Searching for Perfect

by Jennifer Probst

  Relief broke through her. He didn't want to talk about the sex or their relationship. Maybe he believed, like her, that it was a wonderful evening that shouldn't go any further. Maybe he'd already accepted they'd spend a few more hours together at the golf course, then part without another word of the encounter. Maybe he'd even begin to date Mary. That would be nice.

  Damn, the hash brown was so good. Very tiny, though. Maybe a few more. "They're claiming it's possible at this point, not confirming," she offered. "It's not like we're talking time travel here. But to have a timekeeping system for space would be groundbreaking. The energy exists in the lowest possible state so there won't be any perpetual motion. I'd like to see more research before I jump in and make assumptions. I'm a bit surprised. I always thought of you as a more progressive brain."

  She swiped a potato into the pool of ketchup, which was super low in calories, and smiled as the taste of salt and potato exploded in her mouth. She was so happy.

  "I am progressive. I'm also a classicist."

  She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

  "How long have you been studying physics, Ken?"

  The hash brown dropped from her fingers. Shit. One peek at him showed his face as a complete study of concentration. He had the same look last night when he was between her thighs and bringing her to orgasm. Her body clenched in response, and she grew wet. How was he able to do that with just a look? "What are you talking about? I saw it on this science blog when I was searching for ShoeDazzle.com."

  "Why are you lying?" he asked softly. "Why is it so bad to admit you're amazing at science and math?"

  Her head snapped up. She was so not going there. She'd already told him too much. "Not to disappoint you, but I really don't know much in those fields. I remember stuff from school, I occasionally read a blog or two, but don't try to make me into something I'm not. I'll only disappoint you."

  Green eyes burned into hers. She shivered under all that concentration, her mouth going dry as she tried to remain cool and detached. Those lush lips framed by his stubble gave him the rough morning-after look she found sexy as hell. The Calvin Klein denim jacket, button-down shirt, and snug jeans showed off his muscular body. Not that she needed reminding. Nope, she knew every inch of him, from his cut abs to the toned biceps able to hold her up while he pounded into her. He didn't look nerdy at all. In fact, he looked as steamy as a male model fresh off a catalog shoot.

  She dragged in a breath. Focus. He wanted an explanation of her brains, and she wasn't gonna give it to him. She waited and prepared for a knockout battle. She'd walk out and end this right now.

  Instead, his body slowly relaxed, and he nodded. "Okay. Are you done? I want to get to the course before the big groups come in."

  "Maybe this isn't a good idea." She paused. "Maybe we should reschedule."

  "No, you promised. Let's go." He grabbed the bill and went to the counter to pay, while she tried to rein in her sexual and physical appetite. A few hours of golf wouldn't hurt. It was a beautiful day, she'd get some light exercise, and they'd go their separate ways.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, she admitted that Nate Dunkle was a sneaky son of a bitch.

  Other than the crankiness he showed on the course after she got something called a birdie, he was the perfect companion. He showed her how to manipulate her grip and root her feet for more power. His fingers stroked, soothed, and caressed. He insisted on pressing his erection against her buttocks and wrapping his arms tight around her on the pretense of helping her with her swing. As they progressed past each hole, he muttered more and even began scribbling some ridiculous formulas on his notepad. Very confusing. Every time she thought she did really well, he seemed to get more frustrated. When his ball landed in that pretty lake, he'd almost lost his temper. Which was kind of interesting. And hot.

  Instead of dropping her off afterward, he forced her to stop and rest at one of the outdoor cafes. He drank a microbrew, and she sipped a glass of wine as they people watched, bantered, and talked about a wide range of topics. He paused at a farmers' market, and made her close her eyes while he shopped for a variety of secret ingredients he refused to show her. Every time she tried to peek in one of the big brown bags, he rolled it tighter. Whatever. Maybe he was going to cook a special secret meal for Mary. That would be nice.

  On their way home, he dragged her into an art exhibit, where they debated their favorite artists, and he came up with a ridiculous theory of how Monet used a famous mathematical equation to generate the randomness of his water lilies.

  Yeah. Right.

  It was early evening when he finally walked her to the door. Kennedy frantically searched for an easy, casual way to say good-bye and put their wild night of sex behind them. She decided on the straightforward approach.

  "Well, thanks for a great day. I'm really tired, so I better get in." She smiled brightly, a connoisseur at the professional brush-off with men, but he ignored her and strolled right through the door.

  "I like your place," he stated. His gaze took in the sparse, modern decor, clean lines, and overall expensive design.

  "Thanks. Umm, Nate--"

  "I know you're tired, but I need a favor. Remember how I said I don't cook much? I want to try. Building up a palate is the mainstay of a good culinary education." He set the bags on her countertop. "I need a taste-test dummy."

  She closed the door behind her and faced him. "What?"

  He waved a hand in the air. "Bad term. Not a literal dummy, of course. It's very simple. I blindfold you, and you let me know how each of the things I bought taste. I'd like to make a full-course dinner. Stretch my boundaries. What do you think?"

  Her head was already spinning. "Umm, I think learning to cook is a wonderful idea. But it's late. And I don't know how me taste testing is going to help you."

  "I'll get a woman's perspective on the menu I'd like to try. Won't take long. Please?"

  She eyed the bags with suspicion. "Why do I have to be blindfolded?"

  "I saw it on Hell's Kitchen. You have an open mind when you don't visually peg the ingredients. Allows your taste buds to take over as the primary sensory perception."

  Her skin tingled with anticipation. This was a definite no brainer. Reject the plan, get him out of her apartment, and get to bed early. Alone.

  "Fine. I'll do it."

  He lit up. Removed his jacket and hung it neatly in the closet. Dressed in dark jeans that cupped his spectacular ass, he pushed up the sleeves on his casual aqua shirt as if prepping for something big. He washed his hands and dragged a chair over to the table.

  "I can sit on the stool," she pointed out.

  "No. A chair is sturdier. Trust me."

  Sturdier for what? She shrugged. "What do I have to do?"

  "Can you get me a scarf, please?"

  "Kinky."

  "I can be." She laughed, got him a colorful purple scarf, and sat down. "Now, I'm going to blindfold you and then I prep some of the food." He gently placed the scarf over her eyes and tied a loose knot. "Can you see anything?"

  "Nope."

  "Okay, just give me a minute." She heard cabinet doors open and close. The rustle of bags. The scent of freshness and a variety of herbs, all mixed up. The refrigerator door squeaked, then went silent. The shuffling around the kitchen slowly relaxed her, and she let her mind drift while she waited for the first taste.

  She sensed him kneeling in front of her. The powerful aura of his male energy wrapped around her like an invisible vise. A rush of warm breath hit her lips. Her heart pounded in an uneven rhythm. "Are you ready for your first taste?"

  The rich, sensual words rumbled over her ears. Her tummy dipped. "Yes."

  "Open up."

  Her lips parted. She expected the cool, smooth touch of a spoon, but he used his fingers. He placed something small and slippery on her tongue. The flavor of ocean, salt, and smoke tickled. The firm bite against her teeth exploded juice in her mouth. The raw earthiness swamped her in pleasure, and her body responded as if an el
ectrical cord got plugged in and fried.

  "Oyster." A smile touched her lips as she caught the last bite of citrus. "The balance is amazing."

  He wiped a trickle of moisture from her bottom lip. "Good girl. It was an oyster. You like?"

  She remembered the way he had plucked at her nipples, biting, licking, and then asked her the same question. Kennedy rallied for sanity. "Yes."

  "Next one." She waited, her senses on high alert. "Open for me." Her thighs relaxed as if trying to respond to the command, and the morsel was pushed into her mouth. Creamy, thick cheese combined with a hint of garlic, olive oil, sweet basil, and crisp tomato. As if picked right off the vine, her taste buds wept with delight. "Cheese," she moaned. "Mozzarella cheese. Tomato. Oh, God, so good."

  His hands began stroking her face, her shoulders, lulling her into a more relaxed trance. Her legs fell open and her pussy throbbed. The simplicity of the flavors flowed over her, in her, and she let her head fall back. He murmured something against her ear. "You're very good at this game, sweetheart." His hands cupped her breasts, massaging her through the cotton. "Do you want more?"

  "Yes."

  "I want to take off your shirt."

  His outrageous demand was over the top. It deserved a slap, an electronic buzz, and a kick out the door. Instead, she was so turned on she couldn't speak for a minute. "Do it for me."

  He growled. Worked her shirt over her head. Cool air rushed over her breasts and tightened her nipples. She wanted to cry, it felt so outrageously decadent. Sitting in her kitchen, blindfolded, topless, and having Nate feed her. His thumbs ran over the hard nubs, flicked them through the lace, and then his mouth was suddenly on her, hot and wet, sucking her nipple through the fabric and flicking his tongue back and forth. She cried out, and arched into him, her hands holding him tight to her. He pleasured the other breast, and then he was gone. A clatter of a utensil hitting the granite. The rustle of paper. Each second twisted the tension in her stomach another knot.

  Breathing was a luxury now. She panted for air and scissored her legs, but he spoke quite calmly. "Ready for your next bite?"

  She nodded.

  "Open."

  Ah.

  Sushi. The texture was cool, and smooth, but the fish had a thickness to it that puzzled her. She bit down. The tanginess of teriyaki sauce dripped over it but didn't overwhelm the natural flavor of the fish, which broke open and became flaky.

  "Salmon! It's salmon, I know it."

  "Very nice." As she chewed and swallowed, he unhooked her bra. Her breasts spilled free into his waiting hands, and the combination of his touch with the delight of the food splintered her. "I think you deserve a bit of a reward before our next one." The button on her jeans snapped. His fingers coasted over her stomach and traced the line of denim around and around. "Lift your hips up sweetheart. You're losing the jeans."

  She waited for her inner rational voice to scream like a banshee and tell him absolutely not. No way. No how. No.

  "Yes."

  He slid off the jeans, unhooking them from around her feet. She heard his sharp intake of breath. "You're so fucking beautiful." He stroked and caressed her calves and upward, gently parting her legs. "And so wet." His finger traced the line of her panties. She jerked, her body shuddering as if on the verge of climax. "We have two tastes left. Let's get you a little something to wash it down with."

  She whimpered at the loss of his touch. A cabinet slammed. The sound of liquid poured into a glass echoed in her ears. "Take a tiny sip of this. Let me know what you think."

  He cupped her chin and tipped the glass to her lips. The wine trickled down her throat, heavy and ripe, the scent of blackberries drifting to her nostrils and soaking her mouth. A complete sensual treat, she reveled in the intense tannins and boldness. "Red wine. Berries? Fig?"

  "Blackberries. Nice. Have a little more."

  She took another sip at the same time his palm cupped her sex.

  Her hips shot up, the wine slid down her throat, and she almost fell apart right then. His thumb coaxed the hard nub of clit to come out and play, and his fingers danced and massaged over her core, until the fabric was wet and full of her scent. "Magnificent," he murmured, as if she was one of his scientific experiments. "Every time you try something you love, your body responds. You could probably orgasm from the right flavors alone."

  A choked laugh spilled from her throat. She was crazy. He was crazy. Hell, they were crazy to be acting out a foodie sex scene, yet she couldn't stop, needed him to finish where he'd taken her. Why wasn't she feeling embarrassed or horribly vulnerable? She was naked, he was fully clothed, and yet she felt completely safe with him in a way she'd never experienced before. He'd take care of her, at the expense of himself. And right here, right now, she only craved more. "Stop teasing me," she moaned. "I need--"

  "I know what you need, baby. Lift up."

  Her panties came off.

  She waited for his hands or his mouth, but there was only cold air and emptiness. "Nate?"

  "One last taste." She may die. She squeezed her legs together for relief. "Legs apart. No cheating."

  She obeyed, completely helpless under his spell. He caressed her cheeks, traced the line of her lips. "Open for me, Ken. Wider. More. Yes, just like that."

  Her heart pounded like a pack of Thoroughbreds nearing the finish line. Every muscle locked with tension, awaiting the final spoonful.

  His fingers pushed past her lips, her teeth, and lay the object on her tongue.

  Chocolate.

  Bittersweet, rich, and creamy, the chocolate coated her tongue, melted in her mouth, and took her over the edge.

  "Oh, God!"

  The blindfold was ripped off and his mouth took hers in a rough kiss, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth while his fingers delved between her legs and buried deep.

  She came hard, bucking against the chair, a dozen sensations pulling her in different directions. He muttered something against her, hiked her up so her legs wrapped around his hips, and stumbled to the bedroom. In minutes, he tumbled her on the bed, shucked off his clothes, and fit himself with the condom.

  She was still shaking from the aftereffects of the first orgasm, when he pushed her knees back and took her in one full, deep thrust.

  Her body milked him, welcomed him deep, and clamped hard around his dick. He took her savagely, and she loved every moment, raking her nails down his back as she shattered for the second time. He called out her name with his lips merged to hers, jerking his hips against her as he came.

  She tried to move, tried to speak, but it was too much and she was too far gone. A strange tightness in her chest smothered her. A sob caught in her throat.

  Oh, no. Why did she feel like she was suddenly going to burst into tears?

  He tucked her against his chest, and gently took the pins out of her hair. He smoothed the strands over her shoulders and pressed a kiss by her temple. He didn't say a word, just seemed to wait for some kind of response. As if he knew she was about to tell him something important.

  She was so good at keeping secrets, even from herself, it took her a while to realize she ached to give him something on a deeper level. At this moment, in the dark, with a man who made her feel completely safe, she wanted to tell him the truth.

  The words spilled from her mouth unchecked.

  "I wasn't just fat. I was smart. Really smart. I loved math and science and history. It was as if those were the things I could control, the things that made sense. I was in a bunch of geeky clubs. The day they attacked me, I remember seeing all those books spread out on the ground. And I realized the books, the subjects that I loved, had done nothing to protect me. They had actually made things a lot worse. Being smart really didn't get a woman anywhere; being beautiful and perfect was the key. I went home and ditched all my books, quit the clubs, started screwing up in school. I became obsessed with things that looked good. I switched my interests to fashion design, apparel, anything that made the world prettier. I be
came my own Frankenstein. My mother was thrilled--she hated having a smart, fat daughter, and once I began losing the weight, she kept encouraging me. Started to take me to charity events and seemed proud. My father was the one who put me in therapy when he realized I was killing myself. My mother said I looked fine."

  She relaxed her viselike grip on his arm and finished. "I had a great therapist. One day, I realized I didn't want to die. I wanted a life, a real life, not the shadowy dark place I'd been living in, where food was the enemy and mirrors were to be avoided. I had lost myself, so I decided to put the pieces back together. My parents ended up divorcing, and my father remarried. We rarely speak. Mom moved away years ago with her new husband. I was alone, but I think it was better that way. Kate and Arilyn helped, and I found I really was great at design and running social functions. I concentrated on building those talents and tried to forget the past. But sometimes it sneaks up on me."

  She fell silent and the emptiness hit. Suddenly, all the buildup of secrets and fear let loose and floated away. The only thing left to take its place was a deep sadness . . . for that vulnerable girl she once was, and what she'd given up because she didn't believe she was worth it.

  Kennedy tried to roll away, needing the distance, but his arms held her tight. His warmth and scent wrapped around her and provided comfort. Slowly, she gave up the fight and took what he offered.

  "It's probably time to realize the real truth, Ken. The truth that I saw the moment I laid eyes on you."

  "What?"

  "You're both. Smart and beautiful. On the inside and outside. You don't have to choose one over the other anymore. You can just be exactly who you were meant to be. And I think that's damn perfect."

  She shut her eyes and buried her face in his chest. "I'm a mess."

  "Shhh. Sleep, sweetheart. It'll all be better in the morning."

  A smile curved her lips and then the darkness was coming and she gave herself up to it, letting sleep claim her.

  fourteen

  NATE WATCHED WOLFE pin his gaze on the ball, draw back, and swing through. The club face was nicely square, and he watched his approach shot fall close to the green. Quite respectable, especially for a novice.