Читать книгу Just One Taste - Victoria Dahl - Страница 7

AS VANESSA’S TONGUE SLID PAST his lips, Lucas pulled her hard against his chest, barely able to believe he finally had her alone. She at his mercy; he at hers.

She was glorious and beautiful. Smart and funny. Sexy and sassy. She tested his hard-won control, pushing him to impatience and recklessness. He’d overcome those weaknesses. He had to remember he’d moved beyond his ugly past. Though the intensity of his need for her scared him, he had no intention of turning back. Probably couldn’t even if he wanted to.

He wondered if she’d ever dreamed about the man she’d just described. He wondered if she cared about his money—or how he’d made it.

One night would never be enough, he knew that now, even if he’d tried to deny it when he’d first seen her. But when morning came, when she learned about him as he wanted to know her, would she understand? Or would she snub him?

Somehow, he didn’t think snubbing was in her. Certainly not because she was the hired help—she hadn’t started life that way. She’d bought his veneer of sophistication, as many had before, so she recognized the type of person he’d become. Without a doubt, there was a trust fund in her past. Maybe she was a caterer due to passion or hard times, but he had no doubt he’d find blue blood if she cut her finger.

Unlike the lovely Vanessa, he knew how to read people. And read them well.

He wondered whether she’d laugh or recoil if she knew how he’d become successful. He wondered if she’d appreciate or pull away from his need for control. Inevitably, he also considered whether she’d tangle her tongue with his quite so enthusiastically if she knew his true story. His true self.

“Nervous?” she asked as she pulled back with a gasp.

His gaze locked on her lips. He wanted them on his again. Had to have them. Had to have her.

And she wanted to talk.

She doesn’t know you. The whispered words of his conscience fought their way through his baser desires. Women—even a lovely rebel in a red dress—needed connections. He had to listen to the instincts that had served him well for so many years.

Making an effort to focus, he cupped her backside, pulling her tight against his erection. “No, I’m not nervous.” I’m dying.

Her gaze searching his, she gripped the back of his neck. “But you were.”

Vaguely, he remembered telling her that just before they’d left the country-club parking lot. A lapse, he realized now, though at the time he’d simply been trying to put her at ease. She’d been understandably uncomfortable about leaving with a stranger, and he’d wanted her to know his own nerves weren’t quite so calm.

Because I wanted you to like me.

He could hardly say that. Admitting a weakness, as he’d learned many times in the past, was always a mistake. “I’m not now.” Rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip, he added, “Let me show you.”

He trailed kisses along her jaw, reveling in the softness of her skin, inhaling the seductive aroma of strawberries and chocolate. Was that scent in his head, or did she really smell so sweet?

He fought the building tide of need coursing through his body, the ache that started between his legs and shimmered outward in waves of trembling desire. He’d made himself into something more than trailer-park trash, and he intended to prove it.

Slow down. Seduce her gently.

If he aroused her with enough skill, she wouldn’t think clearly enough to question their chemistry, to wonder if she might be making a mistake. He didn’t want her to think and question. He wanted the openness he’d sensed in her from the beginning.

He wanted her hot. Needy. Panting.

He flicked his tongue over her earlobe, and she gasped.

Mmm…progress.

“What, what are you feeling now?” she asked, her breath hitching.

“Hard.” He scraped his teeth against the soft skin behind her ear. “Impatient.”

More than impatient. He wanted to drown in her, to forget the past and the future. His need for her touch, her sighs of pleasure, had become vital.

Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. “I want you, Lucas.” She slid her thigh between his legs, pressing up against his hardness. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”

His erection pulsed almost to the point of pain. Having her was a compulsion, a mission that must succeed. The sugary scent of her surrounded him, enveloping him in a fog of lust so acute his world had narrowed only to her face and the warmth and pleasure her body offered.

He cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes glittered with hunger as she stared back at him. “You should.” Angling his head, he covered her mouth with his.

Dive. Drown. Never surface.

As he swept his tongue into her mouth, she kneaded his shirt in her fist and rolled her hips, the warmth between her legs heating his thigh.

He turned, leaning against the balcony wall, making sure she still straddled his thigh. She rubbed herself against him, a moan and gasp escaping her lips when their mouths parted. He could only imagine the flesh scraping his leg, but he knew he wanted a taste.

He slid his hands down her back, across her enticingly curvy butt, down to the hem of her racy red dress—which he bunched in his hands, then raised. When he encountered the miniscule thong panty beneath her clothes, he nearly dropped to his knees. He should have expected such freedom from his impulsive, tattooed caterer, but that didn’t lessen the jolt of erotic heat that hit him, knowing so much naked flesh lay barely concealed by her dress.

Trailing his lips over her chin and down her throat, he kneaded her bare skin and felt a shiver sweep her body, exposed to the night air.

Fast losing control, but knowing he had to hold on, he suppressed the desire to rip away her miniscule panties and drive himself into her tight, wet warmth. To assuage the hunger pulsing through him. Still, he had to touch her.

He hooked his thumbs beneath the seam of her panties.

She moaned.

And he smiled.

Moving around her hip bones, he slid his index finger slowly, deliberately toward the juncture of her thighs, the coarse hairs covering her sex teasing him. He let his finger dip briefly into the moist, soft heat.

Her breathing grew shallow, broken…needy, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding on the spot. Just watching the pleasure skim across her face was its own form of torture and satisfaction.

With his other hand, he moved his palm over her bare behind, gripping the skinny thong fabric that fit between her cheeks. Holding both sides of the panties, he slid the fabric back and forth, gliding it between the lips of her sex.

“Oh, my,” she gasped.

“Oh, yes.”

She gripped his shoulders, then flung back her head, her long, blond hair spilling down as she let a long, low hum of need escape her lips.

Mercilessly, he worked the fabric. She rocked her hips in time to his erotic rhythm. He watched her in a fascinated daze. He’d anticipated being inside her as he brought her to the first orgasm they’d share, but he wasn’t complaining. Pleasure skated across her face with obvious abandon.

He switched their positions, pinning her against the balcony wall and hooking her leg around his waist. “Let go, lovely Vanessa,” he panted in her ear as he leaned forward.

“I’m…working on it,” she said, her voice hitching.

He pressed his hard cock between her legs as he dipped his head and tongued her earlobe. “We’ll get naked. I’m dying to taste you.” He kissed the top of her shoulder. “Everywhere.”

Then, letting go of the panties, he pressed his thumb against the bare nub of flesh centered around her desire.

Her body went rigid.

He knew she hung on the precipice. Knew he had the power to send her over. “What do you want?” he rasped in her ear.

“You.”

He rolled his thumb up, then down. “What do you want me to do?”

“That again.”

“My pleasure.” He rolled again.

“But faster.”

Smiling, he complied, noting her breathing quickened, her skin flushed. Watching her, gaining wild pleasure from her pleasure, he noted the small butterfly tattoo on the back of her shoulder. He smiled, never broke his stroking rhythm and laid his lips lightly over the spot.

She exploded.

Her back arched, her eyes fluttered closed, the muscles between her legs contracted against his fingers.

Though he was still as hard as a rock, crazy satisfaction rushed through him. She was so damn beautiful.

She sagged, so he swung her into his arms and carried her inside. She trailed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “I’m fairly sure a feminist shouldn’t be carried.”

“You want to walk?” he asked as he headed down the hall, his heart hammering so fast he was sure it would burst before he made it to the bed.

“Hell no. Can’t stand.”

Somehow chuckling in the midst of his own painful need, he strode into his bedroom. After laying her on the bed, he stripped off his shirt, then started on his pants.

She sat up suddenly, laying her hand across his crotch. “Hey there, lawman, not so fast.”

“I thought you were exhausted with satisfaction.”

Scooting to the edge of the bed, she tugged his belt from the loops. “Only temporarily.”

He sucked in a breath of anticipation as she started on his zipper. Hang on, man. Stay in control.

She slid his zipper down, her fingers dipping below the band of his underwear, skimming the head of his erection.

He had the crazy image of a plane going down.

Captain, we’re losing pressure. What should we do?

Hold the course.

Sorry, sir, control is outta here. You’re on your own.

The moment she wrapped her hand around his rock-hard penis, his whole body went rigid. He had to close his eyes to hold on. He tried to still himself as she dragged her hand down, then up, though his knees nearly buckled. The woman was…amazing.

And if she continued to stroke him that way, he was going to completely lose it.

But he couldn’t help reveling in her touch. She had a sure, confident grip. Her fingers cupped beneath the head of his penis, where she held and squeezed for a moment before stroking down again and sending his pulse soaring, his control spinning wildly.

His climax hovered, threatening and promising.

Somehow, he found the strength to grab her wrist. “I’m losing it here.”

She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “No kidding?”

Obviously, she was enjoying herself. Only fair, he supposed, since he was rapidly approaching ecstasy.

He stripped off his underwear, then leaned forward, pinning her to the mattress with his body. The feel of her against him from chest to hip was intoxicating, stimulating, somehow forbidden, even though—or maybe because—he was naked and she wasn’t.

He felt dominant and predatory. As if she were his to possess and ravish.

Until she wrapped both legs around his waist.

Who’s in control now? her expression seemed to scream.

In silent answer he leaned back and yanked her dress over her head in one smooth motion, leaving her wearing a lacy red bra and the matching miniscule panties. As she lay back on the bed, her wheat-colored hair spread out around her head, her gaze locked on his, he rose, standing between her legs.

Heat rolled off her. Need vibrated within him.

He laid his index finger on the top of her shoulder, then slid it down her body. Her skin glowed with sweat and gold-specked sparkles. How did women manage that? How did they find ways to glow and shine in moments of elemental need?

He paused at the front clasp of her bra and, with a flick of his fingers, popped it open. She arched her back, as if trying to press her breasts against his hand. He moved her bra aside, flicking his thumb across her nipple. She sucked in a breath and cupped her breasts, offering them to him.

Leaning forward, he dipped his head and laved her nipple with his tongue. She moaned, and he repeated the movement, teasing the tip to a hard peak. When her breathing grew labored, he straightened and slid his hand down her stomach. He liked stimulating her. He liked the needy look in her eyes. He liked…controlling her response.

A flaw maybe. But one he wasn’t willing to admit to or relinquish.

He trailed his hand across her abs, then moved down, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, just as she’d done to him.

“You’ve been there once. I thought it was your turn.”

“It is.” He bunched the panties in his fist, then jerked them down her legs. “Eventually.”

But he’d been dying to taste her all night, and he certainly wasn’t missing his chance.

He drew his tongue down the center of her rib cage. The teasing smell of strawberries and chocolate tracked his journey, and he knew she must wear some kind of scented lotion or perfume. Her soft, creamy skin seduced him. Her sighs encouraged him. Her body welcomed him.

When he reached her navel, he dipped his tongue in the indention. Her stomach contracted. In anticipation, he hoped.

As he slid his fingers through the hair between her thighs, the musky scent of her essence washed over him. She was wet, her longing evident. He slid his tongue gently down her center. She clenched her thighs and sighed, but his hunger for her had been building, so he wasn’t long on patience. He wanted his name on her lips, wanted to experience every part of her, absorb her inside him.

They might be virtual strangers, but she’d never forget him.

He teased her with gentle flicks, but she soon grew restless, her body jerking, her fists clenching the bedcovers, her head thrashing from side to side.

Sensing what she needed, he increased his pace, no longer teasing but bringing her the satisfaction she seemed to crave. When her hips pumped and she called his name, his body answered, his erection throbbing, demanding its pleasure.

He watched her. And his command over his body buckled.

As her pulse subsided, he scooped his pants off the floor, found a condom and rolled it on. He fitted himself between her thighs and drove inside, desperate to catch those last few contractions.

Her eyes flew open and fixed on his as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her inner walls squeezed him.

Lucas panted so he wouldn’t explode at the exquisite feel of her. He withdrew, then surged forward again, and she gripped the comforter as her hips rose to meet him.

He hadn’t even turned down the sheets, he realized. Sometime between the balcony and the bedroom, he’d lost those precious manners he’d bragged about. But there was no holding back now. He didn’t give a great damn about manners as sweat rolled down his back and Vanessa writhed beneath him. He increased his pace, Vanessa’s hips pumping in response. His climax roared through him, and he drove harder, wanting her with him when he went over the edge. She stiffened, then pulsed hard around him.

As he collapsed on top of her, he was already planning ways to keep her, to probe her mind as well as her body and unravel the mystery as to why she’d struck him so hard, so immediately.

Right between the eyes.

“HOW ABOUT DESSERT?”

Lucas rolled to his side, propping his hand against his head. “That wasn’t dessert?”

Eyes closed, her red bra parted but still on, Vanessa’s lips curved in a smile. “That was fantastic.” She paused. “But I’m still hungry.”

He drew his finger down her side. Food wasn’t exactly what he was hungry for, but he could be patient. “My fridge is pretty bare. I only moved in last week.”

One eye cracked open. “Last week? The place is spotless. Where are the boxes, the furniture you haven’t found a place for yet, the bubble wrap piled in the corners?”

“I had a service unpack everything while I was at work.”

“That’s…efficient.”

“I don’t believe in wasting time.”

Her eyes popped open fully, meeting his gaze with amused satisfaction. “I kind of got that.”

He liked that he could lie here with her and talk like old friends. Where was the awkwardness of strangers taking the premature leap to intimacy? Why had his desire for her increased instead of being satiated?

He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “However…there are moments when taking your time is much more satisfying.”

“Like with a soufflé?”

Completely charmed by her, he kissed her lightly. “Among others.”

Wondering if her cry of hunger was mingled with a need for distance, he rolled off the bed. After sliding on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walked into the bathroom and pulled his bathrobe off a hook, then laid it at the foot of the bed.

He had to make a conscious effort not to go any closer to her. She made him long to crawl into bed for a day. And even then he wasn’t sure his hunger would be satisfied.

“The bathroom’s all yours,” he said, extending his arm toward the open French doors. “I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

She propped up on her elbows. “The service provide that, too?”

He smiled. “Of course. I’m a very good customer.”

He left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, hoping he had something that would satisfy a chocolate-loving caterer. He found cheese and grapes and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. As he set out glasses and plates, he reflected on the fact that Vanessa Last-Name-Not-Provided was his first guest.

At some point, he’d planned to have a few key people at the firm over for a cocktail party, but the past week had been spent immersed in learning office procedures, client lists and potential clients. This job was his first time working for someone else in nearly a decade. He needed some time to get acclimated before he hosted the partners.

When he heard the shower running, business flew from his mind. He found himself anticipating the scent of his soap on Vanessa. Her skin, soft, warm and wet from the water, he’d part the robe and kiss the side of her neck, sending her pulse racing.

She appeared at the end of the hall moments later, bundled in his robe, but a wary expression was set on her face.

Perhaps seduction should wait.

“Wine?” he asked her, holding up the bottle.

“Sure.” She sat at the bar and glanced down at the plate of food. “Empty fridge, huh? I was expecting stale chips and old Chinese food.”

“I was referring to my lack of chocolate. I’ll have to fix that if I want to keep you around, I expect.”

She selected a fat green grape. “This is great.”

Noting she didn’t respond to his invitation to stick around, he made the decision to keep things light, not to probe too obviously for details about her life. It would only take a simple phone call to find out the identity of the lovely blond country-club caterer.

As he slid onto the bar stool next to her, he handed her a wineglass. “Considering your exceptional skills in the kitchen, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She sipped the wine, nodding with approval. “How do you like Atlanta so far?”

“It’s fast. The traffic is murder.”

“A bit different from New Orleans, I bet.”

His hand clenched around the stem of his glass. “What makes you think I’m from New Orleans?”

She shrugged. “Earlier you called Mia chère. Then me, in the hall. I just figured you were from there.”

He hadn’t even been conscious of the endearment. A troubling thought. It made him realize how much Vanessa had affected him, distracted him. As he searched for the right answer, he took a drink. “I practiced in New Orleans, but I’m not originally from there.”

“Oh, well, the accent is nice. Don’t get rid of it.”

“You mean like those diction classes?”

“Yeah. Pretty ridiculous.”

He’d spent much of his life hating his accent, and he’d modified his speech a great deal. Only a trace remained, just enough to be identified as Southern. Just enough to appeal to a sympathetic jury. How would Vanessa feel knowing that?

Not complimentary, he was sure.

“How old are you?” she asked, choosing another grape.

“Thirty. You?”

“Twenty-seven. Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

I wanted to survive. “No. I sort of fell into it.” I got arrested.

She held up her hand, indicating the posh apartment. “But obviously you found a niche. You’re a big success. Are your parents proud?”

“My father died when I was young. My mother’s proud, though.” At least when she’s coherent.

She laid her hand over his. “I’m sorry about your dad. My father and I don’t always get along, but I can’t imagine being without him.”

The half-truths he was telling bothered him. He wanted to be honest with her. He wanted to share his pain, his struggles. But he suspected her background was far more upstanding than his, and he wanted her too much to risk her rejection. “Did you always want to be a caterer?”

She grinned. “Not specifically. I wanted to cause trouble.”

He raised his glass to her. A kindred spirit. Maybe that was part of her appeal. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” When she angled her head in question, he elaborated, “Let the good times roll.”

“Exactly. My family has…” She glanced down at her glass, then back up to him. “They have a traditional idea of how a proper Southern lady should live her life,” she continued, rolling her shoulders back. “I’m not traditional.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It is in my family.” She sipped her wine. “Anyway, I don’t mind being covered in flour, sweaty and wearing jeans. I was drawn to the fast pace of restaurants, then I got sucked in by the instant gratification—”

When he leered, she nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Gratification of cooking. Feed people, and for the most part, they’re happy. I turned out to be a good chef.” She angled her head. “I’m a great pastry chef, to tell you the truth.”

“I know. I got a taste, remember?”

She licked her lips. “I remember.” Her hand danced toward the plate, then she drew back. Her gaze locked with his. “I’m sometimes impulsive to my own detriment.”

“Like tonight?”

“No. Yes. I don’t normally go this…far. Something about you just got to me.”

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “I know the feeling. I was at the party to network, not find a woman who’d knock me on my ass.” He cupped her jaw. “There are no rules here, Vanessa. I won’t put you down for being nontraditional.”

“Thanks.” She squeezed his wrist. “Really. Just thanks.”

He sampled a wedge of cheese and let her have a moment to recover. He also didn’t want her to see how much he wanted to violently shake sense into her family. “So what happened after you caused trouble?”

“I moved out. I got a job. I went to culinary school. I got the tattoo, and my mother was humiliated and furious, but she realized I was serious about—” Her eyes popped wide. “I never saw your tattoo!”

During the heat of their connection, he’d forgotten about it. “How could you have missed it?”

One hand lying on the back of his bar stool and the other gripping his thigh, she leaned close. “Where?”

“Before, you wanted to know what.”

“So where?”

He grinned. “I’m available for show and tell anytime you are.”

She jiggled his thigh. “Come on, Lucas. Tell.”

“I’ll show instead.”

He rose from his stool and unbuttoned his jeans. Loving the eagerness and desire in her eyes, he turned his back and flipped the waistband over, knowing what she’d see on the back of his left hip. He was fairly certain he’d surprised her again.

“It’s a rose,” she said after a moment, the excitement in her tone draining.

“Mmm.”

“I was thinking it would be…”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“Something else.”

“A dragon?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“A snake.”

“No way.”

“Maybe an anchor?”

“Definitely not.”

“You’ve got a problem with roses?”

“Well…no.”

“You’re allergic?”

“No.”

She grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face her. Of course, he took the opportunity to get closer. He wedged himself between her thighs and braced his hands on her hips. The scent of his soap rose from her skin. Desire and possession surrounded him, and he breathed deeply, praying he could hold himself in check. A least for a little while longer.

“A rose?” she asked, still confused.

“I lost a bet.”

She waggled her fingers in a come-on gesture. “You’ve got to do better than that.” When he hesitated, she added, “I’ll tell you my story.”

“Ladies first.”

“Mia and I got them on graduation night from culinary school. We’d celebrated with a little champagne.” At his skeptical look, she added, “Well, a lot of champagne, and the next thing we knew we were at the tattoo parlor getting decorated. Mia got a chameleon on her hip, and I got the butterfly.”

“Why the butterfly?”

“Because I finally felt free, and alive, for the first time.”

“It suits you.”

“I think so. Now, your turn.”

“I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“A deal’s a deal.”

“So it is. I got mine in high school. I bet another guy I could, ah…get a certain girl into bed before he did.”

She angled her head. The expression in her eyes wasn’t complimentary. “Men are pigs.”

“Definitely. I was young, chère. Forgive me? I lost, after all.”

“One, I can’t imagine you losing. Two—” she slid her hand across his shoulder and cupped the back of his head “—I really like when you call me that.”

“I’ll keep doing it then.” In Cajun French, he whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear. “Now you know all my secrets.”

“I do?”

He smiled. “No.”

“We don’t know each other at all.”

Leaning forward, he tongued her earlobe. “I can fix that.”

She let her head fall back on a deep sigh, exposing her throat, which he took full advantage of. He laid his lips against her warm, pine-scented skin, dragging his mouth along her jaw, then down her neck, pushing his hands beneath the robe, then pushing it off her shoulders.

His heart hammered in his chest as more of her beautiful body was revealed, and his own body throbbed in response. Was she part of his path to redeem himself from past sins? Or would she be a new sin he’d be compelled to atone for?

He wished like hell he could turn off his conscience and embrace hedonism as he once had, but his inner sense of duty—from wherever it had sprung—had been given a voice, and it wasn’t likely to be silenced again.

Though the sound of Vanessa’s ragged, need-filled breathing could no doubt drown out any sensible thought he managed to form.

Placing slow, lingering kisses along her neck and shoulders, he untied the robe, sliding his hands up her bare sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed the peaks, which hardened like pebbles.

She moaned again, her eyes still closed, while he, on the other hand, kept his wide open. Seeing the flush of desire creep over her skin was a sight he didn’t intend to miss.

He continued moving his thumbs back and forth across her nipples. She moved sinuously, pushing herself more firmly into his touch. Heat surged through his body. Watching her give herself over to pleasure so shamelessly made him as hard as a rock.