Deliciously Sinful (17 page)

“Oh?”

Bear nodded. “Sure did. I worked for
Unicef
Europe awhile.”

“Interesting.” But Nick wasn’t even looking at Bear. He was looking into his glass.

What was Nick’s effing problem?

She looked at Bear and smiled. “How long are you in town for this time?”

“Just a few days. But actually, I’m going to be returning soon. Permanently.”

“What?” Phoebe said. “Really?”

Bear nodded. “Yup. I’ve decided it’s time to put some energy into my hometown. Get more involved in my local community.”

When he said the phrase “get more involved in my local community,” his gaze was pointed directly at her.

Phoebe jumped off her stool to give Bear a big hug. “Oh my God! I am so happy to hear you’re moving home.”

He hugged her back and said quietly into her hair, “I really missed you, Pheebs.”

She swore she heard Nick whisper “
Pheebs
” under his breath in a sarcastic tone, but she ignored it.

Smiling at Bear, she said, “I missed you, too. And it’s wonderful news that you’re coming back.”

“I hope we can spend some time together. You know, hang out sometime. I meant what I said earlier.”

She pulled back and met his gaze. “I’d like that. Very much.”

“Oh, why don’t you two just get a room?”

They both turned to Nick, who was scowling at them.

“Why do you have such a bee in your bonnet tonight, Nick?” Phoebe asked.

“I told you. I’m just being me.”

“Well,
you
need to not talk to your
boss
that way,” Phoebe said. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Oh, you’re pulling out the boss card now? That’s brilliant.”

She met his gaze. A public fight with Nick was the last thing she needed. She grabbed her belongings and smiled at Bear. “Would you excuse me? I think it’s time for me to head home.”

“Sure thing. Call you later?”

She could have sworn she heard Nick mimic Bear under his breath again, but she ignored him.

“Please do.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Then she turned and grabbed Nick’s arm. “Come with me.” She didn’t give him a choice. Anger fueled her strength, and she yanked him along behind her.

Phoebe burst outside. They were meant to get some unseasonably heavy rain over the next few days, and the portending cold, damp breeze hit her in the face.

But she was too angry to care about the chilly air.

Still dragging Nick by the arm, she marched across the parking lot to her car. She needed some privacy, and, at the moment, there was no one outside.

She released him and crossed her arms over her chest. Staring at him, she said, “What is wrong with you?”

He pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket. Using his teeth, he extracted a cigarette from the pack.

Everything he did was measured. Deliberate. Controlled. She hated it, but it mesmerized her. Even now, just watching the easy way he flipped his lighter closed and replaced it in his pocket caught her attention. Because she knew what it was like. Knew what it was like to have all those traits focused on her.

Her legs trembled at the thought.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You were a total jerk back there inside the bar.”

“Was I?”

“You know damn well you were. Why?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I wasn’t aware I did anything out of the ordinary.”

“You didn’t even shake Bear’s hand.”

“Sorry. Back in the UK, it’s not that big of a deal. Just ask your friend. He should be able to tell you, considering he’s such a cultural expert.”

“You’re full of shit.” She was so angry that she was starting to shake. “You were being even more of an ass than usual.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend…what was his name again? Tiger? Horse?”

“You know what his name is.”

“Want me to go back and apologize?”

“No. I want you to stop embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

Now his expression tightened. He drew in a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled. “I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t know how to behave when I see the woman I’m fucking picking up some guy.”

That froze her. She stood there, silent. Processing what he’d said.

Then she finally leaned back against her car just to stare at him. “That’s what this is about? You’re jealous?”

But he scoffed. “Jealous? No fucking way.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He was smoking faster now. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“You are.” She couldn’t help it. She giggled. “You are so jealous.”

“I’m not. I just think that guy looks like a fucking moron. I thought you had higher standards.”

“Hey, don’t you dare say anything negative about Bear. He’s a wonderful person. I’ve known him my entire life.”

“He wants to fuck you.”

“That is not true.” But hadn’t Bear basically said the same thing? Still, she had doubts that he was serious. “You’re wrong.”

“Don’t be an imbecile.”

“I’m hardly an imbecile. That’s more your style.”

“Sometimes. But trust me on this one. That guy is all over you.”

“If he is, so what? What does it matter to you?” Her heart was pounding in her throat. What did she want him to say? That he wanted her and only her?

Even if the sex was good—okay,
fine
, it was phenomenal—that was all there would ever be between Phoebe and Nick. Good sex was great, but it certainly wasn’t something to base a relationship on.

And yet…she had to admit there was this really small part of her that was seeing glimpses of what it might be like if Nick could get rid of his major attitude problem. She couldn’t help but remember those moments where there had been something perfect in their encounters. And each time that occurred, the more she speculated: What if?

But he was never going to be happy here. No matter what happened between the two of them, she loved where she lived and Nick hated it here. End of story.

So should she let herself keep falling for him? Or end things before her heart was broken?

This situation was just getting worse and worse. She took a deep breath and prepared to set things straight. “Nick. You work for me. We have sex. That’s it.”

“I know that. What? Do you think I’m asking you to marry me or something? That’s the last fucking thing I need in my life. I don’t want any sort of relationship. With anyone.”

“Then why do you care if Bear has feelings for me?”

“So you admit he has feelings for you.”

“No! I didn’t say that. What I asked was why it would possibly matter to you.” Her heart was speed-racing. What did she want him to say? She already knew what she wanted.

Right?

He threw down his cigarette and stomped on it. The sound of his shoe smashing the gravel was like a loud boom in the silence between them.

Finally he looked at her. “I can’t help it. I want you.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” she said, trying not to sound immature and girlish.

He came at her. “Fuck,” he said just before grabbing her shoulders. “I
want
you.”

And she felt it, pulsing between them. Magnetic. It was always like that.

“I want you, too.” What the hell was she saying? All she knew was that her skin was tingling, her breasts were throbbing, and her pussy was aching. And it was because this man was touching her.

“I hate you,” she said just before bringing his mouth to hers.

She kissed him. He pressed his body against hers, smashing her between his heart and the cold metal of the car.

“I hate you, too,” he said.

But she had to smile against his lips. She’d heard the expression before, but she’d never felt it to be so true as it was at that moment: There’s a fine line between love and hate.

That had to be it. It was wrong, it was dangerous, and it was going to end badly. But there was no other explanation for any of it. No explanation for this intense, mind-blowing response she had whenever she was around Nick Avalon.

All those things she hated about him—none of them mattered. Yes, sometimes she hated him. But, she thought as she nuzzled her head against his chest and breathed in the unique scent that was him, she had to admit she was walking that line. Love and hate.

She loved Nick.

J
esse thought she’d hidden all the evidence.

Her dad was out at Joe’s. Based on his recent behavior, she assumed he’d gone because Sherry was there. Her dad seemed smitten with the blonde. And Jesse had to admit, she’d become quite fond of the woman as well.

She didn’t want to like her. After all, she knew Sherry was here only temporarily, and when the sophisticated woman returned to Southern California, Jesse’s dad would go back to that dignified, quiet sadness she’d been living with for so long.

But none of that was Sherry’s fault, was it? From what Jesse could tell, Sherry hadn’t led her dad to believe for one minute that she was here for the long term. And Jesse’s dad wasn’t stupid; he was smart enough to make his own choices. And, right now, he was choosing to be happy, and Jesse could understand that.

More than anything, she wanted her dad to be happy.

And Phoebe, too. Chances were that one day Phoebe would actually find a man who could handle her, and she would get married and move out of the house.

And now that Sherry had dropped the idea of the Green Leaf being eventually handed down to Jesse, she felt even more chained to this place.

Not that she didn’t love the café—she did. It was just that, ideally, she wanted to experience what it would be like, if only for a little while, to cook in another environment. To see more of the world. To window-shop for fabulous shoes.

But for now, at least, she had her home kitchen.

So now she placed the Julia Child cookbook that Nick had given her in her backpack. It blended along with her junior college textbooks. And then she gave one last glance around the kitchen, making sure there was no evidence of what she’d been doing while she’d had the house to herself.

Filet de boeuf
, or filet of beef. She could practically hear Julia’s voice as she’d read the description of the dish, a description Jesse could recite by heart.

…a magnificent recipe for an important dinner, and it is not a difficult one despite the luxury of its details…

Jesse whispered the words aloud. The very way Julia described food was luscious, like a dish personified through words. To Jesse it was a type of poetry, and it inspired her as much as preparing the food itself.

But sometimes Julia was wrong. This was the fifth time Jesse had attempted to prepare filet de boeuf, and this was only the first time Jesse had felt she’d succeeded. Despite what Chef Child said, the beef recipe was a tad difficult, or at least it was for Jesse.

She wasn’t exactly a meat connoisseur, so what did she know? All she knew was that she’d made something that was delicious, and she’d loved doing it.

But there was something missing. She’d eaten her meal all alone. What she really wanted was to cook for her friends. She wanted to share this joy of cooking with them. Because that’s exactly how she felt when she’d been sautéing the carrots, turnips, and leeks with the meat. She’d felt such joy, such satisfaction. It had bubbled up inside her. She’d wanted to share that feeling with her closest family and friends.

Only her family was busy, and her friends? Jesse hated to admit it, but she didn’t have a big interest in hanging out with them.

Her friends, the kids she’d grown up with, were all nice individuals. But it was always the same. Talking about high school antics and who was dating whom. And while Jesse didn’t want to cook for someone just to be appreciated, she did admit she wanted someone to share the enjoyment. And she didn’t know anyone outside her own family who could experience that with her.

Instead she’d eaten alone. But that was okay.

Standing, she took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. That was when she realized she was wearing a dirty apron over her loose dress.
Damn it!
Reaching behind her neck, she untied the apron strings, pulled it off her body, and stuffed it into her backpack. Then she zipped the bag and ran up to her room.

She threw herself on her bed and stared at the ceiling.
And wondered.

If
she were to actually go to cooking school, which she wasn’t going to do, she would need to know everything there was to know about Paris. She’d been reading online about the city. She knew all the finest restaurants in every district, which neighborhoods had the best street markets, where to go for the most extensive array of cheese choices. Or
fromage
, as they say in French.

She wanted to taste
fromage
and even worse, foi gras.

Nick had slipped her a taste of the forbidden food one day. Jesse had thought she’d died and gone to heaven. It. Was. So. Good. Nick had made it himself, but he’d mentioned there was a place in Paris that had the most excellent foi gras in the entire world. A small place, he’d said. A place only a local would know.

Jesse wanted to visit that place.

She rolled her eyes at herself. Why was she torturing her brain this way? Why was she so obsessed with doing something she knew would never, ever happen?

It was one thing to be a tortured teenager. But she was eighteen, and this was ridiculous. She was an adult. She had responsibilities. She was happy, and her family needed her.

She could not run away.

She heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. Then the sound of the front door opening and hushed voices.

Her father’s deep chuckle.

Sherry’s tinkling laugh.

He was happy. Jesse loved seeing him happy. But it wouldn’t last.

She listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs. More hushed voices. Then it was quiet, and she heard her father’s door close. She heard Sherry in the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

And so Jesse put on her pajamas, shut off the lights, and went to bed herself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Phoebe couldn’t believe that she’d let Nick persuade her to come back to his house. Of course, it hadn’t been hard to do. A few more kisses, his hands on her body, his hot words in her ear…

Simply put, she couldn’t resist him. Her body craved him. Everything in her craved him.

But now, more than ever, she wanted him. Yeah, she knew it was wrong, knew it was dangerous. And it still freaked her out. But obviously, for once, she was losing control. She couldn’t resist Nick.

Scary? Yes. But she was also a realist, and she couldn’t deny anymore how intense her feelings for the man actually were. Now, the smart thing to do would be to be strong and stay away. This whole relationship with Nick had “train wreck” written all over it.

Yeah
, she thought to herself as she pulled up to his house.
Stop this train. Stay away.
And she couldn’t help but laugh. Staying away didn’t include getting out of her car and walking up to Nick’s porch. Staying away didn’t include knocking softly on his door and letting herself into his house. Staying away didn’t include going into the kitchen, where she found him sitting at the kitchen table, holding an orange. In the center of the table was a bowl piled high with the fruit.

He was wearing only jeans. No shoes, no shirt. And there was that stupid tattoo on his chest. That stupid tattoo, which, for some reason she couldn’t explain, sent a little thrill shooting through her. Maybe it was because it just emphasized all the things about Nick she needed to stay away from. His conceit, his danger. His tempting body.

Yeah. That whole staying-away thing really wasn’t going so well for her.

“You came,” he said, looking up.

Her palms were sweaty as she walked into the room. “I have no idea why.”

“You do. You can’t stay away from my overwhelming charm.”

She sank into a chair across from him. “Something like that.”

He stood and took a seat in the chair next to her. “You’re shaking.”

“Am I?” She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves.

“Yes.” He raised a palm and cupped the side of her face. His hand was warm, gentle, and strong. She turned her head slightly and placed a kiss on the center of his palm.

“Oh, Phoebe.”

When she turned back to him, his eyes were soft. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but instead he slid his fingers down her face in one tender motion. Then he cupped her chin.

“Come here.”

“I’m right here.”

“I want you closer. I want you in front of me. I want you on your knees.”

Immediately, her pussy dampened. She wanted to be close; she wanted to kneel in front of him. At this point, it was ridiculous to pretend she didn’t want to let Nick do whatever he wanted. So she didn’t resist when he lightly tugged her down.

The wood was hard on her knees, but she didn’t care. She needed the solid surface beneath to lend her its strength. To ground her.

He picked up the orange and began peeling the outer layer from the piece of fruit.

“Sherry brought these back from a farm down south. There’s nothing as good as a fresh, sweet orange sprinkled with a little cinnamon and tequila.”

“Do you do anything without tequila?”

“Hush.”

The word was soft. He’d dragged out the “
sh
” sound of the word and, for some reason, it was calming. But it was also a command, and that made her body thrum with erotic anticipation.

Maybe that was it. He had the ability to calm her, to own her, in just one word. She had no choice but to let go. So she did.

He was almost done peeling the orange. He broke it into two sections and rested the fruit on a small plate. Then he took a small glass of tequila from the table and splashed a bit of the liquor onto one of the orange pieces. Next he picked up a jar of cinnamon and sprinkled the glistening orange with a spattering of the red spice.

He picked up the orange half. “I’m going to do this to you later.”

“W-what?”

“I’m going to treat your pussy like this piece of fruit.” His tongue darted out, and he licked a drop of juice off the tip of the orange. “I’m going to spread you open, and I’m going to lick your delectable flesh. I’m going to lap up every last ounce of your juice.”

Her pussy was pounding with lust. She could almost feel his face between her legs: licking, sucking, tugging…

“Yes, Nick. Do that to me. I want to feel your mouth on my pussy.”

“I will. First, taste.”

She knew the routine by now. Holding still, she watched as he brought the piece of fruit to her mouth. It was a large chunk, so when she opened her mouth she couldn’t take the entire thing inside.

She bit down. Immediately she tasted the combination of tart tequila and sweet orange. And the touch of cinnamon tied the flavors together, heightening the contrasting taste and texture.

“Deeper.” He pushed the orange against her mouth. She didn’t know why, but it was erotic. The orange filled her mouth. The juice ran down her throat, coated her lips, and the skin all around her mouth. As she swallowed, she could feel the sticky juice on her chin. She felt a drop of fluid drip down onto her chest.

He continued to feed her until every last bit of the orange was gone. By the time she swallowed the last of it, her skin was burning with desire. Her thighs trembled and her pussy throbbed.

Her face was sticky with orange juice; she could feel it. She moved her arm in an attempt to wipe herself off, but Nick stopped her. Holding her arms at her sides, he moved her toward him.

He leaned in. Then his tongue was on her. He licked her lips, her skin. He licked every last drop of orange juice from her face. Her eyes drifted closed, and she tried not to moan aloud.

As he kissed and licked her, she felt his strong hands on her arms, and she felt his hot breath contrasting against the damp spots on her skin. She felt his energy coursing into her.

“Such a good girl,” he said. “On your knees, letting me feed you. Lick you. But I bet you’re still thinking about my mouth on your pussy. Are you, Phoebe? Are you thinking about me licking your wet pussy like I just licked that orange juice off your face?”

“Yes,” she managed. She was out of her head. She couldn’t think about anything else except what he said. What he said he would do to her.

He unzipped his jeans.

She licked her lips.

“First I want to feel my cock in your mouth. I want you to show me what a good girl you are by sucking my cock. Taking me in your mouth like you took that orange. Licking, sucking, swallowing.”

“I want to suck your cock, Nick. Please.”

He stroked her head. “Such a good girl. I like it when you beg. I love hearing my Phoebe plead to suck my dick.”

My Phoebe.
The words sent a shudder through her. “Please, Nick. I want to taste you.”

“You will, baby. You will.” He tugged off his jeans and boxers and tossed them aside. Her gaze fell on his erection. His dick was long and strong, just like him, and Phoebe had to swallow because it made her mouth water.

He sliced open another orange and picked up half of it. Her eyes widened as she watched him squeeze it right over his cock. Orange liquid coated his skin, dripping down the shaft in tempting, lickable drops.

He set the orange aside. Then he took her head in his hand and coaxed her toward his shimmering flesh.

“Take me in your mouth, Phoebe. I want you to lick every last drop of juice off my cock.”

“Mmm,” was all she could manage. All she wanted was to do what he said. Sucking the orange off him made her sex throb with want, her nipples pebble with the need to be touched. And pleasing him turned her on even more.

She licked the tip of him. Running her tongue around the head of his dick, she tasted his essence, his skin, and sweet juice from the orange.

It was a heady combination. At that moment, on her knees on a kitchen floor, sucking orange juice off Nick’s erection, she needed nothing else.

Her lust was so strong that it made her entire body tremble. She took him deeper, wanting him as far in her mouth as she could, until he hit the back of her throat.

She felt his thighs clench as she swallowed. “Such a good girl,” he said. His words sent a new wave of desire through her. By then, her pussy was as juicy as any orange, and she could feel herself dripping into her panties.