by Teri Wilson
He rinsed the first of the clean saucepans under the cool, clean water and set it on the butcher block to dry. “Admit it—you’d derive much more satisfaction from figuring it out for yourself.”
She gave his words some thought. “That’s probably true.”
He reached a soapy hand toward her, cupped her face and wiped away the smudge of cocoa on her cheek that she’d completely forgotten was there. “Well, far be it for me to deny you such pleasure.”
His skin was hot against hers. Juliet had to remind herself that they were still talking about chocolate.
Chocolate...chocolate...
A word, a taste lingered on the edges of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. Something earthy and familiar that could possibly be the perfect counterpart to so much rich chocolaty goodness. Then it hit her, like a bolt from out of the blue.
Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
“Sea salt,” she blurted.
Leo froze for a second, then slowly removed his hand from her face. “Sea salt?”
She nodded. “Yes. Sea salt. It’s the only thing I haven’t tried.”
His flirty demeanor seemed to harden, as did the all-too-familiar knot in his jaw. No sooner did Juliet notice the change than it appeared to pass.
He gave her a lazy, sultry smile, slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close before she could even think about resisting. “Let’s give it a go, then. Shall we?”
Her response was nothing but a sigh of contentment at the feel of his arms around her again. The spoon in her hand went clattering to the kitchen floor. Leo’s lips dropped to her neck, and she inhaled a slow, quivering breath while he gave her a good and thorough nuzzling.
But even when Juliet began to feel as if she could no longer draw a pure lungful of air without shuddering, as she all but disappeared into a swirling fog of desire, she could feel the pounding of Leo’s heart. It crashed against hers like the rumble of distant thunder warning of a coming storm.
And she knew she was onto something.
13
Leo stared into the demitasse cup Juliet pushed toward him once her latest batch of chocolat chaud was ready, more nervous than he cared to admit.
Relax. It’s ordinary sea salt. Not the sea salt.
“Go ahead. Try it. I’m anxious to hear what you think.” She nodded at the untouched cup, the look on her face bordering on triumphant.
She had every right to look that way. She was close, all right. Too close for any degree of comfort.
He sipped at the chocolate, a silver bullet of pain piercing his temple the moment the rich liquid hit his tongue. He made every effort to temper the anxiety out of his voice. “Not bad.”
“I know, right? Tell the truth—I’m getting there, aren’t I?” She smiled, and her joy sank into him, warm and silky.
“As a matter of fact, you are.” What was the harm in admitting it?
She couldn’t possibly know about the fleur de sel. Juliet’s kitchen was a safe five thousand miles from Brittany. And as far as Leo knew, she’d never even set foot in France.
“I knew it. It’s still not quite right, but close. So close.” She untied her apron and slipped it over her head, sending those delicious waves of praline-colored hair tumbling out of their clip, over her shoulders and down her back.
Leo was beginning to care less and less about the chocolat chaud. His fingers itched to touch her again, his lips ached to kiss her—full on her mouth this time.
He set down his cup. “Tossing your apron? You’re not giving up, are you?”
“In your dreams.” She laughed, and the sound of it dashed through him, settling in his gut in a tight knot of longing. “But it’s late, and I believe in quitting while I’m ahead. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Tomorrow?” He raised his brows. “So you’re going to be back at it as early as that? Surely you haven’t forgotten there’s only one day left before the chocolate fair.”
“Of course I haven’t. My entry is ready. What about yours?” She crossed her arms. Those breasts, that tiny tank top...
He blinked. Hard. Chocolate fair? What chocolate fair? “All finished.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me what it is?” She gave him a coy look.
He wasn’t that stupid with lust. Not yet, anyway. “You first.”
“As grateful as I am for your help tonight, no.” She shook her head and brushed past him on her way to the sink.
This was his cue to leave. He should go get his dog and head home. Of course, he had no idea where Sugar was at the moment. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been curled against Cocoa’s side, exhausted after hours of tearing in circles around Juliet’s living room. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t want to go home.
Leaving was the last thing he wanted. What he wanted most was the woman standing just a few feet away from him—the one woman he shouldn’t want, a woman who might not even want him in return.
After an evening in the kitchen, the sweet scents of heavy cream and vanilla clung to every inch of her, leaving Leo with the irrepressible fantasy that she smelled like she’d been dipped in chocolate, purely for his pleasure. Intellectually, he knew this made no sense. But since when had any of his feelings made sense where Juliet was concerned?
He ordered his feet to move, to walk out of Juliet’s kitchen and to continue walking right out her front door.
They didn’t so much as budge. A certain other body part, however, seemed to have no problem making its presence known.
To hell with leaving. He wasn’t going anywhere unless Juliet kicked him out, lock, stock and barrel.
He moved behind her, quietly, softly, running his fingertips up and down the graceful length of her arms. A part of him expected her to stiffen at his touch or try to slip away from him. Every cell in his body sang a hymn of joy when instead she leaned back against him. Her hands went still in the soapy water, and her head fell back on his shoulder.
“Tonight was fun,” she murmured, her eyelashes drifting closed.
The purr in her voice, coupled with the softness of her bottom pressed against him, was simply too much. His hands dropped to her waist, slid forward and splayed against her belly. He pulled her even closer, his arousal pressing into her until he thought he’d go mad with wanting.
“Tonight doesn’t have to be over,” he whispered into the delectable curve of her neck.
“I’m afraid it does.” She moved ever so slightly, her backside sliding languidly against him.
He groaned through clenched teeth. “I should advise you not to tempt a desperate man.”
She turned to face him, leaving less than a fraction of an inch between their bodies. The sudden distance felt like miles. For several long moments, the water dripping from her wet hands onto the tile floor was the only sound that pierced the quiet. “It’s not that I don’t want this every bit as much as you do. In fact, I’m sure I want it more.”
Leo wholeheartedly doubted that. He was hard to the point of pain. He couldn’t remember ever being this aroused in his life, except maybe the last time he’d kissed her. And the time before that.
He rested his forehead against hers and tried to slow his heavy breathing. “I’m tired of fighting this. Aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” He could hear the struggle in her voice, see it play out in the bottomless green of her eyes.
He cupped her face and dragged the pad of his thumb against the swell of her lower lip. “Ask me to kiss you. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me since the night we met. I want to hear you say it.”
“Leo.” His name was a plea on her lips, but instead of looking in his eyes, her gaze landed somewhere behind him.
He turned his head and took in the butcher block island, the clutter of bowl
s and measuring spoons on it, and the leather-bound book he’d spotted earlier.
He looked back at Juliet. “Do you care to tell me what’s in that book?”
“It’s my grandmother’s recipe book. More than that, really. It’s a journal of sorts.” She reached for it and held it toward him.
He wasn’t altogether certain he wanted to touch it. Something about it gave him the sense that lifting the cover would be akin to opening Pandora’s box. “What does your grandmother’s journal have to do with me? With us?”
“Nothing.” The crack of the book’s spine as she opened it was like a bullet leaving its chamber. “And everything.”
He looked down, his eyes snagging on the word Mezzanotte. Between recipes that were undeniably familiar, he read of the affection between his grandmother and Juliet’s, of their optimistic plans for their business venture. And as he turned the fragile pages, he read of his grandmother’s odd behavior and Elenore Arabella’s fears that she was pulling away.
He could see where this was going, and it was nowhere he cared to visit. He slammed the book closed. He’d seen enough.
He handed it back to her. “So?”
“That’s it? That’s your reaction?” She lifted an accusatory brow. “So?”
“That book has nothing to do with me.” He gave her a gentle tap, right below the exquisite dip that rested between her collar bones. “Or you, for that matter.”
He could feel her heart beating beneath his touch, wild and fast, like a caged bird. And he wanted nothing more than to set her free.
“You make things sound so simple.” She set the book back down on the butcher block, but her gaze lingered on it. Just for a moment. No longer than it took for Leo to breathe in and out. But he still would have liked to bury the thing in the deepest pit he could find.
“Things are simple. I want to make love to you, and I don’t give a damn what anyone else has to say about it.” His words vibrated between them, leaving them both breathless.
He bent toward her, and she rose on her tiptoes to meet him, sending a thrill surging through Leo’s veins. Her lips, flushed pink with desire, parted. But instead of taking those lips with his, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Your beautiful head is full of quarrels. I assure you mine is not, bella. Neither is my heart.”
He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “We’re not our grandparents. You’re Juliet. And I’m Leo. It’s just the two of us here. No one else.”
She reached up and wound her arms around his neck, tangling damp fingers in his hair. “Kiss me, Leo.”
A smile welled up from the deepest part of his soul. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He kissed her as softly, as slowly as he could at first, lest he lose control and take her right there on the butcher block island. But she began to make that little kittenish noise he loved so much, the tiniest sigh, just short of a whimper, and before he knew it, he was angling his head over hers, his tongue plunging in deep.
Her hands dropped to his chest, and she clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until he could feel the crash of her heart, thudding against his. So fast, so hard, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d frightened her.
“Juliet.” He pulled back. Just a bit, but it was enough to spot a telltale tremor in her hands. “You’re trembling. I’m not going to let anything hurt you. Not even me.”
“It’s not that.” She shook her head. Her cheeks glowed pinker than ever, her lips already bee-stung from his kisses. “It’s been a while. I’m guess I’m a little nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous.” He cradled her hands in his and lifted each one to his lips and covered it with a tender, reverent kiss. “How long, exactly?”
She leveled her gaze at him. “Years.” Years? He willed his face not to register his shock. That boyfriend of hers, George, was an even bigger idiot than Leo had originally thought. Didn’t he know a priceless treasure when he saw one?
Years. How was that even possible? She’d nearly been engaged to the man. He couldn’t even fathom it, but it explained a few things. Namely, that haunting vulnerability she’d seemed to possess when he’d come across her in the vineyard that night. She’d been equal parts fragile beauty and seductive goddess, a rare, intriguing combination that he’d never fully understood.
Until now.
He would fix this. He would worship her body like it had never been worshipped before. Every neglected inch of it. He would do everything within his power to show her just how desirable she was. They had all night. He would fix this, and he would savor every second he spent doing so.
“I’ll be gentle, baby.” Being anything approaching gentle would take every ounce of self-control he could muster, seeing as he wanted to devour her. But he would manage. Somehow.
She took a step backward, away from him, and he felt that small loss of her down to his core.
“I want you, Leo.” Her damp fingertips ran along the hem of her tank top, and she peeled it up and over her head. Next she unbuttoned her shorts and stepped out of them, so she was standing before him wearing nothing but some tiny wisps of red lace and an expression filled with raw hunger and need.
He’d dreamed of undressing her since the moment he first saw her and had wanted to unzip her out of that fluffy ballerina dress. But watching her bare herself for him was infinitely sweeter.
Her green eyes glittered like emeralds as she watched him take in the sight of her. She was without a doubt the most beautiful thing Leo had ever laid eyes on. Creamy porcelain skin, graceful long limbs and soft womanly curves that somehow begged for exploration.
He looked his fill. The things I plan on doing to that body. Then he lifted his gaze back to hers. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”
A quiet, satisfied smile was her answer.
“You said you’d be gentle?” Her voice was somewhere between a whisper and a purr as she took his hands and placed them over the swell of her breasts. So supple. So soft. The room could have burned down around them, and Leo wouldn’t have been able to take his hands off her. “Don’t. Oh, please don’t.”
* * *
Juliet had waited for this entirely too long.
She didn’t want careful. She didn’t want gentle. She didn’t want any kind of restraint on Leo’s part.
She only wanted him.
And he seemed all too happy to oblige. He lifted her clear off the ground and set her on the edge of the kitchen island. Her measuring spoons and metal mixing bowls went teetering toward the floor, but before they’d even crashed onto the terra-cotta tile, Leo had peeled back the lace cups of her bra, and his mouth was on her breast.
Oh, yes, this was undeniably what she’d been waiting for. Since before she’d ever heard the name Leonardo Mezzanotte, she’d been waiting for this moment. And this man.
She’d never experienced this kind of passion before. It was like a wildfire moving through her body, and she would have been powerless to stop it, even if she wanted to. Which she most definitely did not.
“Leo,” she begged. “Please.”
He kissed his way up her neck, and as he dispensed with her bra altogether he leaned down and whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”
Dainty red straps slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor. Somewhere in the tiny part of her brain that was still capable of coherent thought, she was aware of the fact that, save for her panties, she was naked. In the middle of her kitchen. And somehow Leo was still fully clothed.
His hands and mouth were everywhere. And every place he touched tingled until she didn’t think she could stand the wait another minute. She needed to see him, all of him. She needed to feel his smooth, bare skin sliding against hers.
She tugged at his shirt, but her movements were a
nything but effective. Her limbs felt languid, as though warm honey flowed through her veins, and the fabric slipped right through her fingers. She groaned in protest.
“What is it, baby?” he asked, his voice every bit as rough and wild as she felt. “Is this what you want?” He slipped his fingers beneath the lacy edge of her panties.
Oh, yes. Yes. Exactly that.
She arched toward him, her spine taut as a violin string. He played her to perfection until every part of her hummed with pleasure, and she thought she might break into a million pieces.
“Leo,” she whispered.
He kissed her on the mouth. Once, twice. Mercifully soft, feathery kisses. Then he bit down gently on her lower lip, while his fingers still teased and tormented her.
She gasped and opened her eyes to find him watching her with sleepy blue eyes that held a most satisfied smile. “Yes?”
She made a weak effort to push him away. “Take off your clothes. Now.”
He let out a laugh, then winced as he took his hands off her, as if it caused him physical pain. Juliet was almost sorry she’d made the demand. She ran her toe up and down the hard muscle of his thigh while she waited, as he unbuttoned his top button, ripped open the next few and finally yanked his shirt over his head.
Then she got her first glimpse of his exposed chest, and she was no longer sorry. He was finely muscled in a way his glorious forearms had only hinted at, with the kind of washboard abs she would have never expected to find on a man who made his living making chocolate.
“My turn,” she said, reaching for him, letting her fingertips dance across the firm planes of his chest, down his flat stomach, to where a fine line of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.
He leaned closer, giving her what she wanted, the chance to explore him the way he’d explored her. He groaned as she wrapped her arms around him, pressed her breasts against his skin and ran her fingers over the broad muscles of his back.
“Your turn?” he murmured, burying his hands and face in her hair.
“My turn to tell you how beautiful you are.” She dropped a slow, purposeful openmouthed kiss to his shoulder. His skin was salty and sweet, like the finest candy she’d ever tasted. “Mmm. How is it that you taste like sea salt and caramel?”
