One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  Leaning on the rail, she looked out across the Bay. It was surprisingly clear as the sun flashed the last of its light along the waterline. Fog drifted around Treasure Island and—she swallowed as her heart rate kicked up again—Yerba Buena. She slid her hand across her lower belly, over the airy material of her running pants where his fingers had teased her for hours on end the night before.

  Never in her life had she been so totally aware of her body and a man at the same time. She’d done dark things for pleasure, but the end-of-the-earth clubs she’d sought out to feel something—anything—couldn’t hold a candle to what Nate had shown her in a few short hours.

  The snap of Stella’s leash on her wrist whipped her out of her reverie. “Stel, cut it out,” she ordered. Instead she pulled harder and, unprepared for her dog to actually pull away from her, the leash flew out of her hand. Panicked, Miranda ran after her. Stella was beyond harmless, but the Embarcadero was a maze of people on a Sunday. “Stella!”

  She pushed through the crowd, apologizing automatically as she jostled, dodged and shoved to keep Stella in sight. Of course keeping a huge silver shag of a dog in her line of vision should have been easy. She tangled with a tourist and three cameras, apologizing profusely as she kicked up her speed, zigzagging around children and adults.

  “Miranda!”

  She turned to the voice.

  “Miranda!”

  She swung around again, and spotted dark hair and burning gray eyes. The bright crimson leash and Stella came into view. Her dog, panting happily, had planted her butt on Nate’s boot.

  His grin was easy when he ruffled Stella’s fur. “I think you lost something.”

  She brushed her sweaty bangs out of her face, cringing inwardly at how bad she must look. Tucking her palms into the sleeves of her shirt, she walked forward. Nate handed over the leash, their fingers brushing before she pulled away. “Thanks.”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Here?” She looked over her shoulder at the throng of people scattered across the footpaths that made up the piers and Embarcadero. She turned back to him, her breath hitching. He’d moved closer. His shirt was tied to his waist again, in deference to the unusually warm day, leaving just the tight outline of his tank-style undershirt. His hair shagged around his face, much the way she’d seen him the first night she’d gone out with him.

  “No, I went to your place but there was no answer.” He took a step back as another pedestrian bumped into him. “Let’s go over there and get out of the way.”

  His hand was open, palm out for her to go ahead of him. It settled on her lower back and she hurried her step. She was still sweaty, no matter what the description was on the running clothes she was wearing, there was still sweat at the base of her back. She watched him curl his fingers into his palm at her quick move and sighed. God, could she do nothing right? Chasing instinct, she grabbed his hand with both of hers. “I’m sorry, Nate.”

  He leaned against the rail, swallowing once as he looked out at the water over her shoulder. “Sorry for what?” He looked down at her, his eyes as restless as the evening waterway. “For not wanting me to touch you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just sweaty and gross, nothing about your touch makes me flinch away.” His fingers gripped the rail. The flex and bunch of his forearms made her own hand tighten in reaction. “There are things about me that I’m uncomfortable talking about, things that make me a little…” she trailed off as he stared down at her intently. She lifted a hand to his chest. “Things that make me really hard to be around sometimes.”

  Stella wandered around Nate, pushing them together as she bumped his calf. His hand slid away from the cool metal to her waist. When she squirmed, he stopped her. “A little sweat isn’t going to stop me.” His thumb traced the slice of flesh between her shirt and pants at the small of her back. “I’ve tasted and licked far more than that off you, Miranda.”

  Her stomach bottomed out as she let herself sway against him. Flashes of his dark head between her thighs did nothing to help her need to get closer to him. “That’s very true.” Stella snuck between their legs and pushed her off balance until she had no choice but to let Nate gather her in. She buried her nose into the ribbed cotton at the center of his chest. Following the line of his abs, she traced her thumbs below the curve of his pectoral muscles until she heard the rumble of a low groan. “I missed you, Nate.”

  Nate wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush until she could feel every inch of him. “You’re killing me here.” She gave a yelp as Stella made one more pass between their legs and Nate lifted her. “Can you get free?”

  She kicked the leash free and hung on to his shoulders, finding herself hanging off him. “I think Stella’s playing matchmaker.” He nuzzled her neck until she arched back with a carefree laugh, her butt pressed into the rail. “Nate!” She gripped his shoulders, the quick rush of air at her back heightening the almost kiss. He nipped along the column of her neck for a second and let her free. She dropped down to the pavement, ridiculously pleased when he slid his hand in hers.

  “Care for a walk?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  Not even close to tired anymore, she smiled back at him. “A walk sounds perfect.”

  Nate snapped his wrist, rolling onions and garlic in the pan as he added the fresh vegetables he’d found in Miranda’s fridge. Grabbing the takeout box on her top shelf, he flipped it open to find steak and broccoli, dumping that in. As a single man, he’d learned how to make the best of his leftovers, especially when he usually worked late into the night and all the fast-food restaurants closed by the time he surfaced.

  “What do I smell?”

  He smiled down at her as she slipped her fingers along his bare belly. “I figured I could manage a little dinner.”

  “I woke up and you were gone.” She leaned back on the counter, his shirt held together by a few strategic buttons, the tails teasing her thighs.

  Letting the food simmer, he stepped away from the stove, flicking his finger along the places she’d missed. “You found my shirt.”

  She arched her neck as he parted the well-worn plaid, finding the soft curve of her breast. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  He lifted her on to the counter, her quick grip on his arms making him grin. “What if I said I did?”

  She flicked open a button. A tiny, tight nipple flashed as she moved on to the next button. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disturb your cooking. And perhaps you might need the shirt to cover you up. You know, just in case there’s splatter.” Her gaze dropped to his chest, turning into that molten gold that made his cock harden.

  He stilled her fingers, nudging his nose into the shadowy neckline, finding her nipple. He sucked deeply as her fingers tangled into his hair. He pulled from the back, raising the shirt as it slipped off her shoulders. She hissed, winding her legs around his hips. He filled his hands with the peach-soft curve of her ass.

  Pulling her off the counter, he groaned when she caught his mouth in a thorough kiss. Their tongues were slick with need, but he fought against the lust that was never far away. His nails dug into the small of her back. He was ready to take her there against the countertop and then her stomach roared.

  He couldn’t stop the laugh against her mouth. “Should I be offended that you’re hungrier for the food than me?”

  She pushed an errant curl away from her face and flattened her chest against his until he groaned. “Ignore my stomach,” she said against his mouth, nipping at his lower lip.

  He thought about it for a second. He could reheat the food no problem, but when her stomach rumbled again, he sighed and let her slide down his body. “C’mon, let me feed you, then I can feed something else.”

  She splayed her fingers along his chest and down to his belly, then back up restlessly. “Cook fast.”

  Tapping the frying pan against the flame, he tested a piece of the steak. “Yup, done.” Groaning as she scraped her teeth over her lower lip, he t
urned back to the stove, shutting off the heat. “Bowl?”

  She reached up into a cabinet. When his shirt slid past the curve of her ass he swallowed back another groan. She was just plain evil. He pinned her to the counter, the button fly of his jeans pressing along her cleft to let her know just how distracting she was.

  She leaned back against him, leaving her neck far too open. He cupped her jaw, pulling her mouth around to taste her. The sea air still clung to her skin. The ends of his shirt crumpled in his hands. If he took her hard and fast, then they could concentrate on their food.

  She wiggled back against him, gripping his thigh, then cupping him none too gently. “Goddamn, Miranda.”

  “Do you have one?” she panted. “I just need five minutes. The food won’t even have time to get cold.”

  He swore, hissing as he dug into his jeans pocket. He didn’t fucking care if the food got cold. He stuck the packet between his teeth and turned her, lifting her up onto the corner of the counter. She stole the condom, ripping it open, reaching for him as fast as he could get his fly open.

  He hissed out her name as she rolled it on and then he was there inside her. He ripped at the buttons, wanting all of her against him. Her thighs squeezed around him as he buried himself deeper with each thrust. Their mouths met in the torrent of slapping skin and flesh.

  The quick jolt of her fingernails digging into his ass as she vised around him had it over within two minutes, never mind five. Her breath shuddered along his neck as she went limp against him. “I get near you sometimes and I just can’t turn it off,” she said into his chest.

  He lifted her chin. “I don’t want you to turn it off, Miranda.”

  Her eyes shuttered just before she hopped down. “What if it’s not healthy?”

  “Healthy?” He turned her back around. She was always insinuating little things like that. “Green food is healthy.” He nodded to the pan. “The fact that I’m addicted to your taste, to your touch, to hearing you laugh—hell, Miranda, talking to you until the sun comes up. None of that is unhealthy.”

  She focused on buttoning up his shirt, anything but looking at him. “What on earth do we have in common, Nate?”

  “Family is only a piece of us. If nothing else, we’ve got a distinct fascination with technology that we both share.” He lifted her chin until she looked at him again. “Don’t go putting issues between us that just aren’t there.”

  “We can’t keep our hands off each other long enough to figure it out.”

  He laughed and reached for the bowl. “Well then go put some clothes on and we’ll see if we can eat a meal and watch some TV without the skin-on-skin gymnastics.”

  Her quick laugh had his stomach easing. She headed to her room to change and he started cleaning up. He dumped their makeshift meal into one large bowl and dug through drawers until he found a couple of forks. Settling on the couch, he found her remote and turned on the end of the news.

  She came back in with leggings and his shirt still on. Not many women could pull it off, but a ponytail with messy bangs, glasses and no makeup was perfect on Miranda. She curled into him until her knees bumped his thigh. “Communal bowl?”

  “Cozy,” he corrected and they dug in. They talked about the news and he found out Miranda was a 49ers fan. In fact, she bounced on the couch when they mentioned training camp.

  “We should definitely go to a game. I have season tickets.”

  “Seriously?” He blinked. How the sweet hell could she afford tickets? “Business must be pretty good.”

  She shrugged and looked away. “I know it’s crazy since I barely have time to go, but I love it. Max is always ragging on me for my rabid love during the season.” She stood to bring the dish to the kitchen as he sat back. An entertainment program was now on the television. They’d talked over the Hollywood happenings that most of the girls he’d known would be interested in. She’d barely given the television a glance.

  “In the ongoing saga of Where’s MJ Lyons?, we’ve found our most unusual tip yet! With raw footage from a vacationer in San Francisco’s North Beach you can see that MJ may have gone underground with her location, but definitely not with her escapades! But first, some footage of her more outrageous nights with the illustrious James Cavanaugh. Viewer discretion is advised. These videos are not for the faint of heart. One reason why the world loved these two BFFs is that sometimes they seemed more than friend—”

  The television went dark. He grinned. Looked as if that was his cue. “Does that mean it’s time for dessert—Miranda?” Rounding the couch at her ashen face, he rushed forward. “Hey, are you okay?” She just stared at him. He grasped her shoulders until she blinked.

  “What?”

  “Miranda, what’s wrong?” He looked at the TV then back to her. The remote clattered to the counter.

  “I—it’s nothing.”

  She closed down on him. Right before his eyes, she went from sweet smiles to the remote woman he’d thought they’d banished. He couldn’t even begin to figure out the trigger this time. He traced the silky line of her eyebrow. Patience stalled in his chest when she flinched. “What’s it going to take for you to trust me?”

  “It’s just my past. It doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

  Disappointment wiped out their easy evening. “You make it have everything to do with us each time you shut me out.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I want to.” He reached out to touch her face, but again she backed up and away. He curled his fingers into his palm. “Are you married? Did you kill someone?”

  “No!”

  “Then anything you did, or whoever you were before us couldn’t scare me off.” For a moment he saw a flicker of indecision. Maybe, just maybe they could push through this barrier that shot up like a force field around her. He took the final step to her, hanging on to her before she could slip away. He cupped her face. “Let me in, please.”

  Her eyes swam with tears, but not a single drop escaped before she shut them. If she’d thrown him out the door, it couldn’t have been more effective.

  “Please, Miranda.”

  She stepped back and he let his arms drop. Disgusted that he’d lowered himself to begging, he stalked across the room. He found his undershirt in a pile on the side of her bed and shoved his feet into his boots. The scrape of his keys on her front hall table and the jangle of his buckles as he shrugged into his jacket were the only sounds in the room.

  “Nate…”

  His hand on the doorknob, he stopped. The raging heartbeat that echoed in his ears and reverberated in his chest slowed, but he didn’t turn around.

  “Is it really all or nothing? Can’t you see I’m trying here?”

  “If I believed you were trying, then I’d wait.” He turned around, the roaring in his ears deafening him. She was impossibly lovely with his shirt falling off her shoulder. His stubble burn still abraded her neck and collarbone and her mouth was swollen from their kisses between bites of leftovers. She looked well and truly marked by him in every way.

  Every surface way.

  He’d thought they were really clicking for once. Surprise flickered inside him when she actually stepped forward.

  “I am trying, Nate.” She tugged on the ends of his zipper. “If you could just be a little more patient.”

  He bent down and pressed his forehead to hers.

  “I want this.” Her voice was soft against his neck. “Needing someone isn’t easy for me, but I do.” She shuddered once. “I need you.”

  “Do you need me for more than this?” He gripped her hips, dragging her into him. “I don’t want to just be the fun you carve out in a busy week.”

  “We’re just starting out. Don’t you think you’re asking for too much?”

  “Maybe. Maybe I’m being too pushy, but I know there’s something here between us, Miranda. Everything is right when I’m with you.”

  She curled her fingers into the leather, staring at the wide silver tee
th of the zipper instead of into his eyes. “Maybe you’re idealizing me.”

  He backed away from her this time. “You are always saying things like that. But how would I know if you only give me the abridged version of you?”

  “The whole story is highly overrated.”

  “Maybe I should be the judge of that.” He reached for the door.

  “So, is this goodbye?”

  “No, this is me needing to go before I say something I shouldn’t. Maybe I’ve got stronger feelings for you than you do for me. But then again I’ve been interested in you longer.”

  “I was just a face at the door.” Frustration fired her voice.

  “And I was a ficus.”

  “What?” Genuine puzzlement pulled at her features.

  “Never mind. Look, I just need to go and think. I want you, Miranda, don’t ever think that I don’t, but I want more than just the pretty redhead that answers the door and knows how to tear up the sheets.”

  She flinched and he almost went to her. It always came back around to the sex that made her shy away. He understood chemistry. Hell, he’d had entire relationships based on good sex and good times. With her he wanted more. The moment she’d come into his airspace he wanted more. And that was on him.

  Maybe they just needed some space. They’d spent nearly every night together for the last few weeks. And he’d known going into this that he’d have to be patient, but he didn’t have to like it. And if he didn’t want to ruin the entire thing he needed to go before he did something stupid.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He walked out before he couldn’t. Because he felt empty without her in his arms, he skipped the elevator and clattered down the stairs.

  “Just get in your truck,” he muttered to himself as the walls of stairwell closed in on him. All he could see were her shuttered eyes. Blank as a doll’s when she shut him out. The boom and slam of the door against the wall propelled him into the garage. He needed to move and think. “Just drive.”

  Was he looking for too much too fast?

  His truck roared to life and he breathed a sigh of relief that the doors opened from the inside without her code. That would have been a perfect capper to him trying to walk away from her. Bound by his own desires and a garage door.