Sweet Nothings: A Karma Café Novella

by Tawny Weber

  Hell.

  Jacob grimaced, trying to regain control of his thoughts. He was here to convince the woman to step up and accept her inheritance. Not to lay down and welcome his body.

  He needed to get out of here.

  But he couldn't move. Between the plush thickness of the towel resisting staying knotted and his hardening erection pushing against the fabric, all it’d take was a step, maybe two, for the heavy towel to hit the floor. What would she do then? Would she run from the room? If the heat zinging between them was any indication, he didn’t think so. Would she strip herself naked in the name of fairness, so he could see if she was as delicious in real life as she was in his imagination?

  And what would he do if she did?

  She was a potential client.

  He was here to confirm her identity, then convince her to come back to Boston with him to accept her inheritance. Running his tongue over her entire body before nibbling from front to back, then top to bottom was probably one of those ethical lines he should avoid crossing.

  For the first time since he’d vowed to do whatever he could to keep Lynn’s greedy fingers off any more of the White estate, Jacob hoped he’d tracked down the wrong woman.

  “Did you want something else?” Bianca asked, making him aware of his long silence. Her words were low and soft, and if she hadn’t been blushing he’d have called them inviting. But the blush, and the sweep of that thick fringe of lashes over her cheek, put a question mark on the offer.

  “Just the water,” he reminded her.

  Her eyes wide with embarrassment, she spun so fast toward the sink her hair flew around her like a cloak.

  Jacob bit back a groan.

  His eyes locked on the sweet curve of her butt, deliciously outlined in denim as she bent low to reach under the cabinet.

  “There,” she told him as she turned back to face him, offering an equally appealing view of her front.

  “I should finish my shower,” he muttered. “And, you know, get dressed.”

  “Not on my account, I hope?” Her smile was a little too bright around the edges but the heat in her eyes when they dropped to his towel belied any nerves. When she ran her tongue over her full lower lip, he wanted to whimper. The terry cloth brushed over his hardening dick, adding a whole new level of erotic torture to the moment.

  He mentally listed all of the reasons she was off limits, hoping his dick would listen.

  She was probably the daughter of his mentor and late friend.

  And they hadn’t even been introduced yet.

  So there was no way in hell he could justify lusting after her like this.

  “I’m Bianca,” she said as if reading his mind. Her tone was husky, like he imagined she’d sound after he’d brought her a few screaming orgasms. “What’s your name?”

  Toast.

  Ingrained manners had him automatically reaching out, ready to step forward and shake her hand. But if she really was Bianca White, she might recognize his name. His father and hers had been tight. If so, he was sure she’d lose that interested look and walk out the door.

  Which was the last thing he wanted.

  And not for legal reasons.

  So, instead, he shifted behind an oak ladder-back chair. Fitting, he figured, since his hard-on was rivaling that wood. With the back of the chair a flimsy shield between his throbbing dick and the raven-haired temptress, Jacob tried to get a grip on his out-of-control libido.

  Think, dammit. Focus.

  Bianca moved closer, biting that sexy lip as she did. All will to resist fled. Damn, she was hot. She stopped right at the edge of the seat of the chair, leaning one knee on the fabric cushion and wrapping her hands just inside his on the chair’s top spindle.

  She was so close.

  Close enough that her scent, flowery and light, wrapped around him, making him want to simply breathe her in.

  Close enough that he could see the perfection of her pale alabaster skin, the pouty fullness of her red lips, the pure sapphire blue of her big round eyes.

  Close enough to feel her interest, her desire, pulling him in like a tractor beam.To hell with business and doing the right thing. His fingers clenched the chair-back so hard, he was sure he heard the wood flex.

  “Excuse me.”

  They both started at the intrusion.

  No! In a rare flash of fury, Jacob wanted to throw the chair across the room. He'd finally overcome his good sense and was ready to give in to his body's demands, only to be interrupted.

  Glowering, he turned toward the door.

  “I knocked,” the woman in the doorway said, her eyes dancing with amused light as she took in the scene. She held up a tray filled with something that, as decadently delicious as it smelled, wasn’t nearly as tempting as Bianca.

  “Hi Anja,” Bianca’s tone somewhere between grateful and frustrated.

  Jacob frowned. The frustration he could understand. His ego—and thankfully just his ego—swelled at the disappointed look on her face. But his ego wasn’t thrilled at the excitement in her voice over the interruption. How could she be both? She should stick with frustrated, dammit. He might not be a player, but he knew when a woman was coming on to him.

  And she’d been coming on hard.

  Now she was moving away fast.

  He glared at the woman in the doorway, his sexual frustration shifting to irritation in a blink.

  “I didn’t realize my rent payment didn’t include privacy,” he bit off, shifting a step toward the bedroom. It was one thing to be standing here in just a towel with a intriguing woman who clearly had sexual interest in his body. It was another to be almost naked with two women, both fully clothed and neither looking like they planned to do anything to change that.

  “We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Anja, one of the owners of the Karma Café. Mother asked me to deliver breakfast,” Anja’s tone was serene and friendly, with just a hint of laughter. She lifted a tray as evidence. “She said you’d be expecting it.”

  Jacob had some vague recollection of Natalia mentioning that breakfast would be included during his stay. But he’d thought that meant breakfast he went downstairs for, that he'd choose himself. While actually wearing underwear.

  “I didn't mean to interrupt, though. I can see the two of you are... busy.” Wicked delight gleamed in Anja’s gypsy dark eyes.

  "Why don't you just leave the—"

  “Nope, not busy,” Bianca said at the same time, her words so rushed they tumbled over themselves. She reached out to grab Anja’s arm, just below the elbow and above the wide swath of bracelets. “Why don’t we let, um, your renter get dressed and eat his breakfast? I can finish installing the sink later.”

  She tossed a quick, apologetic smile toward Jacob, but didn’t meet his eyes. Then she tugged a frowning Anja from the room before Jacob could protest. Or, hell, even blink.

  Nonplussed, he stared at the closed door.

  His mood, and his towel, sagged.

  Chapter Four

  “Okay, what’s the deal?” Anja asked, pulling her arm away, then making a show of adjusting the ruffle of her flowing sleeve as she gave Bianca a chiding look. “When I walked in it looked like you were about to lick that towel off that very well-built, very sexy man. The heat almost fried my muffins. Then you ran us both of us out of there so fast you wrinkled my blouse.”

  Bianca danced with impatience as she waited for Anja to open the door to her own apartment. She wished the other woman would hurry. Otherwise Bianca might rush across the hall, rip open the door and snag that towel off those sexy hips to see if the promising bulge was real or just a terrycloth illusion.

  And make a complete fool of herself.

  As soon as opened Anja’s door opened, Bianca hurried inside. Maybe another layer of wood would save her from feeling like a total idiot. What had she been thinking, that she could handle something that sexy?

  “Fry your muffins?” she asked, dropping onto Anja’s swing-style couch and shaking her
head as if she could toss off the confusing blur of desire.

  “I was bringing breakfast when I walked in on your sexy seduction. Remember?”

  “Oh, God.” As much out of frustration as to hide her red cheeks, Bianca dropped her head to her hands.

  “I’m confused. Was that not a sexy seduction going on back there?” Anja asked.

  “Yes. No,” Bianca corrected. Then, lifting her head, she gave the other woman a pathetic look. “I don’t know. Hell, I practically had an orgasm just looking at the guy. I wanted to tug that towel right off his body and drop to my knees to see if he was as tasty as he looked. What's wrong with me?”

  "Wrong?” Anja shook her head. “That sounds right to me."

  "I don't even know his name."

  Anja huffed, looking like she was going to make a smart retort. Then she narrowed her eyes, as if she were seeing something in Bianca that she’d just noticed. Bianca wondered if she got up and stared into a mirror if she’d find whatever it was. Probably not. Anja had a special way of looking at things. "It's not his name that has you worried. What’s really going on?” Anja tilted her head and gave Bianca one of those soul-deep looks. “Is this because of Grace and the others’ worries? You are a beautiful, smart, interesting woman who deserves a great sex life. They shouldn’t intimidate you out of having fun.”

  For all of two seconds, Bianca considered agreeing that it was her adopted sisters’ protectiveness that had her so upset. But pretending with Anja was pointless. The woman saw right through lies. Heck, she saw right through truths, too. She really was kinda scary.

  “They were just looking out for me,” she finally said. “And they’re right. It’s not like I’m the sexually aggressive type. You were there, you saw for yourself that even when I jump a dozen or so steps ahead in the seduction game, and the guy is already nearly naked when I hit on him. I still couldn’t’ seal the deal.”

  Bianca sniffed, then put on a brave face and shrugged. “No biggie. Its not like he seemed very disappointed.”

  Anja started to laugh, then noticed the tears burning Bianca's eyes.

  “He wasn’t indifferent.”

  Since debating that would be rude, and crushing to her confidence, Bianca just shrugged.

  Nope. He hadn’t been indifferent.

  She'd blown it.

  Sure, she'd gone in there pretending she was just playing, trying out being a seductress for once. But now, she realized, it was more. So much more.

  She just didn't know what more.

  Or what to do about figuring it out. She’d wanted him like crazy, but the extent of her sexual aggressiveness had been, what? One comment, and that was supposed to inspire him to toss aside his towel and beg her to let him worship her body? Instead, he’d hid behind a chair.

  Wasn’t she the Sex Goddess.

  “This guy was into you," Anja said, interrupting the thoughts that were dragging Bianca deeper into a confidence-funk. "He was totally turned on. And I’m not just saying that because he was stretching that terry cloth to its limits. All the other signs were there, too.”

  “What signs?” Yes, she sounded like a needy schoolgirl begging for reassurance. So what. Desperate times called for desperate measures. And, dammit, she was desperate. Desperate and horny—especially if she hadn’t imagined the impressive stretch that towel had done.

  “His eyes were dilated, his fingers tense as he held the chair,” Anja mused, her eyes distant as if she were seeing the scene again. “His aura was spiking red with passion, edged with a cautious blue. He wanted you, but something was worrying him.”

  Her obvious inexperience as a do-me-on-the-counter girl?

  Oddly enough, that sort of cheered Bianca up. She might be inexperienced, but she was willing to change that. She remembered the broad planes of his chest and the delicious sprinkling of hair that’d tapered between his sculpted pectorals down his belly. To that towel.

  Whew. She blew out a breath.

  She wanted him.

  And she could have even had him.

  She could have proven to herself that she had what it took to handle a sexy guy. A little experience, and she could be the kind of woman who had booty calls, wild affairs. Regular sex, dammit.

  He could have been her do-me-on-the-counter guy.

  But instead of telling Anja they were busy, she’d run out the door like she was being chased by a knife-wielding crazy man.

  “Help me,” she said, her words just a hint above a whisper.

  Anja had no trouble hearing her, though.

  “In what way? Because I draw the line at passing notes to your crush and asking him if he likes you.”

  Bianca made a face. She’d have stuck out her tongue, too, but that’d just cement her image as a silly schoolgirl. Still sweet and innocent, pure as driven snow.

  She was so tired of that image.

  Tired enough that she lifted her chin in determination, pulled back her shoulders and gave Anja a resolute look.

  “Help me seduce him.”

  Anja’s mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

  “What do I do?” Bianca insisted. “You said yourself that he’s not indifferent. So why wasn’t he flirting back? Why didn’t he take the hint that I wanted to get beneath his towel?”

  "Why didn't you take his hint and pull the towel away?"

  Brow furrowed, Bianca threw up her hands. "Why can't you just answer the question I ask instead of the one I'm afraid to face?"

  Anja’s laugh was both wicked and sympathetic. The other woman crossed the room to a large altar centered under the northern window. An hourglass shaped woman handcrafted in ceramic held center stage with crystals and blooming flowers scattered around her. Anja poured a small amount of clear liquid into a stone bowl at the Goddess' feet, lit a cone of incense so the air was blanketed in an aromatic fog, then lifted a wooden box and took out a silk-wrapped package.

  "We'll do a reading," she said, returning to sit opposite Bianca on a round tufted pillow. Her smile was reassuring, but Bianca's stomach still knotted.

  She'd known Anja for years. The other woman had never been shy about showcasing or offering her talents. But as often as Bianca had watched her lay out the cards for others, she'd never been brave enough to get a reading for herself.

  The gilt edged cardboard rectangles flashed as Anja unwrapped them from their silken cover. They felt like fire in Bianca's hands when she took the deck to shuffle. Energy zinged, either from nerves or sparked from the rapid movement of the slender cardboard, prompting her to quickly hand them back.

  The room was silent, intently so, except for the sound of the cards sliding against each other. Anja laid them out, face up in the shape of a triangle, with one card in the center. She looked at the spread, her brow furrowed in concentration. The room dimmed, as if the sun had scurried behind a cloud, making Anja’s dark eyes glow like black jewels.

  Despite her nerves, Bianca leaned forward to see if she could catch a clue, but it was like trying to read a foreign language in picture form. The images on the cards were pretty. Exciting, and a little scary, but she had no idea what they meant.

  She looked across the table at Anja, ready to ask what she saw. But the other women's expression didn't invite comment. Instead, Anja muttered to herself, her words indistinct as she tapped the card that looked like a tower toppling into the ocean with the tip of her magenta fingernail. She lifted it and stared at the remaining cards, then shook her head and set it back in its place.

  Nerves started to unravel in Bianca’s stomach, leaving an ill feeling of disquiet behind. She wanted to ask what it meant, but where before she’d hesitated out of respect for the woman practicing her art, now she was simply afraid of the answer. Because whatever it was, Anja didn’t look happy.

  "You're killing me here," Bianca finally muttered when the silence made her feel like she was standing on an ever-shrinking knife-edge about to topple into a vat of boiling oil.

  Anja's reassuring smile didn't h
ide her sigh.

  "You're at a crossroads," she finally said. "Life is made up of choices, of changes. Change often makes people hesitate, but it is necessary for growth."

  "Isn’t that a little clichéd?" Bianca asked skeptically. Not that she doubted the truth of all of that esoteric, woowoo stuff that Anja lived by. She just didn't understand most of it.

  She'd spent enough time with overprotective friends to understand prevarication, though.

  Anja gave another sigh, this one impatient. Then she tilted her head and gave Bianca a direct look.

  “You have choices,” she pointed to the card of a blindfolded woman standing on a stormy beach surrounded by swords. “There are many options open, but you're blinded to most. All of the options will require trust. But there’s risk with all of them, and possibilities of getting hurt."

  Her lips trembling while her heart pounded, Bianca stared in horror, first at the cards and then at Anja’s sympathetic face.

  “But that sucks.” She jumped to her feet and sending the couch swinging. “I wanted to hear about sex. I wanted ideas that’d help me go back over there and seduce that hot guy. I didn’t want the latest doom and gloom update.”

  She’d spent over two-thirds of her life dodging doom and dwelling in gloom. It was sex time, dammit.

  “Choices,” Anja said again with a determined look that made Bianca sit back down and stifle her pout. “Remember that sex is a choice. Seducing or avoiding the man across the hall, those are choices, too. All of them require you risk something. Are you willing to do that? Are you willing to take a chance? Because the reward if you do could be phenomenal. Or the price heavy.”

  Phenomenal. She’d bet anything sex with a guy who stretched a towel like that was beyond phenomenal. But was she willing to pay whatever price Anja might be seeing?