Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce

by Rachell Nichole

  Everyone was impressed with the campaign. Only Nate knew where the idea really came from, since Mason had shared the story with him.

  “So, there’s the meeting in the store, the fight over the can, and the decision to share it at the end, sealed with a kiss. I like it. What’s the slogan?” Vanessa asked.

  “‘Spice up your life with cranberry sauce.’”

  Nate shook his head. “That’s not quite right. How about…‘Life: spicy with a side of cranberry sauce.’”

  Mason grinned. It was perfect.

  * * * *

  Mason turned the key in his apartment door and opened it to a delicious scent. He followed his nose into the kitchen. Amy set out two plates piled high with chicken parmesan, and he grinned. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d come home to a hot, freshly cooked meal.

  “Hi,” Amy said. She looked great in a pair of tight black jeans, bare feet, and an orange shirt that cupped her chest. “Thanks for the note. And the key.” She walked toward him and took his briefcase and kissed him on the cheek. “And before you get too excited, or terrified of my horrendous cooking, I ordered in.”

  He laughed and shrugged out of his coat. “Smells incredible.”

  “Sure does. I did pick out the wine, though. If it’s one thing I know, it’s how to buy wine.”

  An uncorked bottle of red sat in the middle of the table. He didn’t recognize the bottle, but she seemed confident in her wine-choosing abilities. He slung his coat over the back of the chair and sat down.

  “Thanks for getting dinner. I would have cooked when I got home. But this is…nice.” Too nice, in fact. But he wouldn’t tell her that. He had to marshal his thoughts better around her. Where the hell had his control gone? He was always in control, especially where women were concerned, but she slipped past all his defenses and made him feel like he was free-falling without a parachute. It was terrifying. And also the most exhilarating experience of his life.

  “I know. But I figured I could do something nice for you. You are letting me stay here, after all,” she said, sitting down across from him.

  She grabbed the bottle and poured them two large glasses of red. The bottle said Bordeaux. He knew that name, though he’d never really been a big fan of wine, and he was definitely not a connoisseur. He picked up the glass and held it out toward hers.

  “A toast to our devious planning,” he said.

  She grinned, and her hazel eyes darkened to a deeper green. It seemed she had a devious plan of her own. She clinked her glass gently against his and took a sip of the wine. He did the same, the thick taste coating his tongue and gliding smoothly down his throat. He looked down at the plate of chicken parm and picked up his fork and knife eagerly.

  “So how was work today?”

  “Good,” he said, putting the tender chicken bathed in spaghetti sauce into his mouth. The warm cheese and red sauce mixed great with the wine.

  She took a few bites of the dish and moaned. “This is good.”

  He smiled. “Yeah.”

  “So work was just work, huh?”

  He cut another hunk of chicken and swirled the angel-hair pasta around his fork. “Well, actually we’re doing a new campaign for Sally’s Spicy Cranberry Sauce between now and Christmas.”

  She coughed on a sip of wine, and he grinned. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he told her his genius ad campaign plan inspired by her.

  “Oh, God.” Her cheeks turned pink. “That’s awful. It sounds so far out of the realm of possibility.”

  “Even though it happened?”

  She nodded. “No one will ever believe it. That shit only happens in fairy tales.”

  He tore off half a piece of bread and threw it across the table at her. He had no idea what possessed him to do it, but her shriek as the bread landed in her cleavage delighted him. Her mouth hung open, and she snatched the bread out from between her breasts.

  “Oh, you’re going to pay for that one.” She took a huge forkful of spaghetti.

  What the hell was she going to do with that? He tensed, waiting. She lifted the fork to her mouth, and the spaghetti disappeared inside. She chewed, staring at him. He didn’t know if it was safe to go back to eating. Something told him he shouldn’t take his eyes off her for a second.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll come when you least expect it,” she said.

  When he least expected it, huh? Well, that seemed to be standard where she was concerned. Anticipation tightened in his gut. He couldn’t wait to see what she would do to make him pay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As she sat at the table beside Mason, Amy looked over the plan again, catching a glimpse of the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. It was a disaster area with dishes strewn everywhere, food pieces covering the stove top, and empty dinner plates in the sink. Mason could cook, but what a mess he made when he did. She glanced over at Mason and couldn’t help but return his smile.

  Somewhere between when she’d shown up at his house two days ago and now, a calm had settled into her bones. It was such a foreign feeling, she didn’t think she could trust it. She didn’t feel nervous around him. Didn’t need to worry about being disappointed, because she knew that Mason was in this with her till the end. If he couldn’t help her get their parents back together, no one could. She settled into the cushioned wooden chair and kept gazing at him instead of starting the love letter they were supposed to be writing.

  Two plates of half-eaten pie, complete with heaps of whipped cream on top, sat a few inches from them on the table. After a delicious homemade dinner, she’d pulled out the store-bought pie, and they’d both taken huge pieces neither of them could finish. She’d yet to pay him back for his little basket shooting at dinner last night, and he still had his guard up. They’d spent most of Friday night and a good portion of that morning in bed together. It had been glorious, lazy fun lounging about with him. She’d even shared a few memories of her childhood with her mom while lying in his arms. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever felt so safe.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked her.

  She blinked too fast and took a moment to catch her breath. She’d never admit what she’d been thinking about. Now was not the time to get attached to him, damn it. She couldn’t afford that kind of letdown. Not again. She knew better. She knew it, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from inching closer and closer to him with every passing minute.

  “Just working over the plan. You ever written a love letter before?”

  “You mean besides the note I left you yesterday morning?” he teased.

  She laughed. That hadn’t exactly been a love letter, but it had been sweet. She’d tucked it away in her suitcase after checking out of the hotel and bringing her stuff here.

  Amy, it had read, the coffee’s in the pot. Should still be hot and fresh. Here’s a key to the apartment. Why don’t you go grab your stuff from the hotel and stay here until you go home? Would seem silly to stay at a hotel when we need to spend so much time planning. Besides, if we’ve only got five days, we should enjoy them together. She’d almost cried at that part.

  I’ll be home by six. I’ll see you then. Have a great day.

  Mason

  Oh, PS: Despite everything else, I’m really glad you ambushed me. Again.

  That part had officially brought a tear to her eye, but she wouldn’t tell him that either.

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly a sonnet, but I think it still counts,” she said. She wanted to keep things light, teasing. She’d already shared more of herself with him than she’d shared with any other guy before. She had a few friends from when she was younger who knew all about her mom and what her family had gone through, but that was because they’d lived it alongside her. Not even her college roommate of four years had ever really known all the details about Amy’s childhood spent learning about full-body scans and white blood cell counts.

  “Okay, here goes.” He grabbed his infamous yellow pad of paper and a blue
pen.

  Martha, he wrote at the top. His phone trilled with some happy tune, and she jumped. It was entirely too loud in the stillness of his dining room. He set the pen down and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello,” he said. His mouth straightened into a line. “Lew, I don’t want to talk about this.” She felt as if she should give him privacy, but she didn’t move. She had to let him know she would help him deal with the mess she’d created.

  “You never want to talk about it.” Lewis’s voice was loud enough for her to hear through the phone.

  Mason’s shoulders tensed. “Dan, please. Just let it go.”

  Dan? She couldn’t hear the response this time. She stood and walked silently into the adjoining kitchen. There wasn’t a wall between the two spaces, so it wasn’t really much privacy, but she needed a drink, and then she would go down the hall and let him talk to his brothers in peace. They seemed to both be on the other end of the line, though he’d told her Dan lived in New Orleans and Lewis was in San Antonio. Or San Antone, as he called it.

  “You don’t understand. You didn’t see her. It was like— Yes, like before Dad left. But…better than that. Like it was ten years ago, even.” Mason stopped to listen. “No. I won’t be coming. I refuse to spend any time with that man. But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  She knew immediately he was talking about their dad. Mason pulled the receiver away from his ear as shouts erupted from the other end.

  “You hate him. You’ve always hated him. I never understood it. Mason, he’s our Dad. How can you say you don’t even want to see him for Christmas?” She couldn’t tell if it was Lewis’s voice or Dan’s, but the words were the same. Hurtful. Confused.

  “You don’t… We’re done talking about this. Let it go,” Mason said.

  More loud voices she couldn’t understand came from the other end. Mason’s face reddened; his fingers shook.

  Tell them, she wanted to shout. Let them share the burden and stop blaming you for something that isn’t your fault. His relationship with his father was important, but so was the relationship he had with his brothers. She couldn’t bear to sit and watch him destroy both. It wasn’t fair. He had such a big family. A loving family, from what she’d seen. And he was cutting himself off from them by keeping this damned secret. She put her glass down on the counter and walked back into the dining area.

  Mason didn’t look up from his phone. She moved behind him and set a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to offer him comfort, support, even though she didn’t agree with his silence. She understood his wanting to protect the people he loved. Hell, she even admired him for it. But the toll it took on him broke her heart. She ran the fingers of her other hand through his curly hair, delighting in the way the strands caressed and encircled her fingers.

  “They’re divorced. It’s final. Get over it.” His voice had turned hard, but she knew it was because he refused to tell them what he wanted to and not because he didn’t love his brothers.

  His mother—and his father—owed him a great deal. Without saying another word, Mason clicked the phone shut and slammed it down on the table. The forks rattled against the ceramic plates. She was pretty sure there had still been someone talking on the other end of the line when he’d hung up. He lowered his head, and she circled her arms around him. She pressed herself into his upper back and held him tightly around his biceps and chest.

  She kissed the top of his head, but he stayed stiff in her arms.

  “Why don’t you tell them the truth?”

  He shook his head, remaining silent.

  “I know you’re worried about them having a terrible relationship with your dad, but this wedge you’re driving between yourself and your brothers is going to hurt them in the end too. Not to mention the way it’ll make you feel.”

  He sagged against her, finally accepting the comfort she offered. “I know. But…”

  “You can’t help wanting to protect them the way no one ever protected you when you were a kid?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “They’re grown-ups now, Mason. I’m sure they’ll find a way to make peace with it all.” She wanted to tell him that he needed to forgive his dad. She knew it would be difficult, that Mason would have to go through a lot of pain to get to that point of forgiveness. But she also knew what it was like to lose a parent. Mason had lost his father just as surely as she’d lost her mother, only he’d done so by choice. She understood the pain a loss like that caused, and she wanted Mason to see that one day, even if not anytime soon, he would regret no longer having a father.

  But he wasn’t ready to hear any of that, and she wasn’t sure she should be the one to tell him. She wasn’t really anything special to him. They were friends, of sorts. Lovers, definitely. Something that delicate, that emotionally wrought should come from someone special. That meant it wasn’t her place, and she should keep her mouth shut.

  “Maybe after Christmas I can talk to Mom and tell her I know everything. And convince her they deserve to know the truth.”

  She smiled but knew he couldn’t see it. “That’s a good idea.”

  She squeezed him tighter for a second and then let go. She dipped two fingers in the whipped cream and smushed it on his face. Mason hollered, and she jumped back, racing from the room.

  “Gotcha!”

  He chased her into the living room, and she darted across to the other side of the coffee table.

  “You think that’s going to save you?” he said, wiping the cream from his face and licking his fingers. One hand rested behind his back.

  What the hell did he have planned now?

  She moved to the left, and he mirrored her footsteps. She feinted one way and stepped back instead. He lunged for her, leaping over the coffee table with one foot and driving her back against the wall. He caged her between his arms, his hands just above her forearms. She was trapped.

  Heat rushed through her, and her breath came in short gasps. She shivered at the passion, the edge of punishment in his eyes. He dipped his head to the side of her neck and licked one long, hot line from the curve of her shoulder to her ear.

  “Hold still,” he said. His voice was low, husky against her ear, and her body clenched. She took a shaky breath and held it, not daring to move. His right arm shook beside her, and something clicked. “Close your eyes.”

  Her eyes slid closed. The loud pop and fizz that came next made her jump, and something wet and cold landed on her skin, along the line he’d just licked. But she didn’t look. The dark promise of what would come next held her immobilized. She trusted him. He’d teased and tortured her before, and she’d always survived. If barely.

  He breathed against her neck, the contrast between the heat of his mouth and the cool wetness of whipped cream making her gasp. He licked along the edges of the cream, cleaning just a bit off her skin, then returning for a second pass. Each touch of his tongue against her skin drove her insane. She leaned back against the wall, using it to support the weight her shaky legs refused to.

  He chuckled, and the sound was all male satisfaction. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. Exactly how hot and wet she was for him right now. When her neck was clean, he pulled down the bottom of her shirt, exposing the tops of her breasts. Another spray of cream made her jerk. He leaned over her cleavage and licked her clean. She wanted to watch, but the sensations were too intense with her eyes closed to risk opening them.

  “Lift your arms,” he said.

  She did, and he pulled her shirt off. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, then slid it down her arms and tossed it on the carpet. He tickled her abdomen with his knuckles as he undid her jeans. After hooking his hands inside the waistband of the denim and thong she wore beneath, he pulled the clothes down her hips.

  He gasped. “Amy.” He groaned her name.

  “Yes?” She played innocent, as if she hadn’t taken extra care in the shower with her razor while he was making dinner. The air sliding over her bare labia b
rought a rush of wet heat to her core. He rose to his feet, and then he lifted her. She kicked off her jeans and underwear as he carried her across the living room. She stole a peek but quickly closed her eyes again as he laid her gently on the cold coffee table. She set her feet flat against the floor, her knees bent fully, but her body weight supported by the table.

  “Let me have a look at you, gorgeous,” he said.

  “By all means.” She spread her legs wide, and he moaned. He caressed his fingers up the insides of both her thighs. It was erotic as hell to lie there completely bare beneath his gaze and know how hot he was for her at that moment.

  “Very nice. Stay right there.”

  Like she was going anywhere? His clothes swished as he stood and walked across the living room. Wherever he went, he made no noise. She lay there, her core open to the cool air and the heat of his gaze. If he was even looking. She wanted to sit up, to see, but she forced herself to hold still and wait.

  Anticipation made her orgasms much more intense. The longer he made her wait, the better it would be. She knew that. Logically. But her body was already crying out for release, and he’d barely touched her. All through dinner, the silk of her thong had rubbed against her oversensitive flesh in a way it just couldn’t do if she wasn’t shaved bare.

  He remained silent, and her body began to shake. If he didn’t come back soon, she’d have to take matters into her own hands. She jumped as his fingers grasped her thighs again. She moaned at the contact.

  “Oh, baby, you’re close already, aren’t you?”

  All she could do was whimper in response. Then gasp at the cold rush of cream sprayed over her sex. She cried out, shaking as the sensations overwhelmed her. He held tightly to her legs as the quivering lessened, and then the real torture began. He licked her, slowly at first, but soon his strokes became faster, more insistent. He swirled his tongue up and down each bare labium, making her scream and beg for more.