Lissa- Sugar and Spice 1.6 - Final

by Lissa- Sugar

  “Ace. I’m Ace, ma’am. And did you say somethin’ about dessert?”

  Lissa smiled. “I did, indeed. Do you like apple cobbler?”

  “I like apple anything, ma’am.”

  “Please. Call me Lissa.”

  “Ms. Lissa. Yes ma’am. We all like apple anything.”

  She laughed. “That’s the perfect name for what I made,” she said. “Apple Anything.”

  Within seconds, all the men were in the kitchen, carrying their empty bowls and plates and spoons, dumping everything in the sink. Another of the men introduced himself as Gus and asked if it was all right if he put up the coffee.

  “I was always better at it than Cooky.”

  Lissa smiled at the old-fashioned term that had been given to every ranch cook from the start of time.

  “That would be great.”

  The others took on the job of loading the dishwasher, scrubbing pots and rinsing them.

  Everybody was here, except Nick.

  Where was he? Not that it mattered; she was curious, that was all. She couldn’t recall seeing the ranch owners of her childhood eating with their men the way Nick had. Had tonight been a one-time occasion? Had he been checking on her ability as a cook? Was his interest over now?

  Lots of questions. And no answers, but why would she need answers? She’d be out of here tomorrow. Early. The snow had tapered off to flurries; the wind had died away.

  She was curious, that was all.

  Nothing more.

  When the kitchen was clean and neat, or as clean and neat as it was going to get without a top-to-bottom scrub, Lissa carried the Apple Anything to the dining room table. Ace followed with bowls and spoons; Gus brought in the coffee and a bunch of chipped mugs.

  Shyly, Ace asked if she’d like to have her dessert with them.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  “I’d be honored,” she said.

  The men sat down in their chairs. Ace shot them a fierce look and they shot to their feet.

  “After you, ma’am,” he said.

  Lissa sat. The others did the same. Every eye was on her and she took a paper napkin from a holder and spread it on her lap. So did the men. She lifted her spoon. They lifted theirs. She dug in. So did they.

  “Dee-licious,” Ace said, beaming.

  Lissa smiled. “I’m glad.”

  Everyone ate. There were a few slurps, a few burps. Lissa finished and patted her mouth with her napkin. The men did, too.

  “Well,” she said, and cleared her throat, “I’ll leave you to your coffee.”

  The men scrambled to their feet as she rose from her chair. Ace shook his head when she reached for her dish.

  “We’ll clean up, Ms. Wilde.”

  “Lissa.”

  “Ms. Lissa. We’ll take care of this. Don’t you worry about a thing.” He grinned. It was an endearing grin that featured a big gap between his center-top front teeth. “We want you to know how much we’re lookin’ forward to tomorrow, ma’am.”

  “To tomorrow?” Lissa’s smile dimmed. “Oh. You mean…” She hesitated. How could she tell these guys that there would be no tomorrow? “Well, thank you, but—but I’m a great believer in not planning too far ahead.”

  Everyone laughed politely, which was what she’d intended—except that not believing in planning too far ahead was a truism, when you came down to it.

  If she’d planned ahead, she wouldn’t be here.

  Why hadn’t she asked Marcia more questions about this job? she thought as she climbed the steps to her room. The answer was simple. She’d been desperate for something that would change her life.

  Well, she’d done that, all right. Changed her life—but not for the best.

  She had no work at all now. The chicken place would have replaced her without thinking twice. Nick would complain to Marcia and she would make everything out to be Lissa’s fault. She’d go back to Los Angeles and—

  And what?

  She’d been without a good job for too long. The awful truth was that the longer you were out of work, the harder it was to get work. By this time next week, frying blobs of chicken would look good.

  Lissa sighed as she reached the top of the stairs. The lighting was dim, but that was OK. It suited her mood.

  If only she’d stayed in L.A. If only she hadn’t been so desperate.

  If only she hadn’t let Nick kiss her.

  Where was he, anyway?

  She’d half imagined he’d be waiting for her outside the kitchen just as he had been earlier, but why would he do that? He was probably in his office. Or in bed. Wherever he was, it was none of her business. He was none of her business.

  He was—he was a bit of a puzzle; it was why she kept thinking about him. That a man so accustomed to the spotlight should be out here in the middle of nowhere, that he was obviously hurt and just as obviously hurting…

  That she couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his arms around her.

  She sighed. Stopped walking, kicked off her shoes, picked them up in one hand and continued toward her room. She was tired, that was all, or why would she waste her time thinking about a man she hoped never to see again?

  The man she hoped never to see again stepped out of the shadows.

  “Lissa.”

  His voice was low. Rough. She could almost feel the sound resonate against her skin.

  What was he doing here? Waiting for her, obviously, but for what reason? To tell her the meal had been fine? To confirm her departure time tomorrow?

  He was so big. So beautifully masculine. And the way he was looking at her, making her the clear focus of all that incredible intensity…

  He took a step toward her.

  “Just stay where you are, Gentry, because you and I have nothing to say to each other.”

  “You’re right. We don’t.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad we agree on something.”

  Then her shoes fell from her hand and she went straight into his arms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There were no preliminaries.

  Lissa came to him as if this moment had been theirs from the beginning of time.

  She went up on her toes as she raised herself to him and wound her arms around his neck. Her body pressed against his, and Nick groaned, bent his head and captured her mouth with his.

  He hadn’t expected this, but then, he hadn’t really expected anything.

  He’d gotten out of the dining room before dessert, knowing that staying would have been a mistake, that seeing her again would have compounded it even more than the mistake he’d already made by kissing her.

  They weren’t children.

  When men and women kissed the way they had, it was usually the start of something that would end in more than kisses.

  But then he hadn’t intended to kiss her in the first place.

  She was argumentative. Difficult. A flesh-and-blood embodiment of that old nursery rhyme about sugar and spice and he wasn’t a man much taken with sugar and spice, but her in-your-face-honesty was irresistible. So was the way she looked, not just naked—he couldn’t get that image out of his head—but right there in that old kitchen against a backdrop of pots and pans and tired old gadgets, her face free of makeup, her hair drawn back in a way that was as sexy as it was down-to-earth.

  It had all come together and he’d laughed.

  Then he’d looked into her eyes and it had felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

  Without thinking, he’d reached for her. It had been the first thing he’d done on impulse in months. Everything since the accident had been planned and orchestrated.

  Not that kiss.

  The feel of her mouth under his, the warmth of her in his arms…

  He’d have taken her right there, if not for his men sitting in the next room.

  She’d have let him.

  He’d seen desire blazing in her eyes, tasted it on her tongue.

  Somehow, he’d let go of her.

  Some
how, he’d gotten out of the kitchen.

  Ace had said something to him and he’d mumbled some kind of response, but he had no idea what in hell it had been because the only part of him working had been his dick.

  He’d made an attempt at eating dinner. He couldn’t do any less, not with his men seated around him.

  He hadn’t tasted the food, hadn’t tasted anything except the memory of that kiss. The memory of the woman. He’d wanted her with an intensity that overrode all logic. Her name roared in his ears; he’d felt the imprint of her mouth on his. After months of not feeling like a man, what he’d felt in that dining room, watching her come and go, had been like finding water in the desert when you’d believed you were about to die of thirst.

  Then, someplace between whatever it was she’d served and his men’s increasingly delighted comments about the new cook’s talent, the truth had rushed up and all but spit in his eye.

  Wanting Lissa was the good news. But he couldn’t possibly have her. That was not only the bad news, it was the only news that mattered.

  He couldn’t take a woman to bed. Not a woman who hadn’t been paid to pretend she wouldn’t be disgusted by what she saw once he got undressed.

  He had never been vain.

  Well, hell, maybe he had. Why not? He was an OK actor, maybe even a pretty good one, but he knew that he’d landed his first big part because of how he looked.

  And he damn well knew what he looked like now.

  So would a woman who saw him without his pants, which was why he’d left the table, walked away from the insanity of wanting what he knew he couldn’t have, and everything had been fine.

  Maybe fine was overstating it, but it had been all right…

  Until he’d heard her footsteps on the stairs and, dammit, why lie to himself? He’d never have heard them unless he’d been listening for them, every muscle, every neuron in his body attuned to the sound of her, the scent of her, and then he’d stopped thinking, he’d simply acted, left his room, headed down the hall and now here he was…

  Here he was, Lissa in his arms. Soft and sweet and perfect.

  Stop now, he told himself.

  Instead, he slid one big hand down her spine, cupped her bottom, lifted her into him. He knew he was hard as granite and he loved it when she knew it, too, when she moaned softly, fisted her hands in his hair and whimpered as he deepened the kiss.

  Stop now.

  Instead, he let the taste of her flood his senses. Coffee. Sugar. A tantalizing whisper of spice.

  Stop now.

  Instead, he pressed his lips to her throat and when her head fell back, he kissed the pulse that raced in the tender hollow of her flesh.

  “Yes,” she sighed, “yes, please, yes…”

  His mouth captured hers again. And again. She was panting. So was he. He wanted her, wanted her, wanted her…

  She reached back, fumbled with the doorknob, and the door, the goddamned door that had burst open a handful of hours ago, held fast.

  He brushed her hand aside, gave the door one sharp rap and it flew open.

  She gave a little laugh. God, he loved that laugh. Wicked. Knowing. Full of promise. And he laughed with her as they stumbled into the room together.

  He elbowed the door shut behind them.

  The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of the heavy snow that covered the yard and the land beyond it.

  She reached for the light switch.

  He caught her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed the palm.

  Dark was good.

  She wouldn’t see his leg in the dark because, yes, he was going to make love to her, yes, he was going to take her, have her, wrap her in his arms, kneel between her legs…

  Kneel? You?

  The little voice inside his head was low and cold and filled with venom.

  Stop it, he thought again, but then Lissa clasped his face and drew his head down to hers and he saw the wildness in her beautiful eyes, saw the way her hair had come undone and tumbled around her face, and the voice faded and died.

  He was still a man. The body parts that mattered worked, he thought, and he cupped her breast through the thin cotton of her T-shirt and she gasped. Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks and he groaned with pleasure, dipped his head to her breast and bit lightly through the cotton.

  She moaned.

  He drew back. Undid the first button on his shirt, then the next and the next.

  Lissa slid her hands inside his open shirt. The feel of her fingers against his skin made him shudder.

  “Wait,” he growled, and he reached for her T-shirt, almost forgetting for the moment that he had only one free hand, that he was balanced on a crutch.

  Stripping off her shirt using only one hand was impossible.

  The first tiny bit of reality danced into his head and he said something, low and sharp.

  She silenced him with a quick kiss. Then she clasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

  Suddenly, all that mattered was looking at her.

  She was beautiful. So beautiful. Skin touched with gold by the sun. Lush breasts straining above the half-cups of a white lace bra.

  Nick cupped one breast. She made a sharp little sound of pleasure. His eyes locked to hers as he swept his thumb over her lace-covered nipple.

  She cried out.

  His erection became almost painful.

  The bra had a front clasp. A man didn’t need two hands to undo it, and Nick sent a silent thank you to whatever genius had invented it. Still, it took a couple of seconds before the damned thing came apart and her breasts tumbled free.

  They were all he could have dreamed they would be.

  Round. Lovely. High. And, God, her nipples… They were a deep, elegant rose.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So amazingly beautiful.”

  Lissa felt her lips curve.

  Nick’s gaze was like a silken caress. Slowly, oh so slowly, he bent his head to her, drew the tip of one breast into the heat of his mouth.

  Her knees all but buckled.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, supported her as he sucked on her nipple, licked at it, rolled his tongue around it until she sobbed his name. She clasped the nape of his neck and he groaned and moved against her, his erection pressing hard into her belly.

  Her thighs were wet.

  She was, oh, she was soaked. How could that have happened so quickly? She was hot and wet and she needed him inside her, inside her, inside her…

  She shoved his shirt back on his shoulders, dragged his head up, kissed him and pressed her body to his, groaning along with him when her breasts flattened against his hair-roughened chest.

  She was trembling.

  “Nick,” she whispered.

  He put his hand under her chin, lifted her face to his and kissed her. She sucked the tip of his tongue into the heat of her mouth.

  “Nick,” she said again, and he heard what she wanted in that one softly-spoken plea.

  He put his hand between them, reached for the top button of her jeans and fumbled with it.

  Dimly, she realized it might be difficult for him to manage the button one-handed and she started to push his hand away and deal with the button herself, but he shook away her hand and she let him do it, let him work the button until, at last, it came free.

  Her jeans dropped to her hips and she took a few steps back, Nick moving with her, until she felt the mattress against the back of her thighs.

  She dropped onto the edge of the bed.

  Her face was level with Nick’s fly.

  She looked up, watched his face as she put her hand over the bulge that strained behind the soft blue denim.

  He sucked in his breath.

  She caught hers as she felt him pulse against her hand.

  Still watching him, she undid the top button of his jeans. Unzipped him. Reached for him, but he stopped her.

  “I want to see you naked.”

  His voice was raw. It sent
a rush of excitement through her. He took a step back. She rose, eyes on his, and slowly worked her jeans down her hips, down her long legs. Would Nick like what he saw? She wanted to be beautiful for him.

  She could feel her excitement building under his gaze, as hot as tendrils of flame. Her breasts, her belly, her thighs…every part of her felt the stroke of his hand even though he had not touched her since he’d undone the button on her jeans.

  A tremor went through her.

  She couldn’t remember ever feeling this way before. Breathless, almost dizzy, the anticipation building and building and building…

  “Now,” he said, and Lissa gave her jeans a final push and stepped free of them.

  Nick gave an audible groan.

  She knew what he was seeing. All of her, completely naked except for a tiny scrap of white lace.

  He whispered her name.

  She moved closer to him.

  He traced the outline of her mouth with one finger.

  She caught the tip of that finger lightly between her teeth and sucked it into her mouth.

  “You’re killing me,” he said thickly.

  She was killing herself as well, and when he withdrew his finger from her mouth, ran it down her chin, down her throat, between her breasts and down her belly, she felt the first unmistakable signs of an impending orgasm.

  She was going to come.

  Was that possible? Could you come just from a man’s touch?

  Nick slid his hand between her thighs. Cupped her, and her unspoken question was answered as a low, fierce cry burst from her throat.

  She swayed on her feet and he leaned hard on his crutch so he could wrap his arm around her while his free hand continued the sweet, sweet strokes that had drawn that incredibly primal response.

  He told himself to be careful.

  He was close to the edge, holding her, inhaling her scent, feeling her body weep against his palm, all that wildfire and hot rain for him.

  Only for him.

  He bent to her, kissed her, his tongue stroking hers while his thumb slipped under that tiny vee of lace and found her clitoris.