Cupid Cats

by Katie MacAlister

  Then he kissed her, plundering her mouth with a confidence that hadn’t existed before they’d made this decision to finally have each other. That confident kiss ignited a frenzy of wanting that stunned her with its intensity.

  They were both fully clothed except that he’d taken off her flip-flops, and their unnecessary clothes drove her crazy. She felt him—aroused and covered with way too much material—as he pressed between her thighs. What were they waiting for? She wanted him now, now, but he seemed to have other ideas.

  Grasping both of her wrists in one hand, he used the other to slide beneath her back and unhook her bra. She arched upward, wanting that item gone perhaps even more than he did. Once he’d unfastened it, he shifted so he could stroke her breasts. Once again, she was sure that would make her come. She would have told him so, but he was keeping her mouth very busy.

  As the spiraling tension threatened to overwhelm her, he slowed his practiced caress and eased his mouth from hers. Gratifyingly, he was struggling for breath as much as she was. “I wanted to take longer, but I can’t.”

  “Thank God. I’m dying here.”

  His chuckle was low and dark with sensuality. “Allow me.”

  He was deft; she’d give him that. He had his hand inside her panties before she’d drawn another ragged breath. And then . . . oh, sweetness. He knew exactly what she needed and how she needed it.

  “Jon, I’m going to . . .”

  “That’s the idea.” His voice was thick with passion. “Then you’ll get to do it again in a minute.” His clever fingers brought her to the gates of Nirvana and flung them wide-open.

  She cried out as waves of release rolled through her with enough impact to leave her gasping in their wake. She was still vibrating with pleasure as he stripped off her clothes. She was vaguely aware that he’d done away with his, too. She heard the snap of latex that meant he’d rolled on a condom.

  Standing next to the bed, his knees braced against the side of the mattress, he cradled her hips in his hands and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and abandoned herself completely to his control. His green eyes filled with intensity as he thrust deep.

  He groaned softly. “That’s a good start.”

  “Mm.” She was too blissed out to form actual words. Nothing in her sexual past had prepared her for this incredible feeling of connection. Through eyes glazed with passion she looked up. There, poised above her, was the kind of man most women only dreamed of having.

  His biceps bulged as he held her in midair, open to his every whim. His chest muscles flexed and his abs contracted as he began a steady rhythm. His sun-bleached hair fell carelessly over his forehead and quivered with each stroke.

  All the while he watched her with those hot green eyes. “Ah, Kate,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”

  His words flowed over her, making her feel like the most desired woman in the universe. Perhaps he made all women feel that way. Perhaps that was his gift, his talent.

  She could believe it. He knew exactly what to do with that potent equipment of his. As he unerringly found her G-spot, her climax drew near once again.

  His jaw clenched. “Kate?”

  Her response was a gasp that sounded a little bit like yes. He must have understood, because he drove home as she erupted in a fiery orgasm that burned away everything but the wonder of this moment.

  With a shudder, he came, his eyes closing at last, his groan of completion vibrating in the air. Slowly, keeping the connection between them, he lowered himself to the mattress.

  Resting his cheek against her shoulder, he sighed. “Incredible.”

  Kate drew a shaky breath. “You can say that again.”

  “Incredible.” There was a definite smile in his voice. Slowly he relaxed against her as they lay together in silence. “Give me a minute. I really am going to feed you.”

  “All this and food, too?”

  He kissed her shoulder. “You’d better believe it. Great sex works up an appetite.”

  Great sex. She’d take that compliment. After all, he’d been to bed with famous movie stars, so he might have a different yardstick from hers. She’d call this the best sex she’d ever had in her life, but that was just her. No matter what happened between them this week, she’d try to keep some kind of perspective on it.

  In a sensual daze, Jon pulled on his shorts and walked into the kitchen to make good on his promise to provide food for them. If he’d been curious about whether sex with Kate would be any good, that question had been well and truly answered. Her response was off the charts, and he was a lucky dog to have the next week with her.

  He turned the burner on low and set the skillet on it. The veggies would be a little overcooked, but if he and Kate had plenty of wine, it wouldn’t matter. Hell, it wouldn’t matter anyway, if she felt as terrific as he did right now.

  “Smells wonderful.” She padded into the kitchen barefoot, although she’d put on her shorts and shirt.

  “So do you.” Turning away from the stove, he drew her into his arms, which was when he determined that she’d decided against a bra. He liked the way she thought. “What’s the perfume you’re wearing these days?”

  “It’s called Peaches and Cream. One of those new natural scents made with essential oils.”

  “Nice.” He leaned down to get a good whiff, which of course ended up with him kissing her. As his lips met hers, he promised himself that after one kiss, he’d keep his hands off her until after they’d eaten a decent meal.

  Yeah, right. Once she arched into him, that promise disappeared along with every ounce of his willpower. She tasted good, smelled good, felt good. He wondered how he’d survived this long without her.

  While he used his tongue to suggest how they might employ themselves later on, he pulled her in so tight that a thief wielding a credit card wouldn’t have been able to slide it between them. He moaned at the sweet crush of her breasts and the way her bottom fit his cupped hands.

  Judging from her whimpers and the way she squirmed against him, she was having at least as good a time as he was. With dinner on the stove, kissing her was such a mistake, such a—ah, when she rubbed against him right there, and stuck her hands in the back pockets of his shorts so they could wiggle even closer together, then—

  “Smthin’s brnin.”

  He couldn’t understand her because she was muttering between kisses, and those kisses were driving him insane.

  “Smthin’s brnin.”

  He lifted his mouth a fraction from hers and tried to catch his breath. “What?”

  “Something’s burning.”

  At last the acrid odor of scorched food penetrated her fresh-peach scent. “Shit!” Abandoning what was fast becoming one of his top ten kisses of all time, he whirled toward the stove, where smoke crept out from under the lid of the skillet. “Damn it!”

  Amazingly, he remembered to grab a pot holder before seizing the skillet handle. Moving the skillet to an unheated burner, he cursed under his breath as he took off the lid. “So much for my cooking skills.”

  She laughed softly. “You were busy demonstrating one of your other skills.”

  “A more talented man would be able to handle both at once.” He picked up a wooden spoon and poked at the food. “I might be able to salvage something from this mess.” He glanced over at her and couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked with her hair mussed, her eyes dark with passion, and her lips parted as if she wanted to start it all again. But if they did, this food would be beyond redemption.

  Turning back to the skillet, he used the spoon to assess the damage. “There’s a scorched layer on the bottom, but I can probably dish out the rest. Let’s eat before we grow weak from lack of food.”

  “I’ll get plates.”

  They worked well together and were soon seated in the Hummingbird Inn’s modest dining room, each with a plate of food, a fork and napkin, and more wine.

  He set his plate at the end of the rectangular table, a
nd after joking about taking the chair at the opposite end, she put her plate down on his right.

  He had to ask. “Did you do that because you remembered I’m left-handed?”

  “To be honest, I’d forgotten, but when I watched you cook, I remembered.”

  “Thanks for sitting there.” He walked around and pulled out her chair. “It means we won’t bang into each other all the time.”

  She smiled over her shoulder as she slid gracefully into her seat. “That sounds kind of fun.”

  “Yeah, it does.” He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “You know what? Food’s overrated. Let’s forget dinner.”

  “No.” Laughing, she shoved him gently away. “You worked hard to fix this meal, and we really should eat.”

  “Spoilsport.” He returned to his seat.

  “I’m just thinking of your health. Thanks for holding my chair, by the way. I see your grandfather’s deportment lessons stuck.”

  “I couldn’t forget them if I tried. He was anal about manners. Still is.” As if to prove the point, he unfolded his napkin and put it on his lap.

  “How’s your grandfather doing?”

  Jon pictured his very proper, very British grandfather and smiled. “Slowing down a little, but gets up and dresses in a three-piece suit every day of the year. Mom’s deeply involved with all her charities. They both seem happy.”

  “Good.”

  He hesitated, not sure how to continue the conversational tennis match, but the manners his grandfather had drilled into him dictated that he mention her parents. “I was . . . sorry to hear about your dad.”

  She nodded without looking at him. “It was sad, but my sisters and I hardly ever saw him. He spent all his time carousing down in Puerta Vallarta and every so often a tabloid would do another story on his antics, so it was . . . kind of a reprieve from all that. I think for Mom, too. She seems more settled.”

  “Makes sense.” He was glad to leave that charged topic as he gestured toward her plate. “Might as well dig in. I’d say this meal peaked a long time ago, but if you drink enough wine, it’ll probably taste okay.”

  “Hey, if this doesn’t work out, there’s always PB and J. That’s what I mostly ate in Brazil.” Kate picked up her fork and took a bite.

  He waited with far too much anticipation for her verdict.

  She swallowed. “Not bad, Ramsey. Under the challenging circumstances, not bad at all.”

  “Thanks.” Being pleased that she liked his cooking was dumb on his part. It shouldn’t make any difference to him, but . . . it did. He refilled their glasses. “So what were you doing in the jungles of Brazil?”

  “I found a new monkey.”

  “Hey! We need to toast that.” He lifted his glass.

  Her laugh had a happy, carefree lilt to it. “You know, you’re absolutely right. I don’t think I ever did properly celebrate, but finding a new species of capuchin definitely deserves a toast. To increasing our knowledge of the natural world.” She touched her glass to his before taking a long swallow.

  He watched her slender throat move as she drank the wine and wanted to put his lips there. Now that he’d discovered the wonder of a naked Kate, he wanted to put his lips everywhere. He needed to pace himself, though, and he was interested in this part of her life, something he knew nothing about. “So tell me about your new monkey. Is it cute? Is it ugly?”

  “Very cute. Looks kind of like an organ-grinder’s monkey. And smart. Capuchins are the smartest monkeys in the New World. It took us a while to track down the colony, which means they’re good at concealment, and—” She glanced at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I tend to get carried away.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to hear about your discovery.”

  She sipped her wine and studied him. “I think you’re humoring me, but I love talking about this stuff.”

  “So talk to me.” He poured the last of the wine into her glass.

  “All right. You asked for it.” She launched into a narrative of her adventures leading up to the moment when she’d first suspected she’d found something no one else had discovered.

  She had a gift for vivid description, but he was also mesmerized by her obvious love of the subject. With her animated presentation and her knowledge of primates she could hit the talk-show circuit, but with her aversion to celebrity of any kind he could imagine how she’d react to that suggestion.

  “So now I have to write up my findings and see what money I can get for a return trip. I’m sure I won’t be able to stay as long, but that’s okay, because now I have Darwin to think about.”

  “Where is he, anyway?”

  “Curled up on the chair to your left.”

  Jon peered over the table to find Darwin asleep on the cushioned chair. “Now that I’ve heard this story, I’m surprised you wanted a cat for a pet,” he said. “Why not a monkey?”

  She stared at him in horror. “For a pet? God, no. They belong in their native habitat. I’m not the least in favor of domesticating them.”

  “There goes my idea for a Christmas present. Now I have no idea what to get you. I suppose a boa constrictor is out, too.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re a good guy, Jon.”

  “I am not. Don’t you dare pin that label on me. Go with your first instinct and stick with the arrogant and conceited evaluation.”

  “Sometimes you are that, too, but you get credit for sitting here for a good thirty minutes while I blathered on. You didn’t yawn once.”

  “Trust me, I wasn’t bored. I’m impressed that you put up with the snakes and the bugs and the big scary crocodiles. But you forgot to mention the natives with the poisoned darts. When did they attack?”

  “You’ve watched too many movies.”

  “Or been on the Jungle Cruise one too many times as a kid. That’s about the level of realism I can handle. I’m not a huge fan of giant snakes, Chihuahua-sized bugs, and crocs that can swallow a canoe whole.”

  She laughed. “I’ll take them over the paparazzi any day.”

  He twirled his wineglass by the stem, unsure whether to bring up what might still be a sore subject. But he’d always wanted a private moment to apologize, and this appeared to be it. “I felt horrible about what happened at the prom.”

  “It was a long time ago”—she shrugged—“and it taught me to be more careful about attracting unwanted attention.”

  “Speaking of that, with this kind of discovery, what if you accidentally get famous like Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey?”

  “Nah.” She shook her head and picked up her wineglass. “I’d have to write a book or become a spokesperson for saving the monkeys. I’d help with such a project, but I’d stay in the background.” Draining the last of her wine, she set the glass down and pushed back her chair. “You cooked the meal, plus you listened to me talk about my new monkey, so I’m going to wash the dishes.”

  “I hope not. I hope you’re planning to stack them in the dishwasher.”

  “Well, yeah.” She picked up his plate and piled it on top of hers before taking them into the kitchen. “But somebody has to tackle that skillet.”

  He picked up both wineglasses and followed her. “My suggestion? Toss it and buy another one. I’ll gladly pay not to have to scrub that mess.”

  She turned to stare at him. “Throw out a perfectly good skillet because there’s some food baked on the bottom?”

  “It’s not just baked on. It’s welded on. You’d have to sandblast that crud off there. Pitch it.”

  “No.”

  “I mean it, Kate. I feel responsible for that disaster. I plan to take that responsibility seriously.”

  “By throwing it in the Dumpster?” She put the plates beside the sink. Then she picked up the skillet. “That’s wasteful. I can . . .” She glanced down and wrinkled her nose. “It is disgusting, isn’t it?”

  “Told you.”

  “But I’m still going to clean it.”

  He grabbed hold of it. “No, you’re not
. Give it to me. I’ll make it disappear.”

  She clutched the handle and wrestled it back. “You will not. I’ll bet Maggie loves this skillet. I’ll bet she’d be horrified to come home and find it gone.”

  He managed to get his hands on it again. “I’ll buy her one twice as good.” He tried to tug it free, but he didn’t want to be so rough that he hurt her. “Give me the damned thing, Kate.”

  She gave him a mutinous glare. “No.”

  “I won’t have you wasting your time.” He pulled harder.

  “I won’t have you wasting precious resources.” She dragged it back toward her.

  Naturally, because he was still holding tight to the skillet, he ended up very close to her, too—within kissing distance, in fact. Their faces were inches apart and their arms were tangled up together as they wrestled over the skillet.

  He met her angry gaze. “You are a stubborn woman.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a stubborn woman.”

  Her lips twitched. “You know what I meant.”

  “But I’m going to make you laugh.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. You’re picturing me in drag right this minute, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not! I’m . . .” She gave up and dissolved into giggles. “Oh, Jon. No fair.”

  “I know.” He took the skillet from her unresisting grip and slid it onto the counter. Then he pulled her into his arms. “Just so you know, I recycle.”

  She was still laughing when he kissed her, which made access so much easier. He should make a new kissing rule—always catch a woman when she’s laughing. She’ll be in a good mood and her mouth will be open.

  Chapter 6

  With Jon kissing her like that, Kate couldn’t concentrate very well on saving Maggie’s skillet.

  “Leave everything,” Jon murmured between kisses. “Come upstairs with me.”

  Kate had a tough time getting a word in edgewise, but eventually she managed. “The plates will be harder to clean in the morning.”

  “We can throw them—”