“Yeah.” The whisper was so coarse she thought it scraped her. “My bed, Sofia. My fucking rules.”
Egged on by his bossy, dirty words, she said, “Unzip your jeans.”
“Then what?”
“The cock. I want to see it.” As soon as the words sprang free, she wanted to roll over and slither off the bed. She settled for tapping her palm to her forehead. “That sounded much sexier in my mind.”
“Hey…” His voice came softly to her, and then he was on the bed, lying with her, rolling her so that she draped on top of him. “This bed’s built to take a lot. Don’t hold back here, not with me.”
“I really do want to see your cock.”
Burke kissed her then, sampling her lips and twirling his tongue around hers. She heard his zipper surrender and then she turned her attention to what lay beneath it.
Denim and boxer briefs were concealing…
Mercy.
Sofia wasn’t altogether certain how to best approach him. But she didn’t need to be. They were learning, becoming familiar with each other. The uncertainties amplified the excitement.
Experimentally, she curled against him. Engorged from root to mushroom-shaped tip, his cock jutted from a patch of dark hair and arrowed toward his stomach. Veins threaded beneath the delicate-looking skin. She wrapped her hand around his flesh, then watched him move in her grip.
Burke groaned and she wanted to taste it, remember it forever. So she kissed him as she stroked, locking away the memory. No questions were needed, no instructions necessary, but the muscles in his abdomen flexed and clear fluid beaded at the tip of him, and she couldn’t help but speak. “You’re so responsive to me. The sounds you make, and how your body reacts when I touch you…I don’t want to quit touching you.”
“Then keep doing it. Go ahead.” His hand massaged into her nape, then she felt her hair unspooling down her back and soon he was guiding her. “Wet your lips. You can take me easier that way.”
Stretching over him, she painted kisses across his pelvic bones before swiping her tongue across her lips and taking his hard flesh into her mouth. Relishing their unhurried rhythm, she explored, letting him engage her senses. She was eager to know all the ways they could fit together, all the ways she could get him to keep groaning for her like this. But to rush would strip away some of the pleasure, and she wouldn’t deprive herself of a single opportunity to get her fill of this man.
Sliding a hand up from hip to stomach, she was warmed throughout when he took that hand and entwined his fingers with hers. And she let him in deeper.
It was right, natural, as though all the glances and the laughter and the hurt and lust had led to this singular moment—when they were joined somehow.
Burke’s hand cruised down her spine to burrow underneath her tight black pants and trace down the seam of her ass. Bare skin on bare skin. “C’mere. Lift up.”
When she rose to her knees and one of his fingers breached her slit, she gasped. “Sorry. I’m wet, I can feel it. But I wasn’t prepared for that.”
“You’re not ready,” he said, taking his hand out of her pants and sucking her moisture from his finger. “Not for me. Not yet. That’s okay.”
“What you just did,” she whispered, “did you like it? How I taste?”
“Hell, yes.” Burke leaned forward and kissed her, sharing the flavor of her arousal. “Do you?”
She smiled. “Yes. And I like how you taste.” She returned to him, but their steady rhythm was sacrificed as the tempo picked up. Faster, harder, she took him, until he clutched her tight to him as he shattered in her mouth. A succession of spurts introduced his flavor to her tongue, coated her with his heat, and created a raw, messy layer of closeness between them.
She lay tangled with him until his breathing stabilized and he could manage to right his jeans. “I made you sweat,” she said, laughing delicately as she peppered kisses up his shoulder until she could nip his ear. She couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t silence the want for more. She was satisfied yet somehow deprived of intimacy that was deeper than even this. “So this was okay?”
“Incredibly.” His mouth met hers, and they indulged and shared until one of them needed to breathe. “Is this okay for you? For your heart?”
Sofia didn’t feel any discomfort, but her pulse rushed, and the more she focused on the rhythm the more convinced she was that it pounded quicker moment by moment. “It’s good—we’re good,” she said, reassuring him even as she scooted off the bed and tried to stave off panic.
Breathe…in and out. Breathe…in and out. The thought consumed her mind, playing in a continuous loop.
“Hey.” Burke was in front of her, holding her hands. “Can I have a listen?”
His question distracted her, and the mounting anxiety cracked. When he bent and rested an ear on her chest, she wrapped her arms around him because this was the single most vulnerable moment she’d experienced with a man and some part of her was glad that the man was Burke Wolf.
“Strong heartbeat,” he said, slipping an arm around her and swaying her right where they stood. “What about your head? You looked like you were thinking a billion thoughts all at once.”
“I was trying to fix a problem that didn’t exist.” She hummed with relief, so content that they were holding each other, getting closer, and were actually letting it happen. “Everything’s okay.”
“So do you need to be someplace else right now?”
“Nope.”
“Good answer. Next question—have you ever eaten breakfast on a boat?”
“Hmm, I grew up in a fishing town, so it might’ve happened. But a sexy longshoreman has never fixed me breakfast before.” She squeezed his shoulders, looked up at him. “Think you’d like to be my first, Burke?”
A simple question, packed with meaning, and his only response was, “Go ahead to the galley, Sofia. I’ll be right there.”
While he gathered the sheets she went to the galley to wash her hands. So narrow, the interior space was, but thankfully things appeared to be in their rightful places.
He wasn’t messy, but then, Deacon Wolf had been a military vet who’d instilled his code into his son. The Wolfs’ house had been clean—almost sterile, anyone could say.
When he joined her in the galley, he stood perfectly still, studying her face. “I’d kiss you hard every day if it meant your mouth would be this sexy when I let you go.”
Kiss you hard every day. The words isolated themselves from the rest, hit her boldly, pressured her to pretend just for a second that they were part of a promise. “Oh?”
“See for yourself.”
Burke directed her to the head and she popped right back out with “My lips look like they got stuck in a Shop-Vac.”
The comment drew a startled laugh. The humor and euphoria were contagious but much too short-lived. “The last time we were together we agreed to coexist. What we did in my bed, that’s more than coexisting. That’s irrevocable. I’m not done with you, Sofia.”
But how much time lay between now and the day when he would be done with her? He was going to leave again, whether reporting to some port for work or steering this very boat to his next faraway adventure.
“We should be clear that this isn’t the sort of thing that lasts,” she said, resting her hands on his chest. “You’re going to take off whenever the urge strikes. I’m going to love someone who’ll stay.”
“For practical reasons we don’t work.”
“We don’t,” she confirmed, but that didn’t mean she was happy about it. “The practical thing to do is to keep things platonic.”
“And realistically, what’ll we do?”
“Be together. Hang out, have fun, kiss when we want to…Eventually we’re going to have to be practical.”
He nodded his agreement, pointed toward the main saloon. “Eventually isn’t today, so have a seat. I’ll whip up some breakfast and you’ll tell me about the agenda you brought to the marina.”
Oh.
Right. She had come here for a reason that didn’t involve naughty naked things. “What are you fixing?”
“Pancakes. Is that all right with you?”
“You never have to ask. Who doesn’t like pancakes anyway?”
“My mom. She was a French toast person. I remember she was stubborn as hell about it. Deacon made pancakes, taught me how when I got older.”
As though the mere mention of his father’s name could change everything, Burke became churlish. He didn’t offer much conversation as he mixed the batter and flipped the flapjacks in a skillet. The stack of pancakes he set between them on the varnished mahogany table was high and leaned precariously.
“The Cape Foods building,” Sofia blurted after a maple-syrup-drizzled pancake.
A slight headshake answered her, then, “What about it?”
“It’s neglected, Burke. I don’t know the interior condition, but my guess is it still has great bones.” Still he volunteered nothing—not information, not a question, not a demand to know why she brought the topic to his breakfast table. “Javier Bautista told me you own the building.”
“Wasn’t his duty.”
“It was yours. You let me talk about how the state of it’s affecting Blush and you said nothing. I would’ve appreciated for you to be up front.”
“It is mine,” he confirmed. “Deacon left it and some debts. I took care of things.”
“What are your plans for it?”
“No plans.”
Then he intended to leave it in limbo, connected to him but somehow not? “It used to be the social hub. It meant something. Now it’s a ghost.”
“Change’s to blame. It was bound to happen. A supermarket came in, new ideas and people and places cropped up. Deacon’s death laid ownership of his property in my hands and I’m managing it how I see fit.”
“It’s abandoned.”
“There you’re wrong. I pay the taxes, check up on it when I’m in town.”
“And when you’re gone?” Which was how often? Half a year, most of the year, years at a time? The man could stake his claim on something, make it his, and leave it anytime the whim hit. A building handed down, a woman who cared—it didn’t matter.
“The property’s insured, and it’s not violating any codes. Taking Luz’s place, tying yourself to her store, that’s your choice and I’m respecting that. So respect mine.”
“Someone gave me a second shot when I needed one. I’m paying it forward.” She slid her plate aside and reached to cover his hand, but he moved out of her path. “Burke, please listen. I chose to put life back into Blush. I’d like to do the same for Cape Foods. Sell it to me. I’m prepared to negotiate a fair purchase.”
“Greeting card business pays well if you’re ready to put money on a building.”
“Luz’s estate was…substantial. The money’s mine to spend.”
“Dozens of offers have come through. None swayed me to lay down that store. Even Luz tried to buy it.” He chewed deliberately, his voice so calm that it made her nervous. “What makes you any more worthy than the rest of them?”
“It doesn’t need to be about worthiness. It doesn’t have to be personal. Me and you and friendship or attraction, or whatever name you’d like to put on it? Forget it for a moment. I have money, you have a building, and I’d like to work out a deal.”
“For what?”
“For Joss. Joss Vail. She and I were roomies in the city.” Again she reached for him, although she’d clarified that this wasn’t personal. How could it not be, when careers, friendships, the past and future depended on it? “She gave me that second shot. Dad didn’t leave me with any prospects. I hunted high and low for work and then a girl offering samples in front of a Teavana took a chance on me. She was holding down two jobs and college, but she helped me get a gig delivering pastries. She shared her crappy apartment, let me figure out my life. We worked our asses off for better everything. Better educations, a better apartment, better clothes—all of it. I’m telling you she dusted me off when I hit the bottom. Now she’s at the bottom and I want to offer her a second shot here in Eaves.”
“How does my building factor in?”
“I want to convert it into an erotic bakery.”
“An erotic bakery?”
“Yes. Chocolate cocks, sexual party cakes, aphrodisiac pastries.” The pitch wasn’t going precisely as planned, but that was the gist of it. Joss was a pastry genius and an artist with affection for the erotic. Sandwiched between a sex shop and a boudoir photography studio, she’d have built-in clientele, damn near. “Those are examples of what she can do if she had the opportunity.”
“You said this wasn’t personal, but your friend recruited you as the go-between.”
“Joss doesn’t know. This is on me.” She’d left Joss sleeping, with Tish appearing deceptively relaxed in front of the sofa but on alert from nose to tail. Sofia hadn’t wanted to build up her friend’s excitement only to tear it down should Burke reject the offer. “I had a professional presentation planned.”
“Before my penis sidetracked you.” Matter-of-factly spoken, with only an indication of the start of a smirk.
Or maybe she was hoping for lightness to relieve the friction of this moment.
“Pretty much, yes.”
Burke reclined in his seat and folded his arms, and the muscles leaped. God. “Enjoy that pancake?”
She nodded. “Delicious.”
“Good. That’s all you’re getting from me. The building’s not for sale.”
Hadn’t he been listening? Didn’t he care? He’d let her go on, welcomed her to reveal what she and Joss had lived through—knowing he’d turn her down flat.
But Sofia didn’t protest. She ransacked the galley, combing cupboards and drawers until she found a plastic container and lid.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded.
“Taking all the pancakes. I can’t give my friend the Cape Foods building, so I’m giving her breakfast. Not quite the same, but she’ll value the gesture.” Swiping the maple syrup, too, she marched off Burke’s boat and to her bicycle on the dock.
It would’ve felt like a triumph had he not flown down the pier after her and had she not slowed so he could catch up.
Pier traffic seemed to bottleneck where she stopped walking and others interrupted their business to pry into hers. A barefoot woman holding Tupperware and syrup must look strange, so she didn’t fault their curiosity.
Besides, she was more interested in the reason Burke was chasing her down after shutting the door on her business proposition.
“Sofia, wait.” He was close enough to touch but she wouldn’t reach out and watch him evade her again. “I was a dick to dismiss you like that. I’m sorry.”
“I really am keeping the pancakes.”
“And I’m not putting up a fight for ’em.” He stretched out an arm, bringing her to his hard muscled frame and the clean scent of his white shirt. She struggled to compartmentalize, wanting two things: the vacant building he owned and for him to be out of that shirt and holding her tight again. “The building conversation—that was business, right? Let’s make this personal again.”
“Your marina mates are watching.”
“Screw that. I’m thinking about you, Sofia. That harrowing splinter incident isn’t forgotten”—he paused and the hint of teasing worked loose the tension in his frown—“and I don’t like the thought of you bicycling home barefoot. Let me drive you back.”
“Another act of heroism, Burke? What happened to not wanting to get sucked in again?”
“I’m in this with you. It’s already done. Giving you a ride back is the right thing to do, so just let me do it.”
Let him take care of you. Let him reveal that he cares.
In minutes Burke had loaded the bicycle into the bed of his turbo diesel Ford and they were headed to her side of town. When they turned onto Society Street and he parked in front of Blush, she finally killed the quiet. “This isn’t coming from a pl
ace of hurt, or entitlement, but I’m asking you to reconsider. Maybe Joss won’t want a bakery, and she has the right to say no thanks. But even if that’s the case, I’d still want the Cape Foods building.”
“To do what with it?”
“Expand Blush, rent the other apartment out. And there’s the basement.” She looked at his profile, willed him to at least glance at her. “Bautista wants Caro Jayne to take the bar. She asked if I’d go in on it, and I think I might. We talked about opening the space. All three basements connect. There’s more down there than just a passageway for two kids to hide from the world.”
His gaze searched hers then. “Blush isn’t enough to hold you down?”
“I don’t see it that way. You were right before—this is my choice. I’m choosing to put my stamp on Eaves. I’m choosing roots and a home and an opportunity to make the most of my life.”
“Sofia.” Burke unsnapped his seat belt and lunged to kiss her. Once, then again, intense enough to draw a deep moan. “You think I want the goddamn building? I don’t. But I can’t sell it.”
Can’t and won’t weren’t interchangeable, but he didn’t owe her further explanation any more than she owed him proof that she deserved the chance to purchase the building. “Okay,” she said, slipping out of the truck.
She remained on the sidewalk holding the bicycle’s handlebars, watching him depart. It wasn’t until his truck vanished around the corner that she realized her jacket was still on his boat.
She’d hurt him years ago, and today she’d swiped his pancakes.
He refused to sell a vacant building he didn’t want, and now he had her jacket.
Did that make them even?
CHAPTER 12
Hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Paget hollered into the boutique, where both Sofia and Joss were carting ladders and paint supplies through the labyrinth the furniture created in the front room, “but we’re screwed.”
Please, no more awful surprises. Yesterday morning the air system had gone on the fritz, leaving them all cranky and sweaty. Kotts & Sons had put off their service call until seven p.m., then charged Sofia the after-hours rate.
Meant to Be Mine Page 17
