hand?

  He settled her against a post, his smile easy and attentive. “Guard our spot with your life, I’ll get drinks.”

  “I’ll have a w—” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for a red wine, but this didn’t seem the type of place for wine. This was mixed drinks or beer.

  Tequila.

  Ignoring the voice, she managed to smile back at him.

  Tequila shooter with a side of tequila, drenched delivery boy.

  “I’ll have a beer, Dos Equis if they have it.” Damn. Couldn’t quite get away from the Mexican. She shifted her purse around to the front.

  He raised his hand to stop her. “I asked you out, I pay.” He shook his head, leaning down so she could hear him. “I’d never have pictured you for a hard-core beer girl.”

  She trapped her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t reach up and test out those wide shoulders. She remembered just how muscular and fluid they were and wanted more.

  He’s willing. Look at that mouth, it’s made for kissing. Made for going down on a woman until she’s screaming. You remember what that’s like, right? The way two bodies can move together until you’re so exhausted that breathing’s an effort? Remember?

  She stared hard at his lips and for a moment, she ached to find out. She closed her eyes for a second to get a grip, opening to find his mouth hovering over hers, one arm braced above her. Oh God, he thought she was looking for a kiss.

  She didn’t want him to feel like a jerk, so she smiled up at him. Keeping them there on the threshold of a kiss was a little like foreplay. The what-ifs could make for a tense evening, or an evening of high awareness. She’d played both games and wasn’t sure which one would kill her first.

  “The beer?” she said a breath away from his mouth. Her heart pounded in her ears as his nostrils flared once.

  She knew if he wanted to push it, she’d cave. She was honest enough with herself to own up to that at least. A shaggy lock of his hair fell forward into his eyes. She itched to move it away, to feel that surprisingly thick hair between her fingers again. Instead she dug her fingers into the steel beam behind her. His attention lingered on her mouth for a moment more before he met her gaze. She heard him swallow just before he pressed those distracting lips together, breaking the moment.

  “Right,” he said, half a beat later, then pushed away and headed to the bar.

  She sagged against the cool metal, pressing her shoulder blades flat to the thick-gauge bolts behind her. Slowly the room came back into focus as the band’s tech people finalized sound check and the cavernous lower level filled. A wide banner with the band’s name on it surprised her. When he’d said his brother was in a band, she was expecting a local no-name, not Sylar. She loved to jog to music and Sylar’s album was on a permanent rotation for her harder workouts.

  She felt eyes on her, turning away when two men stared at her intently, talking amongst themselves.

  Breathe. They don’t recognize you, stupid. Especially here, where the median age is twenty-two. She found Nate in the crowd, two beers wrapped in the blunt-edged fingers of one hand and a pair of bottled waters in the other. “I do love a man who thinks ahead,” she said when he reached her.

  That crooked eyetooth flashed as he grinned. “I’m always thinking ahead, you’ll learn that.”

  “I will, huh?” She took the beer and one of the waters from him. She took a sip as he watched her intently. “You need to stop doing that,” she said and looked to the stage.

  “I like looking at you,” he said simply. His baritone voice made that very plain. “Not to mention, you look different from the Miranda I’m used to.”

  She looked at him sharply. “I’m the same Miranda.”

  His eyebrow raised into the inky shag of bangs that framed his angular face. “The Miranda I’ve come to know is straitlaced and buttoned up.”

  She was saved from answering as the house lights went low and Sylar’s lead singer screamed his way out onto the stage. The surge of people that bumped and pressed forward took her by surprise. Nate snagged her water, shoved it down the deep front pocket of his jeans and pulled her in front of him. The rush of people and the wall of heat behind her were disconcerting.

  She tried very hard to concentrate on the show. Sylar had a great sound that blended punk with mainstream rock. Instead of relaxing and enjoying the show all she could think about was the man behind her and the odd puff of breath that stirred her hair every once in a while. She took a deep drink from her beer and tried not to think about him behind her for another reason. Would he grip her hair again? Would he be a nuzzler?

  She glanced back, his gaze focused on the stage as he raised his beer in response to the singer’s demand for reaction. Nate’s guttural yell of response for more mixed with the increased frenzy of the crowd. The ebb and flow of people set her back against his front. He’d taken off his button-down shirt as the temperature level in the room skyrocketed. He’d tied it at his waist, leaving only the skin-hugging tank to drive her crazy with.

  It was her problem that it accentuated his long neck and broad shoulders. Her bare shoulder brushed against the hard muscle of his chest as he sang along to Sylar’s song that was gaining radio play. He looped his arm around her, and the fresh scent of oranges and warm male hit her hard and low. Nate hugged her close and sang louder, urging her to do the same.

  He didn’t seem to notice just how beautiful he was, and how distracting his body was. She tried to focus on the bar song that required a lengthy round of choruses and sing-a-longs, and each time he chanted the words in her ear she loosened up a little. It was so easy to relax around him. He didn’t angle for a cheap grope, just seemed to like her against him.

  Suddenly the ground shifted under her and she had no choice but to wrap her arm around his neck as he lifted her up onto his hip to see the stage better as the concert wound up. He tucked his forearm under her butt and he held her easily.

  “Awesome show!” he yelled over the crowd.

  She lifted her own beer in salute and caught the singer’s gaze as he nodded toward her. She looked down at Nate, his sweat-slick shoulders requiring her to hold on tighter. She caught her breath when he looked up at her with a smile that held no calculation, no false charm. Wrapping her other arm around him, she hung there for a moment b
efore he set her down.

  Nathan had started off the night wondering if she even knew the definition of loosening up, but as the concert went on she did just that. She had an innate sexuality that she was fighting against.

  When she was most at ease, she’d raised her arms in time to the music, shifting lightly against him. It wasn’t the same club music that had led her to him, but music was music. There was a steady beat to it no matter the genre, and she found it.

  It had been instinct to lift her up and let her experience the music. To put her closer to the action and see that soft smile bloom into a wide, sparkling one. And as he put her back down on the littered concrete, she looked up at him with shining eyes that weren’t green and weren’t gold—something in the middle. When she looked at him like that, he wanted nothing more than to drag her away to a secluded space and find out just how many different colors he could draw out with a kiss or a touch.

  Her fingers smoothed over his shoulders and into his hair. Riding instinct, he dipped his head for the kiss that he’d been denied earlier. Instead of a slow, deep kiss, he got a flying elbow to the back.

  He instinctively curled around Miranda, herding her out of the gathering mosh pit.

  “What’s going on?”

  He leaned down, her cocoa butter scent distracting him.

  “Nate?”

  “Sorry,” he mouthed into her ear. She shuddered, a little jerk of reaction that made him want to cheerfully beat every useless douche bag in the place. This so wasn’t the time. He gathered her in, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips again. “There’s a fight breaking out.”

  “Oh,” she said and held on as he moved them out of the way. Her eyes widened and she gnawed on her lower lip as three guys got into it. They tried to ignore them and enjoy the show, but the chain reaction became a clusterfuck. “Can we—”