Читать книгу Wicked Games - Alison Kent - Страница 10

KINSEY TOOK THE CHICKEN from the oven and moved the golden-skinned bird from roasting pan to platter. She whisked butter along with half the papaya glaze she’d prepared earlier into the drippings, the way Patrick had instructed her to do.

He’d sent her home after this morning’s cooking lesson with the chicken marinating in orange juice, shallots and brown sugar. All she’d had to do was strain the marinade into the food processor she’d borrowed from Sydney, add the Dijon mustard, papaya, garlic and additional seasonings Patrick had measured out, and baste the bird as it cooked.

So far, so good. Nothing burned, nothing broken, nothing blown to bits. Her kitchen had never smelled this mouthwateringly yummy. If the food tasted half as good, well, she’d have to confess to Doug that she was really a terrible cook and tonight’s dinner was a fluke.

Or, she supposed, such a confession could wait.

Sydney had even offered Kinsey use of the baking and serving dishes. Expert cook that she was not, she’d had nothing appropriate in which to roast and serve Patrick’s Caribbean Chicken with Orange Papaya Glaze.

Her cooking instructor had been equally as generous as his soon-to-be sister-in-law. He’d proposed he come do the cooking for her. Kinsey had declined. Cooking for one man while using another’s recipe was bad enough.

But cooking for one man while another worked to seduce her didn’t seem exactly copacetic.

Patrick’s equal-opportunity flirtation was flattering, but meaningless ten minutes later—a fact to which both Izzy and Poe could attest. Both women had fallen victim to his mercurial moods this morning, one that had him walking out of the kitchen in the middle of a lively conversation.

Still, Kinsey had left the Coffey home feeling much more competent than she had when she’d let her girlfriends talk her into this plan for entrapment. Okay, she admitted, she hadn’t actually been talked into anything. She’d pretty much been her own ringleader.

And now the circus was coming to town…no, wait. That was ringmaster. Whatever.

The wine was chilled, the salad freshly tossed, the chicken warm and ready to serve, and the table set with dishes, flatware and linen that actually were her very own. She might not be able to cook, but she knew how to dress a table as well as she knew how to dress herself.

Tonight she wore a brand-new outfit, one she’d just added to the gROWL gIRL partywear line—a pair of low-rise leisure pants with a fold-over waistband and a matching knit camisole covered with a fluttery chiffon top.

Both the pants and the cami were white, a brave decision if she did say so herself, but the red-and-zebra stripes of the sheer topper made it too much fun to resist. And besides, she looked damn good in the black, white and red combination.

Or so said her fashion diva’s sixth sense.

Now, as long as she didn’t start blabbering incessantly, or throw up due to the unexpected nerves turning her stomach inside out, and as long as Doug arrived before the chicken cooled completely, leaving her with too much leftover food for one person to eat in a lifetime—

The doorbell chimed.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, looked up again…and realized she had totally forgotten dessert. Oh, yes. Definitely the start of a great impression. She should’ve gone with her original instinct not to mess with what was a really good friendship. This trap-setting idea was going to backfire with all sorts of regrets.

The doorbell chimed again, and Kinsey found herself wearing a wry smile. Doug never rang twice; he simply walked in with a loud “Yo!” and called out her name. That told her he shared her expectant sense of this evening being different than any they’d spent together in the past.

And since that was causing butterfly fountains to bubble in her stomach, she gave up worrying that a lack of dessert meant she’d flubbed the entire evening, and reached for calm, cool and collected. Ohhmmm.

But when she opened her front door and saw him standing in the porch’s yellowed light, she didn’t know how to react, because the idea of never seeing him again hit her like a blow to the center of her chest.

When had he become so integral to her life, and when had she started taking him for granted?

She released the lock on the glass storm door and pushed it open, nearly breathless when she said, “Hi.”

The smile he’d originally given her deepened, his eyes going wide and his brows coming down as he took her in from head to toe. “Wow. And hi yourself.”

His “wow” made all the effort she’d taken with her appearance worth every minute of the tweaking spent on hair and makeup. “Back atcha.” Back atcha in a very big way.

He looked better than she remembered, and she had to wonder if she’d really ever noticed him before, or if she was simply caught up in the moment.

He wore charcoal-gray trousers and a heather-green sweater over a pale yellow dress shirt. He walked into her living room, and she turned to close the door, leaning back against it and thinking she’d never seen a guy’s backside look better than Doug Storey’s did in gray wool.

He stopped, one hand shoved into a pocket, the other holding a bottle of wine, and turned back, smiling. “It smells great in here. You should’ve told me you cooked. I would’ve been over more often.”

She thought about telling him the truth regarding her culinary skills, but went with a different truth instead. “You would’ve been welcome. You are welcome. Anytime. I just need advance warning if you expect food.”

He laughed at that. “Why’s that?”

“Well, actually, I don’t cook.” She considered the fit of his clothes one last time, then pushed away from the door and led him into the kitchen, her slides clicking from hardwood floor to rich Italian tile. “I don’t cook at all.”

“Hmm. Not sure if I should be honored here or worried.” His chuckle followed close on her heels.

The thrill of the chase was on. “Honored, of course. No need to worry. This recipe came straight from Sydney’s kitchen.”

Doug set the bottle of pinot noir on the kitchen island, leaned a hip on the edge and crossed his arms. “Now that you mention it, I have noticed Ray getting a little pudgy around the middle. I guess that’s a good sign.”

Kinsey decided it was best not to let him know who exactly was cooking these days in the Coffey household. She handed him the corkscrew she’d rummaged in her utensil drawer earlier to find. “Like I said. No worries. I happen to have this meal totally under control.”

One of Doug’s brows lifted sharply as he opened the wine and poured them each a glass. He drank, his eyes never leaving hers even after he’d returned the stemware to the island’s tiled surface. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, darlin’, but I’m wondering if you might need to check whatever it is boiling away in that pot.”

“Oh, shoot.” Kinsey cut off the gas flame, took up the wooden spoon and stirred furiously. The glaze still smelled incredible, thank goodness. She sighed deeply, glanced back at Doug. “Thanks. You saved the day.”

He shrugged, winked. “Saved dinner, at least.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” But she did want to be sure the glaze hadn’t burned before she served it with the chicken. She dipped the tip of a clean spoon into the sweet sauce, blew across the surface to cool it down, then taste-tested.

“Mmm.” She smacked her lips, then did so again, knowing Doug watched. “Okay. You’re right. You saved dinner.”

“Well, then?” Doug tapped his lower lip, signaling that he wanted a taste, too. “How ’bout a little hero respect here?”

Rolling her eyes, Kinsey grabbed another spoon. “I guess this goes to prove that cooking is probably one thing I should learn to do.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, then added, “Other than the obvious need to avoid burning down the house,” as she offered him the tip of the spoon, and he took hold of her wrist.

His hand was so large around her much smaller one, and he never broke eye contact as he opened his mouth. Watching his lips close over the spoon, watching his tongue flick at a smudge of glaze left on his lips, she remembered the intimacy of the kisses they’d shared during last summer’s vacation.

She wondered if she’d be able to find her voice to answer his question. “Oh, something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach,” she finally said.

He licked his lips and murmured his approval of the orange and papaya, breaking into a grin that pulled deeply at the dimples in his cheeks. His smile grew wider as he carefully timed his reply. “You’re catering to the wrong organ, darlin’. Trust me on that one.”

And with that, he kissed her. Still holding her wrist, he moved his other hand to the small of her back and pulled her into his body. He tasted of sweet citrus and the even sweeter promise of sex, and Kinsey melted.

She felt the beat of her pulse in the grasp of Doug’s fingers, felt the beat of his heart beneath the palm she’d pressed to the center of his chest. His lips parted and she opened her mouth, smiling as his tongue slipped deftly inside.

So warm, so demanding, so confident. So sure of what he wanted, and of being able to give her all that her body desired. When he slid his hand up her spine, when he threaded his fingers into her hair, when he cupped the back of her head to hold her still, she chuckled because she couldn’t help it.

He felt so good. He made her feel so good, even when way too soon he began to slow what had started as a fast and furious and very sudden need to connect. Damn the man for having the restraint she was struggling to find.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked when he finally put enough space between their mouths to talk.

“Nothing.” She shook her head but found it hard to push him away. She had to, for the food and for her plan to have time to come together. “Just a happy laugh. You make me feel nice.”

“You make me feel even better, especially since you’re not laughing at my technique.” He shoved a hand through his hair, which had grown overly long and rakish. “A guy can take only so much rejection in one day.”

He let go of her wrist and stepped back, his dejection replacing the thrill of seconds before. But just as quickly, the emotion was gone, and Kinsey wondered if she’d imagined it all along. “Why? What happened?”

He leaned against the countertop and snitched a piece of carrot from her chopping block. “A late flight and a missed meeting earned me a hell of a reaming from Anton, not to mention a butt-chewing by my client.”

“A late flight is hardly your fault,” she said with a frown, feeling strangely protective instincts kick in. As if Doug needed her to watch his back.

“No, but I cut it too close. I knew what time I needed to be back here and…” He shrugged, grabbed another slice of carrot from the bowl she held. “I got greedy, I guess. Trying to make one more contact in Denver while I was there.”

Kinsey paused to consider the best answer to give, not knowing if he was looking for support or censure. “So you’ve got a go-getter sort of work ethic. You can hardly be faulted for that.”

Doug grimaced as he finished the carrot. “Except there are times it seems more of a fault than an asset.”

“Like now?” she asked, sensing he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have made what he considered an error in judgment.

He nodded. “Reuben Bettis, one of the junior execs…Reuben covered my ass on this end, but it’s really bad career karma to forget where you came from. Or the people who helped get you to where you are.”

She handed him the salad bowl and the cruet of dressing, wondering if this Reuben Bettis was the one wanting to buy out Doug’s part of the architectural firm. “But that isn’t what you were doing.”

Doug took both to the table, giving her a smile on his return. “When you say that it sounds much more convincing than when I tell myself the same thing.”

“So you were forgetting?” she asked, offering him a fork and carving knife.

“I don’t want to think so.” He set about cutting off thin slices from the chicken breast and arranging them on the platter. “Media West is one of my original clients. I guess having Marcus West, not to mention Anton, question my commitment and loyalty doesn’t sit well.”

Lifting her wineglass, Kinsey swirled the liquid inside. How real was the possibility that Doug was actually more torn about this move and the impending sale of his investment in Neville and Storey than she’d been led to believe?

Lauren had made it seem as if Doug was only waiting to sign, seal and deliver the deal. But now…now Kinsey wasn’t so sure the other woman knew what she was talking about.

Kinsey sipped her wine, looking over the upraised glass at Doug, wondering what facets of his personality she might have missed during the time they’d spent together. Commitment and loyalty had never been an issue. She was surprised anyone who knew him would question either, especially Anton, who knew Doug so well.

“What’re you looking at?” he asked, refilling both their glasses once she’d set hers beside his on the island.

“Just thinking, wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“What it will be like not to have you around.”

A look of guilty relief crossed his face. “How did you find out?”

“From Lauren.”

“I was planning to tell you tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. I was.” She could hear the guilt again, this time with added regret. “It’s just tough breaking that sort of news to good friends.”

Friends. Well, that was all they were, wasn’t it? So she shouldn’t be feeling the sadness that had her eyes welling. “It’s tougher having to hear it. Especially secondhand.”

“I am sorry, Kinsey.”

“For what? Not telling me yourself? Or for going off and leaving me?” When he didn’t say anything, she decided to let it go. She didn’t want to spend their time together in an inconsolable, emotional state. And something in his pained expression told her she wouldn’t like hearing what it was he had to say.

Blinking away the threat of tears, she carried her wine and the platter of chicken to the table. When she returned for the glaze, she found Doug pouring it into the gravy boat she’d borrowed from Sydney, and her heart tripped at how at home in her kitchen he seemed.

“It’s going to take a lot of getting used to. You being gone and all that. Especially since you’re turning out to be quite handy. I’m sorry I never knew this before.”

His grin was amazingly wicked. “I have talents you can only imagine.”

“Is that so?” she asked, wishing she still had her wineglass there because she really, really needed something to do with her hands. As it was, she was having a hard time not slipping them underneath his sweater and shirt. She wanted so badly to get close to his body.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely so.”

“Well, then. Do you care to share what you know?” she asked, settling on toying with a strip of peeled cucumber skin. “Or are you keeping your skills secret?”

Doug slowly lowered the gravy boat. He stood where he was for a very long moment, his hands flat on the countertop as if he wasn’t at all certain what he was doing or why.

But as Kinsey looked on, he came to a decision. She saw it in the tensing of his shoulders, and in the way he finally tossed back his head, blond hair flowing, like a stallion having selected his mare.

The analogy made her laugh, or would have if the look he gave her didn’t make her feel as if he was considering the best way to mount. And even though that was what she’d wanted, where she’d wanted this evening to go, she couldn’t deny the sting of surprise at the speed with which they’d progressed.

He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they’d never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.

That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. “My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I’d rather start with what I know best.”

She responded with a bit of a grimace. “I didn’t remember to make dessert.”

“Trust me, darlin’. What I have in mind is better than anything you could’ve whipped up.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t easily taken in by a sweet-talkin’ man. “You say that without having tasted any of my cooking.”

“Yeah, but I’ve tasted you.” And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.

She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she’d imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

“It can’t feel half as good as what you’re doing with your mouth.” He’d moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.

He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. “It would feel a hell of a lot better if you’d lose this top.”

She couldn’t get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.

And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.

He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn’t want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.

His skin was on her skin, and all she could think about was the night they’d both been drunk and only half aware of being on the veranda at the house on Coconut Caye. His hands had been all over her then, beneath her clothing, in her hair, inside her body in ways she still imagined vividly when she went to bed alone.

With his hands now on her rib cage beneath the curve of her breasts, she thought again of that previous contact, realizing her memories were nothing compared to the bliss of the real thing.

He was deft in the way he teased her, making sure she enjoyed his touch. He tested her reactions, his mouth whispering his kisses along with his words. Both thrilled her beyond belief.

“Is that good?” he asked, his lips drawing on the skin just beneath her shoulder. “Do you like that?” he added, before she could do more than softly moan. “What do you want me to do?” As if his tongue wetting a line along the upper curve of her breast wasn’t enough. “You’re so beautiful. Soft. Sweet. Like silk. And you smell so damn good.”

She whimpered because she couldn’t help it. Her shoulder was bare, the strap of her top long since having fallen to her elbow. He took hold of the edge of the material and began to peel it from her breast. His other hand cupped her other breast fully, his palm circling over the very tip of her budded nipple.

And then her top was around her waist and both breasts bared. Oh, but she felt reckless in such delightful ways, reckless enough not to give thought to anything but the physical joy of the moment, and to the man offering her this pleasure. Doug leaned down, his eyes wide, his gaze locked wickedly on hers, and took her into his mouth.

She remembered everything then, every detail of the way he knew how sharply to tug, how sweetly to kiss, how softly to curl his tongue around her nipple. He’d learned so many things about her in that one dark night of sea breeze and sex, and he remembered. He remembered.

When had any man ever remembered, ever paid the sort of intimate attention needed for such perfect recall? Kinsey moved her hands to her sides, bracing her weight on the counter. She scooted her lower body closer into his and tossed back her head. Eyes closed, she kicked off her shoes and slid her heels up and down Doug’s backside, feeling all that taut resilient flesh beneath his very GQ attire.

The sensations of slipping and sliding, of being tongued and tasted, the reality that dinner was going to have to wait…She wasn’t sure anything she’d ever felt had been so perfect, any man she’d ever known this amazingly right.

When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she knew that having him now mattered more than waiting to be certain, than wondering if she was making a mistake she’d regret not having the resolve to avoid.

She threaded her fingers into his thick hair. “Doug?”

“Hmm?” he breathed against her skin.

She shivered. “The food is going to have to be reheated anyway….”

He slowed his very attentive movements, finally looking up, his eyes bright, his hair falling dashingly over his forehead, his mouth red and wet from the kisses. He kept his hands on either side of her rib cage, holding her there as if he expected her to bolt.

As if she wanted to be anywhere else.

“What’re you saying here, darlin’?”

She met his gaze candidly. “Just that dessert sounds really good right about now.”

He closed his eyes, as if to assure himself he wasn’t living a dream, then looked back at her with an expression defined by one simple word.

Hot.

“Kinsey Gray, you have made me a very happy man.”

The very words a girl wanted to hear. “I expect total reciprocation.”

“Trust me, darlin’. You’re about to be the happiest woman alive.”