by Boone, Azure
Sofia gasped a laugh at his casual audacity when it came to such private matters. “Actually, no, I don’t. Another hang-up I guess.” God, what the fuck did she ever see in this dude? Besides his fine ass and body and face and…
“Would you like to come for dinner some time?”
…oh holy shit, surely he didn’t.
“Dinner?”
For the first time, the man showed some humanity and actually seemed flustered, even if only for a split second. Then he slammed her with his intense blue gaze. “Sure.”
“Will there be dessert?”
He gave a light laugh and lowered his head. “You won’t want dessert after you taste my food. I promise.”
Holy crap, his tone! Made her vulva go vroom. On a practical note, her mind accepted his vow as a challenge. Not want dessert, huh? Impossible. “Name the place and time and I’ll be there.”
“7:30. Saturday night. 1220 Shadsburg Circle.”
Sofia blinked several times. “I live on that street.”
“Really? No way.” His face went from ridiculously handsome to hot damn with his fascination.
“Yes way,” she said. “In the cul-de-sac.”
“I actually just moved there a few months ago. Fourth house on the left.”
“That was you? I saw the movers. Wow.”
His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth. “Yeah, amazing. Small world. I needed a bigger place.”
“For your animals?”
He chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling as though he thought her indirect prying were cute. “I wanted to hold classes and this home featured a sun room large enough to do that.”
“Healthy cooking classes?”
“Sexual how-to classes.”
Sweet mother of Santa Clause. “Oh, right. That’s…right up your alley.” She cleared her throat, wanting to fan her cheeks. “Will this be a group affair or one on one?”
He chuckled just as she realized how that sounded. “Definitely group.”
For some reason she found herself pissed off. Group sex classes? What kind of man was he? “You like a crowd, eh?”
“No, actually I don’t, but I don’t want to be accused of foul play either. I plan to tape the classes as an extra precaution.”
“Ah, well sign me up. Could use all the help I can get. ”
“Great. You can be my first client.”
Fuuuuuck what was she doing? “Absolutely. And your first dinner guest.”
“And you know where I live, so…”
“I sure do. And I really need to get going.” She regarded her basket. “Drop off all this toxic waste to my elderly friend.” His concerned frown made her laugh. “I’m joking doc, geeze.”
“You should put it all back and get good stuff.”
“You’re serious,” she said, eying his distressed face.
“Emphatically.”
“How about I promise to do better next go round.”
“Spoken like a true addict.”
She rolled her eyes and he chuckled. Thank God, she was beginning to really think he had issues with food.
“7:30 Saturday night?” he reminded.
“I’ll be there. What’s for dinner?”
“I’d like to surprise you, if that’s okay.”
Shiiiiiit his tone was speaking to her vulva again. “I love surprises.”
“Good. You’ll definitely love this one.”
Seduction dripped from his every word and her vagina gunned its engines, making the Velcro under her panties demand to be raked to shreds again.
The second he was out of sight, she yanked an opening in the hanging wall of men’s shirts, stepped inside, and shoved her hand down her pants, scratching like a dog going insane with fleas. The shuddering relief-slash-torment rolled through her. My frikn Lord, did all that shit just go down? Did she really just say yes to a dinner date? At his home? Did he really ask her? That was the bigger question. What a shock to hear those words come out of his perfect sexy mouth.
But what was his angle? His jingle-jangle? All that nonchalantness about the whole thing. Was this about his vagina profession and those classes he wanted to start? Was he merely using her for business? He knew she had sexual hang-ups, she’d be the perfect choice, wouldn’t she?
For some reason the idea irritated, excited, and scared her. Perfect combo for a woman with security issues and an obsession with sweets. But she also had a temper. And if she found out that man was using her, she’d damn well have words with him.
****
“Gammie, I’m just going to be down the street, Amelie is here if you need anything.” Sofia’s voice was loud and firm as she placed the bell on her grandmother’s lap and ding ding dinged it. “That’s what you do if you need Amelie , okay? Ring for her, she’ll come. Do not try and get up by yourself.”
Her frail grandmother looked up at her with a distressed expression, her lower jaw bobbing. Sofia waited to see if she comprehended all what she’d just said. “Sofia?”
The confused slash worried look in her grandmother’s Alzheimer’s gaze made her gut clench. “Yes Gammie?”
“Could you quit yelling in my damn hearing aid? I’m not deaf you know.”
Relief flooded Sofia and she laughed. “Sorry Gammie, I love you.” She leaned and kissed her forehead, hating the days when her grandmother had spells of who the fuck are you?
Sofia checked the monitors on both ends, making sure Amelie had the mobile one on her hip with the ear bud in her ear. It was the perfect device; you could hear her mother breathing with it. This was important, since her body seemed to forget to. With the two way monitors, you could rile her immediately, but oh how her grandmother hated it. What in God’s name are you trying to do, give me a heart attack? Was the usual response Sofia got blasted with. Can’t goddamn sleep around here without people shouting in your ear. I’m eight-six years old, I think I deserve some peace and goddamn quiet.
“Have a good time,” Ms. Phelps called as she left out the front door.
Oh boy, yeah. Good time, right. No problem. Just needed to calm her ass down and maybe that could happen. She paused at her car door, looking down the street. Hell, she could walk there. Work off her nerves while she was at it. Weather was fine.
She opened her car door and threw her purse in and locked it. Shit, her phone. She opened the door, got the purse and pulled her phone from it. No pockets, purse had to come.
Twenty steps down the sidewalk she pulled her phone out and called Dara. “I’m on my way,” Sophie half whisper sang to her Romanian friend.
“Ohhhhh hihihi. You better take notes for me, I want to know everything that happens.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be etched into my brain.”
“I still can’t believe you’re going to dinner with him. Don’t you dare jump in the bed with Mr. Vagina either, or I’ll fucking be pissed.”
“I know, I know. Romance, love, yada yada.”
“Yadda my ass, if you want something to turn out right, you have to put the right ingredients in. No fucking this up. Literally.” Dara giggled at her intended pun and Sofia grinned.
“Still can’t believe the man moved to my neighborhood.”
“This could be a sign, me thinks?”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure. But good or bad is the question. What if he’s just using my sexual hang-up to start his group sex affair?”
“What if he’s not? Shut up and think positive.”
Sophie nodded. “Positive. Nothing wrong with positive.”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Okay, coming up on my target, need to let you go.”
“Go. But with him—hold your horses. Try and make him talk as much as you can without you spilling your guts to him. Or jumping him. Let him know he’s not a god given to female population as much as your coochie might disagree. Keep it casual…and tight.”
Sophie smiled. She kinda loved Dara’s scolding when it came to this stuff. “Yes mother Theresa.” She was har
d as nails but old fashioned as they came. A Romanian nun packing an iron rod and a sailor’s vocabulary. For Sophia, the combo was irresistible, a parallel of her own life. She too was old fashioned but often times too afraid to show it. Which always landed her in a heap of trouble with men.
Chapter Three
It was too late to back out now. Meeting Sofia in the supermarket was fate. Or so Daniel had chosen to think. She may not have been sexually qualified in the maturity department but there was something promising about her. Enough to at least set a date and go to the next step. Not to mention he was desperate for release.
The doorbell rang and Daniel put his cocktail down and went to greet Sofia. She was examining her reflection in the door’s glass. He paused several feet from the entrance and watched her a second. Arms crossed over her stomach, foot rapidly tapping. She reminded him of a trapped specimen under a microscope. She’d dressed casual and straightened her auburn hair. He couldn’t wait to smell and touch the shoulder length satin. And shit, she wore blue jeans—that seemed to fit perfect—a quarter length black t-shirt, and black, fuck me ten different ways, go-go boots. She seemed comfy in her physique but it was all a show. Beneath that hard confidence was nothing but silky soft, timid female. A huge negative. But one he might have to work around.
He allowed himself to imagine how perfect she would look while being forced to multiple orgasms. He unlocked the door and opened it.
Daniel pretended not to notice the way her eyelids flapped in shock like a rapid shutter on a camera as she took in his alternate personality. He grinned at the slow burn body scan she did on him. She liked the real him, that much was obvious. Nothing sophisticated or yuppie, just simple male. He wore the suit and gelled the hair for his profession, but at home, he pampered himself with t-shirts, blue jeans and bare feet; classical organic. The women usually loved it.
She actually waved at him. So childlike. He resisted a sigh at the negative sign. He highly doubted she could behave so naive and not totally flip out at the things he’d want to do to her. He gave her a pleasant smile and stepped aside. “Come in.”
“Almost didn’t recognize you,” she said as she walked in.
He shut the door and watched her take in the comfort over class décor. She scanned the wall with the TV and stereo, then his wall of books, framed abstract art, and his perfectly worn leather furniture. “Wow, this…this really fits you. I like it. And holy hell does it smell delicious!” She looked around as though searching for the source while sitting on his overstuffed mocha leather chair.
She loved food. One point on the positive side. Not that women needed to love food, he just found it a major turn on. Another one of his kinky dysfunctions. “Would you like a drink?” He listed several alcoholic beverages and ran into an unexpected snag. Her frown.
“I’ll have the Martine. But virgin.”
He stared at her. Virgin? He tried to recall any woman he’d had that didn’t drink. He bit his tongue on a frustrated curse at what had to be the most unexpected deal breaker ever. “Not a drinker?”
She shook her head, clearly comfortable with her anti-alcoholic preference.
“I’ll get you some lemonade.”
A sweet smile. “Sounds perfect.”
Sonofabitch. Liquid courage wasn’t needed for him, but he preferred his women completely uninhibited and especially for her, she was already too much of a goddamn Snow White. Now he’d have to fake an entire dinner that he knew wouldn’t end like he really needed it to. What a fucking hair puller.
“I mean it. What smells so darn good?”
He came back with her drink and set it down on the coffee table before her. “Still a surprise. Are you hungry? I have appetizers.”
Her eyes strayed over his chest briefly. “Starving,” she nearly whispered.
“Be right back.” He hurried off to hide the hard on she’d caused with her innocent behavior. Fuck, that was no good. He was too desperate and she was…too unpredictable, too different, too soft, too beautiful. He returned with a tray and set it down on the coffee table. She immediately zeroed in on the shrimp and picked one up. “Mmmm,” she muttered, investigating. It was butterflied, stuffed with cheese and cubed ham meat, wrapped in a strip of organic bacon, and deep fried. He sat on the sofa next to her chair and watched her sink her teeth into the shrimp. “Oh. My. God.”
He licked his lips as her erotic sounding response shot fire into his cock. “Glad you like it.”
Her eyes went wide. “It’s delicious, I’m not kidding. It’s like what the hell are you doing in gynecology? You should be a chef!”
Unbidden laughter gushed out of him at the unexpected comment. “You think?”
“Oh yeah.” She nodded emphatic, reaching for another. This time, her bite wasn’t as gracious as the first and half the cheese fell on her shirt. “Craaaaap,” she exclaimed, swiping it with her middle finger and sucking it off.
He caught a glimpse of that little pink tongue and again his cock jerked. He willed his body under control. Before this was over with, he was going to be a fucking wreck. He’d needed a fix bad and now he had this. This beautiful woman with the perfect body. The problem was her. She was the type to turn up with a child and claim it was his and demand marriage. His heart raced as he recalled her you should be a chef remark. “Gynecology is much easier.”
Her blue eyes snapped to him. “Are you serious?” She picked up a zucchini appetizer. “Easier to stand between women’s legs all day than cook? Come on, no way.”
“Easier for me.”
“Guess so, since you’re a guy.” She bit into another shrimp. “Mmmm, Doc, this is fantastic, holy cow, seriously.”
His body was picking up speed in the excitement department. It didn’t care if she qualified in every way. It qualified in the way it wanted. A soft pussy to suck and pleasure and pump various sized dildo’s into. And that perfect ass. He wondered how she’d react to having his tongue probing it. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees to hide his hard on. With each bite she took, she gave the sultriest moans, driving the heat in his blood higher. She would’ve been amazing as expressive as she was. He loved an expressive woman.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
His gaze had been lost on the curves of her sweet body when her timid gratitude breached the red haze of lust. He knew he was in trouble when he didn’t care that she’d caught him. It was a good time to start the seduction.
“One of these days, you’ll have to let me make dessert for you.”
Dessert? He frowned at the dirty food word. “I’m really not a dessert person. Health issues associated with it and all. How’s your…condition by the way?”
She appeared clueless for a split second then remembered. “Oh it’s fine. Rarely flares up.”
“What type do you have?”
She waved her hand. “Not a real bad one. No shots or anything.”
“For now,” he said.
“Oh stop. I don’t eat that much sweets. I mostly just like to bake them. In fact, I rarely eat what I bake.”
She took a sip of lemonade then set it back down. “Hey, which is better…a skinny baker or a fat one?”
The strange question snapped him out of his mood. “I have no clue.”
“A skinny one. Cause bakers eat their mistakes.”
If it weren’t for his dire need to release, she’d be much easier to smile with. “That’s a good one.”
She nodded. “My dad told it to me.”
Her dad. She was fond of him. He lifted his leg, ankle to knee, suddenly recalling the little stories his mother used to tell him. “I have one.”
She smiled and sat back, getting comfy. “Go for it.”
“Many years ago, a baker's assistant called Richard the Pourer, whose job it was to pour the dough mixture in the making of sausage rolls, noted that he was running low on one of the necessary spices, sent his apprentice to the store to buy more. Unfortunately, upon arriving at the shop the young man reali
zed that he had forgotten the name of the ingredient. All he could do was tell the shopkeeper that it was: ‘For Richard the Pourer, for batter for wurst.’"
A snicker preceded Sofia’s laugh. “Nice, doc.”
Maybe he could survive this if he focused on the mundane. “You said your father is a baker?”
She nodded, leaned for her lemonade, and took a sip while playing with the hem of her jeans. “He passed away last year though.”
Hmm. Why had he thought he was alive? “Sorry to hear that.”
“I’d told you he is a baker, I’d meant was. Was a baker. A very good one.”
He put his arm on the back of the couch. “I see.” He could almost feel the tension pouring from her body now. Her father was a sensitive subject for her. “You miss him?”
She took several gulps of lemonade and shrugged. “Sometimes.” She gave a little laugh. “Wow, that sounded cold, right?”
“I get it.” He nodded a little, feeling like he could level the playing field for her. “My grandmother passed away thirteen years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Were you…close to her?”
He leaned back. “We were inseparable.” He gave a light grin, pretending to remember good details that didn’t exist.
Sofia chewed her lower lip again. She seemed to do it when she was nervous and embarrassed. “How’d she die?”
“A massive heart attack. She weighed four hundred and twenty pounds.” A heartbeat later, he wiped the foul memory from his mind and smiled at her. “So, what do you do for a living, Miss Sofia?”
She shook the ice in her glass then glanced at him. “I take care of my grandmother. Full time. She has Alzheimer’s.”
And there it was. She was a goddamn saint. When he needed a female demon, he ended up with her. “That’s honorable of you.”
She shrugged, looking uncomfortable with the compliment. “Well, I get a free place to stay, free food, a small salary.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
She nodded and sighed like she wished she could see it the same. “Yeah, that’s what I tell myself.”
