Hot to the Touch

by Isabel Sharpe

  “Ha!” She laughed. “Not even close. But thank you.”

  “You’re no judge.” He nudged her with his shoulder; their fingers bumped again. He did take her hand that time, for a few steps, then squeezed and released before she could balk and pull away herself. She moved off for a few steps, then came back, which made him absurdly happy.

  “What is SoftCare about?”

  “We provide care management software to client companies that have to keep track of patients.”

  “Which means…”

  “Which means really sick people can have all their information in one place and a nurse care manager coordinates all the medical care, works with the families, et cetera.”

  “You do what there?”

  “I’m the IT director. I manage the technical stuff in-house to make sure the company runs smoothly. I help the sales force make recommendations to potential clients.”

  “And you wrote a book.”

  “Justin wrote the book. I did the geek stuff, the online interactive part. People read the chapter either in book form or online, then work with the hands-on demos to learn how to maintain and get full use from their PCs, troubleshoot when things go wrong and so on.”

  “Sounds brilliant.” She bent to pet Dylan, who’d crossed to sniff something near her feet. “If the book takes off, will you quit your job?”

  “Only if I have something satisfying to do instead. Volunteer work, maybe. I’d love to teach basketball, maybe mentor kids, get them turned onto fitness in some form. Maybe get certified to counsel drug and alcohol addicts. Probably in some sense an attempt to make up for not being able to help my brother, Tom.”

  She looked up, her face soft with sympathy. “That’s an honorable goal.”

  Troy shrugged, trying to hide his pleasure at Darcy’s admiration, and trying not to feel envious of Dylan with her hands all over him. That had to be a new low, wishing he was a dog. “Tell me about Gladiolas.”

  “Most of the time it’s hell. But it’s my hell, and I signed on for it, so I suppose I love it.”

  “You suppose…?”

  “I do.” She sighed, straightening to continue their pace. “It’s everything I’ve wanted and worked for. It got me sober, gave me something to live for. The hard part is realizing most restaurants don’t survive, and trying not to look at this as my only shot.”

  He nodded. Similar to how he felt about her, even though it was ridiculously soon after he met her to be having those worries. “But Gladiolas is doing really well.”

  “So far. But…stuff happens.”

  He glanced at her. Her mouth had set into a tight line again. His instinct prodded him. There was more there. “Like what, for instance?”

  “Like some jerk you fired gets back at you by opening a nearly identical restaurant in the same town.”

  “Oh, nice.” The pain in her voice made him want to find whoever this guy was and punch him out. “Is this a done deal?”

  “He’s opening at end of the month. Got a wealthy investor, ideal location.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back with both hands, then let it fall. He felt she needed more from him, but he had nothing to give. He’d learned with Debby that if he tried to solve a partner’s problems, he only ended up responsible for issues that weren’t his to fix, and she ended up incapable of acting on her own behalf.

  “Tell me how you got into cooking.”

  “Mom was a terrible cook, so I did most of the food in our house. I always loved it. Seemed natural to get a job in a kitchen as soon as I could work. The chef took me under his wing, got me to stop self-destructive behavior and sent me on the straight and narrow.”

  “Drinking.”

  She nodded. “Chip off the old block. I was able to stop the abuse without giving it up. My sister Brit is in recovery, has been for nearly a decade.”

  “Good for her.” He slowed their pace. She wasn’t only talking, she was pouring out her life. The contrast with the other night was stark. Did she just need anyone to listen, or had she decided to trust him? He didn’t think she’d tell him all this if she was never planning to see him again. The thought made him want to jump around like a kid.

  “As Darcy’s World Turns.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I have no idea why I’m dumping all this on you.”

  “Because I asked? Because I wanted to know?”

  “Hmm, guess that might be it, yeah.”

  They turned left on Danbury, Troy plotting how to get her back inside his house when they reached his street.

  “So, chef, tell me your fantasy meal.”

  “My fantasy meal?” Darcy cocked her head, thinking; her hair swung to the right, exposing her smooth neck, giving Troy another reason to get her inside. Everything she did turned him on. “You won’t believe me.”

  “Sure, I will. What is it, truffled foie gras with lobster champagne sauce and caviar?”

  “Nope. A giant bag of potato chips and a Diet Coke, eaten at the beach.”

  “Seriously?” He turned to gape. “You’re a potato chip freak?”

  “Freak wannabe. I rarely buy them because if they’re around I won’t stop eating them.”

  “And so…on this beach after your bag is finished, what’s for dessert? Chocolate in some form?”

  “More chips.”

  “Wow. You’ve got it bad.” He grinned, wanting to take her hand again. He loved that this sophisticated chef could get into junk food. “Wavy or regular?”

  “Regular. No flavor, just plain with salt. God, I love them. If I get to heaven, that’s my reward. Bags and bags with none of the caloric implications.”

  Troy nodded, thinking of the unopened family-size Lay’s Classic potato chips sitting in his cabinet. He might have an in there.

  “What’s your perfect meal?”

  “Mine?” Troy frowned, reeling Dylan in from a too-deep foray into someone’s yard. “I would have felt a little weird talking about this to a chef, but after hearing yours is potato chips… Mine is a pretty basic guy meal. A grilled burger, medium rare, on a sesame roll, with a slice of tomato, sweet onion, lettuce, pickle, catsup and mustard.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. What else?”

  “French fries. Hot and crisp.”

  “Shoestring or steak fries?”

  “Shoestring.” He tugged Dylan along. “Coleslaw, not too mayonnaisy, not too sweet. And cold beer to wash it down.”

  “Dessert?”

  “Chocolate milkshake.”

  “You are a guy.”

  “Told you. The most important thing is that the meal has to be eaten after a workout. Sexual or otherwise.”

  She giggled. “Why then?”

  “Everything tastes better when your body is tired from being pushed to the limit.”

  “Hmm.” She turned and gave him a provocative once-over. “I kind of like the idea of your body pushed to the limit.”

  “Yeah?” He took her hand again, determined to keep it this time.

  “Maybe I should install an exercise room at Gladiolas.”

  “You should. For before and after the meal. Keep people coming back.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She’d fallen into step beside him, gently swinging their clasped hands. Not pulling away. He felt like he’d struck gold.

  They turned back onto E. Lake Forest, ambled the rest of the way back to his house. He’d considered stretching the walk out longer, but the air was cooling rapidly, and he had high hopes since the tension had relaxed between them that she’d stay. Awhile at least. Overnight maybe. He was still starved for her, wanted her again, in his bed this time, and all night.

  Up his front walk, she fell silent and he felt her tension growing again. “You hungry? Want something to eat? I’m not sure my ego can handle providing food to a chef, but I can probably find something you’d like.”

  “I’m… I was thinking I should go.”

  “Yeah?” He unlocked his door, uncli
pped Dylan’s leash and held the storm door open so she could follow the dog inside. She hesitated only a second before she went in. He kept the smug expression off his face, stepped inside and gave in to an impulse by double-locking the door behind him. “Go where?”

  “Home. Did you just lock me in?”

  He grinned at her, tossed his keys on the table next to the door. “You are my prisoner until I decide to let you leave.”

  “I see.” Her brow furrowed, but her eyes sparked excitement that gave him hope. “So I have no say in this whatsoever?”

  “None.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. He all but held his breath.

  “It’s only fair to let me know what your evil plans are.”

  Troy made his smile as evil as he could given that triumphant joy was his emotion of the moment. “I’m going to feed you potato chips until you beg for mercy.”

  “Um.” Darcy frowned in mock confusion. “That’s supposed to be a threat?”

  “Then—” he advanced menacingly, keeping his voice a low, dark drawl “—I’m going to carry you upstairs and make love to you until you’re unable to walk.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I’m not understanding. When does the evil part kick in?”

  He swooped forward, caught her lips with his. She responded, clutching his shoulders, pressing her body close.

  “I may be a lame villain, but I can tell you if you keep pushing against me like that, you don’t get the potato chips until later.”

  “Ooh.” Her voice was low and throaty. “That is evil.”

  “Come.” He took her hand and started for the stairs before she could change her mind.

  “Wait, no. Excuse me.” She pulled her hand away; his heart skipped. “I believe the deal was that you would carry me.”

  He groaned in mock dismay, then lunged and picked her up in an undignified fireman’s carry, her head dangling down his back. “Okay, okay.”

  “This…is not…what I had in…mind.” She giggled through her protest; he’d never heard a sweeter sound.

  “No?” He pretended to stagger on the stairs, making her squeal. One of her shoes clattered to the floor.

  “No! I was thinking Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind.”

  “Rhett who? Gone with the what? Is that some chick flick?” He reached the top of the stairs, turned toward his room, kicked open the door and laid her on his bed with just enough force to make it feel as if he’d dumped her there à la Rhett.

  She struggled to sit up, but he was there first, covering her body with his, finding her mouth, tasting it in the darkness of his room. Her giggles stopped abruptly; she opened to him, legs tangling with his. Her other shoe dropped off the bed. Even the thought of her bare feet excited him.

  He lifted off her, determined this time that passion wouldn’t carry them away, that they’d be able to take it slow, make their lovemaking last. Her skirt came down leisurely; its elastic waistband saved him tackling complicated fastenings. His eyes had adjusted enough to see her legs as soft cream against his hunter-green bedspread, which looked black in the dim light spilling in from the hallway. He eased down her panties, brushing his hand across the dark hair between her legs.

  Her heaven might be full of potato chips. His was full of Darcy.

  She lifted to sitting and took off her shirt while he did the same, then he sat transfixed while she unhooked her bra, hesitating for a delicious moment before she let it slide off, making him groan with pleasure.

  “Your breasts are so beautiful,” he whispered. Her nipples called to him, dark small circles on the pale perfection of her skin. He took one into his mouth, loving her quick intake of breath, fumbling to lower his jeans, reluctantly breaking his hold to kick those and his underwear off the bed so he could return to worship, sucking her neglected other nipple, fondling the still-moist first one with eager fingers.

  “You are so beautiful, Darcy. So sexy.” He felt her stiffen, told himself to hold back, not overwhelm her, saying phrases she’d probably heard many times from other men. Like the woman in the Arabian Nights story, instinct told him he had to offer something she hadn’t had before if he wanted a chance to get into her heart. “You drive me wild. I’m like a raging…rhinoceros.”

  Her stiffness relaxed. “Say what?”

  “While you, you are my sensual, stunning rhinocerosess.”

  She giggled. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never been called that before.”

  “So you see…I’m not like other men you’ve known.”

  She laughed, pushing suddenly, her strong arms catching him off balance, tumbling him to the mattress. She followed, took over, exploring him with her mouth, soft hair dragging across his chest, adding to the sensation. Her hands followed, raking his skin lightly. Her tongue found his nipple, swirled around, it teeth gently biting. He moaned as she moved downward; his penis stiffened in anticipation.

  Her mouth closed over him, took him in deep, making air rush from his lungs. “Darcy.”

  “Mmm?”

  “That is…oh, man.”

  She backed off to slide her lips firmly up and down the sensitive underside of his cock, fisting him sometimes, using her fingers to manipulate his balls. He was overwhelmed with the sensations, yes, turned on out of his mind, but also with a piercing tenderness, a humbling opening to her that she’d no doubt scorn if she knew he was feeling it so deeply and so soon.

  What was he going to do with his passion for this woman?

  He took her shoulders, lifted her up, intending to turn her onto her back. But she resisted, positioned herself on top, straddling him, her hips moving forward and back, up and down the length of his erection so the soft lips of her sex stroked him, clung and rubbed, leaving their moisture behind. Her hair hung in a curtain over her face; her breasts swung heavy and free. She was aroused, too, her lips parted, eyes half-closed, face tense with concentration.

  He nearly shamed himself by coming onto his belly.

  “Condom?”

  Troy pointed to the drawer of his nightstand, unable to speak. She reached, found one, ripped the package and rolled it over him, using lingering movements of her hand to make even that a sensual experience.

  Darcy Clark was a miracle. One he wanted to experience over and over.

  She leaned forward, lifted, took his straining cock in her hand and moved it back and forth again over her sex, this time catching her clitoris on the upslide, pulling it on the down, circling the bud with the tip of his penis, then stroking again. She gave a soft cry, breath coming faster; her movements lost their easy rhythm.

  He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to go on living. Every time his cock dipped toward her entrance, a surge of desire made him want to grab her and push in. But he wanted this to be good for her, more than for him.

  So he watched, waited, clenching his teeth, fighting the lust. Once more she arched, pulled his penis to her clitoris, circled her hips, eyes closed, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Down again, then suddenly with a quick glide she settled and he disappeared up inside her.

  Her walls clutched him tightly; he nearly yelled with his impatience, took hold of her hips and pushed her up, down, forcing himself up hard inside her, over and over, selfish now, past all reason.

  She let out a taut breath, then took up his rhythm, rode him sitting astride, her pleasure reflected in her face. He watched her, trying desperately to hold back from coming. His thumb found her clitoris, he rubbed her, crazy emotion washing over him as he saw her starting to come apart, her poise and concentration broken, desperation tinging her movements.

  A light sweat broke out on her body. Her breathing became erratic. She was close. He let himself build toward his own climax, controlling it with every ounce of willpower left to him so he could get there with her.

  She said his name in a low, urgent voice, said it again. He reacted with tenderness so fierce it made him grit his teeth in pain. Too soon to turn what was insi
de him into speech. He’d have to tell her with his body.

  Maybe Darcy heard him, because she arched into bliss, gasping again and again, as her walls contracted around him, and Troy finally let go, thrusting up once, twice, three times and his own orgasm tore through him while the words played in his head. Darcy. I love you.

  He’d never been so sure of anything and never been filled with more fear or dread over an emotion so often celebrated with joy. He loved her. Help.

  “Mmm.” Darcy collapsed onto his chest and lay there, her body heavy and sweet with satiation. “Wow.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, stroked her hair, wanting to protect her, love her and imprison her all at the same time, still unable to speak. Yes. Wow.

  She lifted her head, rained tiny kisses over his chest and slowly pulled off him. He winced at the loss of connection, accepted the very practical tissues she handed him, and got rid of the latex in a three-point toss across the room.

  “Troy.”

  Something about her tone made him instantly wary. He forced his body to stay relaxed, resisted the urge to pull her to him, make her lie down against him and stay there all night. Once again he was horribly raw and open to a woman who could hurt him viciously just by walking out the door. “Yeah?”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “Sure.” He was glad she wasn’t lying against him because his attempts to relax had just gone out the window and she’d feel the rigidity of his muscles. Here came the lecture, the I-don’t-want-to-get-involved lecture, the this-was-just-sex lecture. “What is it?”

  “You took care of my sexual needs tonight and it was really great. And I really appreciate it.”

  “Okay.” He clenched his jaw, pain hovering at the ready. Here it came.

  “But now…” She gestured toward his door.

  “Right.” He felt a deep burning disappointment in his chest. “Now you need to leave.”

  “No.” She giggled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Now I need those potato chips.”

  8

  “SO TELL ME.”

  Darcy pushed closer into Troy’s embrace. She couldn’t believe how peacefully she’d slept, couldn’t believe how peaceful she’d felt waking up to him. Usually she came to with a jolt, ready to attack the day’s challenges. This morning she’d felt as if her brain had to push through molasses to surface.