by Skye Jordan
He rinsed dishes and wiped down the counter with his mind trying to untangle the reasons for her magnetic force. When the task became too complicated, he tossed the towel aside, pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialed her cell for the second time.
She answered with, “Didn’t your mother teach you not to rush a sadist?”
“If said sadist is hungry, she’d better get her butt up here.”
“Said sadist is on the way.” And she disconnected, leaving Noah with a smile on his face and nerves tightening his belly.
He turned to the stove, ticked off all the preparations in his head, and hoped the meal really tasted as good as everything had tasted to him when he’d tested it out. He’d heard Finn bitch about his lack of taste buds, since the guy learned to cook at the age of about six. They’d bonded early over the lack of supervision and younger siblings depending on them. Finn had taught himself to cook. Noah had always been more of a warm-it-up-in-the-microwave type.
But more than the meal, Noah’s nerves stemmed from the simple task of pursuing a woman. He’d never done this. Ever. Women had always pursued him. It had begun in second grade and never quit. He’d always eaten it up. What man wouldn’t? But none of that was helping him now when he was trying to get close to Julia. Now, he just felt like a bumbling loser.
The back door opened far sooner than he’d expected.
“God, it’s so beautiful out tonight,” she said, her head lowered as she toed out of her boots. “The sky is this gorgeous inky purple, and the stars seem ultrawhite and sparkly. I wanted to just stop and stare but was afraid I’d freeze to death.”
She shucked her jacket and hung it on a peg by the door, and when she turned to face him, she was obviously hiding something behind her back.
He propped one hand on his hip, the other on the counter beside the stove. “That was fast.”
“I’m hungry, and, wow…” She tipped her chin back and took a deep breath of the heavily scented kitchen air. “It smells so good, my mouth is already watering.”
“Mine too,” he murmured, letting his gaze slide over the body he still couldn’t get out of his head almost a month later. She wore jeans so faded they’d almost turned white, threadbare in a few spots on both thighs, and they hugged her perfectly, showing every luscious curve. Her sweater was chocolate brown and loose, but thin, draping over her breasts in a way that made him hungry for something so very different from what he’d made for dinner.
She rounded the island and stopped a good ten feet away. “Whatcha got cookin’ over there, Superstar?”
The nickname made him smile. “Whatcha got behind your back, Coach?”
“A surprise. Guess.”
“If I have to guess, you have to guess.”
“Fair enough.” She pulled in another dramatic lungful of air. “Well, there’s definitely too many spices to be what I feared.”
“Which was?”
“Pop-Tart casserole.”
He busted out laughing, making her grin widen, her dimples pucker, and her dark eyes sparkle. “Pop-Tart casserole. That would be a trick.”
“Tricks are your specialty.”
“Not that trick. Try again.”
She glanced around the kitchen, but he’d cleaned up after himself, so anything that could tip her off was put away. “Well, it’s definitely not salmon. I’d have smelled that from the guesthouse. You didn’t have time to make the Swiss chard-eggplant-mushroom lasagna. You haven’t made enough of a mess for the kiwi-coconut braised pork and white beans you’ve been begging for, and you hated the kale and black-eyed peas I made earlier this week. But you have been wanting to try something with an Asian flair, and I think I detect…” She sniffed again. “Yes, I do think I detect the hint of peanut in the air…”
His face dropped in disbelief. “No way.”
She grinned and guessed, “Asian chicken salad.”
He smacked the counter beside the stove. “How do you do that?”
“Simple.” Pleasure softened her posture as she leaned one hip sexily against the counter. “I took a mental inventory of the food we have and compared it to the recipes I gave you. Then I nixed everything you hate or too labor intensive. That narrowed it down quite a bit, but I admit the peanut dressing gave it away. And, man, that sounds perfect. Hope you made a lot. I’m starving. Okay, your turn to guess.”
“Hmm.” He scoured her head to toe with all the hunger built up over the weeks. “What could you hide behind that deliciously tight little body?” He raised his brows and met her eyes. “Lingerie?”
She scoffed. “Hardly.”
He ran one hand over his rough jaw. He’d showered and changed since the workout but had forgotten to shave. “I hope it’s not dessert, because I was planning on rolling you naked in sugar and licking…” He stopped short, his grin turning hot, right along with his body. “Um, I mean…I already made something.”
“Not dessert, but you’re getting warmer.”
He liked warmer, but by the tightening in his groin, he was getting too warm, his mind racing in the wrong direction. So he forced it one hundred and eighty degrees and said the first thing that came to mind. “A kitten?”
The answer took her completely off guard, and Julia sputtered a laugh. “What? You want a kitten?”
“No. Not really.” Though he was having fun with the idea. “Okay, maybe. Sort of.” Her laughter and the warmth of the idea egged him on. He liked animals. And it would be nice to come home to something sweet and cuddly after a long day on the cold, hard slopes. “A little gray one. With stripes. Fluffy. Doesn’t cry too much. Purrs in my ear.”
She was laughing so hard, tears dampened her eyes. “Shut up.”
“I guess that’s a no on the cat. Damn.” The sight of her joy thrilled him, so he kept the levity going, throwing out new, random ideas. “Is it a new jump rope? New crash helmet? A San Francisco Giants jersey, signed by Posey?”
Julia kept laughing at his answers and shaking her head. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“It’s my unrequited Christmas list,” he only half lied. “The food’s gonna get cold if I keep guessing. What is it?”
Her face exploded in a look that was both sweet and excited. “Close your eyes.”
He sighed but did as she asked.
After just a few seconds, she said, “Okay.”
He opened his eyes and looked down to a bottle of wine she held out in both hands. He scanned the label. It was a Justin Winery red. “Oh, man…”
He took the bottle from her and brought it closer, checking out the details of the wine. With his mouth watering, he lifted his gaze to hers. “Don’t tease me like this, girl. I want this wine right now almost as much as I want you in my bed again.”
A little surprise and a white-hot flash of desire filled her eyes before she dropped her gaze to the bottle in his hands and shifted on her feet. “I’m not teasing. You’ve had some amazing accomplishments over the last two weeks.” She met his eyes again, but the warm, chocolate irises were veiled now. “You deserve a celebratory treat.”
That hit Noah like a stray snowball, but after the surprise wore off, warmth curled in his chest and squeezed. She must have picked up on his preference from their trips to the grocery store or a casual conversation. His throat tightened. Jesus-freaking-Christ, he was going soft over a damn bottle of wine. He needed to get a grip on his emotions, so he went for a tried-and-true remedy.
He exhaled, let his shoulders sag, and dropped to the floor on his knees.
“Noah—” she started, her voice both worried and shocked.
The fact that his childish melodrama still surprised her gave him a ridiculous sense of playful satisfaction. He leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her hips, pressing his head into her belly. And, God, she smelled good, all springtime fresh and flowery. Felt even better, warm, slim, strong.
“God bless you for taking pity—” He stopped short and tilted his head to look up and into her surprised eyes
. “Hold on. Is there any chance I could trade the wine for—”
“None.” The strict trainer reappeared instantly.
Disappointed, even though he’d known what she’d say, he murmured a heartfelt “Damn.” Releasing her, he pushed to his feet with a heavy sigh. “Had to give it a shot.” Then he rested his butt against the counter and took the wine in both hands, reading the label more thoroughly. “Syrah, my favorite.”
“I particularly liked the name.”
“Focus,” he said, reading the label with a grin and a nod. “Nice.”
He pushed off the counter, still studying the label, his mind drifting to the image of her roaming the wine aisle of some store with him on her mind. The thought was so sweet, he felt his ribs soften like butter.
“Thanks,” he said, his mind hazing with a combination of thoughts and emotions. Then he leaned in and kissed her. Only when the warmth of her lips beneath his registered did he realize what he’d done. The move had been so natural, so easy, so automatic. But wrong. At least in her world of rules and regulations.
He immediately pulled back an inch, eyes open and dazed. “I’m…um… I, just…” The haze cleared, and he found himself staring into her beautiful eyes, filled with as much desire and conflict as he felt in his heart. He should pull back, give her space. But…God…
“Ah, fuck it.” He couldn’t stand this tension between them.
He wrapped his free hand around her neck and pulled her in for another kiss. A real kiss. A warm, wet, hard-on-inducing kiss. Her lips were lush, her tongue sweet, its touch spreading warmth straight down his body, pooling between his legs. She bowled him over like an avalanche.
He was still tumbling, his mind submerged in crisp fresh white light when she broke free and leaned back, trying to put space between them. “Do I smell bacon?” she asked, glancing past his bicep to the stove.
Bacon? Seriously? “Excuse me?”
Her gaze flicked to his, then away, a shaky smile turning her lips as she tried to pull out of his embrace. “You know I love bacon.”
He held her firmly, not ready to let her escape. “I know a few other things you love too.” He waited until she looked up, and then held her gaze with heat and purpose. “They all involve my mouth or my body. And some you love even more than bacon.”
Her lips parted, breathing hitched. She wanted him. Was on the verge of kicking all those damn rules of hers to the curb and giving in. Then she started to think. He saw the second her mind clicked on, watched shoulds and shouldn’ts, regrets and wishes pass through her eyes just before her lids closed and she lowered her head to rub her temple.
Noah set the wine on the counter and wrapped both arms low on her hips, pulling her in to fit snugly against his erection, bringing a familiar and sizzling desire. Then he just held her, soaking in the feel of her in his arms.
She exhaled again, long and slow, her body loosening and sinking against his. Her hands curled into his T-shirt, her face pressed into his chest, head snuggling beneath his chin.
“Damn,” he breathed, eyes sliding closed. “I’ve needed this.”
Her fingers grazed his skin as they worked the fabric of his tee. “I’m sorry. I don’t want this to be an issue. I don’t want you distracted.”
“It’s only distracting me because I can’t have it.” As soon as the words were out, he wished he could grab them back. She pushed away, but lifted her face toward his. “That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean it to sound like—”
“Don’t worry about it. This is what it is. We are who we are. Which is exactly why we can’t…indulge. Not now. Not while we’re working together.”
He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to hers, and exhaled heavily. His teeth clenched with frustration, and a growl rolled from his throat. When it overflowed, he released her, circled the counter to the sink, and pulled on the faucet, pushing the handle all the way to the right. He cupped both hands beneath the freezing water and splashed it on his face once, twice, three times, before slamming the faucet off again.
Get a grip, dude. She’s just a chick.
But she wasn’t just a chick. And he couldn’t find out just what she was to him, because she kept putting up roadblocks.
He straightened, pressed his palms to the sink edge, and stared out the darkened window, trying to curb his frustration. “If not now, when? You live four hours away.”
When she didn’t answer, he dropped his gaze to the sink with a small shake of his head. He hated sounding like a spoiled two-year-old who wasn’t getting his way, especially because that wasn’t how he felt. He felt like a man who’d finally found a woman with everything he’d never known he wanted, and she stood on the opposite side of bulletproof glass.
“Why don’t you pour the wine?” he suggested, hating himself for screwing up the evening’s atmosphere. It was probably a good thing he’d never had to charm a woman into bed—he’d have ended up celibate his entire life.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice soft and guilt-ridden. “I—”
“It’s okay, Coach. I get it. You can’t be sleeping with your clients. Bad for business.” He straightened, turned, and propped his hip against the counter. “I’d promise you to the moon and back that I wouldn’t say a word to anyone, but if I were you, I wouldn’t believe me either.”
She held his gaze for an extended second, looking like she wanted to say something. But then she turned away, reaching for the wineglasses on the second shelf.
The sexual tension was back, not that she should be surprised. Instead of his interest ebbing with time as she’d expected, it had only become more intense. The looks, the smiles, the laughs, the verbal undertones, the subtext… It was there. All the damn time.
She was so conflicted. They liked each other. They respected each other. They were attracted to each other. But they were both at similar crossroads in their lives, a horrible time to get involved.
It was foolish for her to believe there could be any long-term future between them—she with her trust and career issues, he with the traveling, playboy lifestyle he’d return to as soon as those X Games spotlights flashed and powerhouse sponsors came knocking.
No, she didn’t want that kind of man—or life—again. She just wished he weren’t so difficult to resist.
“So, what torture device did you pick up in Reno today?” he asked, turning from the stove with three dishes.
They were back to casual conversation. Good. She could do casual. “I don’t torture you, you drama queen.”
“I beg to differ. Every workout you dream up is torture, and the last gizmo you picked up had electrodes you taped to my skin. I still can’t believe I let you do that.”
“Oh, it didn’t even hurt, and it’s done great things for your ankle.”
At the table, Noah set down the dishes, announcing what he’d made. “Asian chicken salad in lettuce cups, as you so astutely detected. Broiled asparagus with sun-dried tomato vinaigrette. And quinoa with black beans, tomatoes, corn, feta, and your beloved bacon.”
Julia sat back grinning as Noah took a seat across from her. “You are truly amazing. This is way more than I expected.”
“Clearly,” he said, picking up his wineglass and swirling the purple liquid. “Pop-Tart casserole, my ass. I should be offended. I may not have done anything more adventurous in the kitchen than grill a steak or scramble some eggs—sexual activities excluded—but considering I’ve had the best cooking instructor for the last month, you shouldn’t have expected any less.”
“Good point.” She didn’t touch the sexual-activities comment, but it stuck with her like a pebble in her shoe. Her mind sparked with images of some young, random Barbie like Samantha spread out across this very table, Noah’s hands and mouth all over her the way they’d been on Julia just weeks ago. Weeks that felt like years.
Yes, she was jealous. Childish, petty, but true. She wasn’t perfect, and her past had left her with insecurities. Men like Noah brought every one of them to the s
urface.
“What happened to the no-alcohol rule?” he asked.
“Red wine is good for you—in moderation. So, savor that glass. It’s the only one you get tonight.”
“One glass when we have a whole bottle?” He frowned with distaste. “That’s like telling me all I can do is kiss you, no more.”
She lifted her brows. “I didn’t say you could kiss me.”
His blue eyes were smoky, and his mouth quirked in a half grin as he lifted his glass toward her. “Then I guess we could agree on a toast to savoring surprise—or stolen—little pleasures.”
Fine. She could do that. Julia met his toast before drawing a deep breath of the wine’s rich fruity scent and pulling a long sip. She let the luxurious feel bathe her mouth, closing her eyes as the robust flavor sank in. Across from her, Noah hummed with pleasure.
“I’ve never had a Justin wine,” she said, loving the way the purple color stained the sides of the crystal. “It’s wonderful.”
Noah nodded. “Heavy, rich flavors without overwhelming the palate.”
“Never figured you for a wine guy.” Julia set the glass down and started moving food onto her plate.
“Why? Because I use words like dude, shred, wicked, and sick as everyday vocabulary?”
“No, because you’re so casual. I just figured you for a beer-and-hard-liquor sort of guy.”
He grinned. “I like those too.”
She matched his smile. “Clearly.”
“So,” he said, setting aside his wine and forking up a heap of quinoa, “this torture device…”
“Is an ultrasound machine. No electrodes, absolutely no pain, and lots of great benefits.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“From a physical therapist who’s retiring and selling off his equipment. Found it on eBay. Man, what a steal. I want to start using it tomorrow, so add thirty minutes to each therapy session.”
“Yippee,” he said, deadpan. “I’m not sure I want you using another random secondhand gadget on me. Besides, another half hour morning and night will eat into your mandatory eight hours of sleep.”
