Deliciously Sinful (7 page)

“Can you ever just stay on topic?”

“Fine. What happened, the last time we,
you know
, poppet?”

“You…” She waved a hand at him. “And the chocolate…and you…”

“I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

“Well, I’m complaining now!”

He gave her a satisfied smirk.

“There! See? All you want to do is prove that you can have whatever you want.”

“Can’t I?”

Her face burned as she remembered how he’d ended their last encounter with the chocolate pudding. He’d wanted to show her a lesson, to prove he was better than her.

And he had.

She stared at him. Gorgeous. Even when she hated him, she thought he was gorgeous. He made her blood rush with desire. He made her nipples ache to be touched. He made her pussy wet with need.

Keeping her gaze fixed on his, she inched just a bit closer. Her pulse hit the accelerator, her heartbeat speeding up as she got closer to her target. She lowered her eyes to look at his lips.

She looked up. “Please stop.”

“You really want me to?”

She searched his eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “I don’t know.”

He crooked his finger and nudged her chin up.

“Yes you do,” he said. His eyes were now a dark shade of navy blue. Dark with desire. “You know exactly what you want.”

After a second she nodded slowly, lightly. “You’re right, Nick. I do want…”

“Say it, Phoebe. Say what you want.”

“I want…I want…”

“Yes, love?”

She smacked his fingers off her face and shoved the bucket of mushrooms into his hands. “I want you to take these to the café, clean them, and make me a mushroom cream sauce for the buckwheat crepes on tonight’s menu.”

She couldn’t help it. As soon as she crossed the first set of branches to obscure his view of her, she broke out in a huge smile.

P
eople thought that because Jesse was eighteen, she knew nothing about love. That wasn’t true. She’d seen the way her parents had looked at each other. She could still visualize the exact way her father had watched her mother when she was going about the simplest things. Like washing the dishes or talking on the phone or sipping her tea. He’d always seemed to be watching her. Not in a creepy, stalker kind of way, but because he’d just liked looking at her. His eyes would go all soft and mushy and full of what Jesse knew to be total contentment.

He never had that look anymore.

Jesse heaved a pot of boiling water off the Viking range and drained the organic wheat corkscrew pasta into a colander. Steam rose up, clouding around her face like vapor from a hot spring. She let it. It hid the tears that sprang up sometimes when she thought of her mom. She missed her. It was unfair. Mom had been a good person, and Jesse didn’t need to be some sort of expert on the human race to know that the world was severely lacking in the good people department. So why her mom? Why did her mom have to get effing breast cancer?

It wasn’t fair.

And she didn’t even care about herself. It was her dad she worried about. It had been five years since Mom died. She knew her dad missed her mother just as much today as he had the days following that last, horrible stay in the hospital.

The steam evaporated, and she wiped her face on a dishtowel before throwing it into the laundry pile. She didn’t know why she was thinking of her mom today. It was just like that sometimes. Maybe it was because she worried about her dad, and he’d been on her mind lately. She bit her lip. Yeah, he’d been on her mind because she’d been doing the one thing she knew would make him even more sad. She’d been learning how to cook meat, compliments of Nick Avalon.

And damn it, she liked it.

“Jesse!”

She whipped her head to the side to see Nick eyeing her. He was leaning against the counter holding a package wrapped in white butcher paper. Her heart gave a little jump. She knew that paper. It had become all too familiar since Nick had started working here.

“Oh, no,” she said. “What is it?”

“Pork chops.” His lips quirked, and he grinned evilly.

She couldn’t help but smile. He really was charming sometimes. For an old guy.

But still, she must have looked worried because Nick said, “Don’t fret, dumpling. I’m sure just yesterday these chops were on some pigs wallowing around in a free-range pen, chowing organic slop, happy as clams.” He shook his head at his own nonsense. “Anyway, I assure you they were fat and happy little piggies before they got the ax.”

Jesse put a hand to her mouth. “Nick! Don’t talk like that!”

“My point is, we have an hour before we open for lunch. It’s the perfect opportunity to give you a little lesson on how a simple technique can turn a humble pork chop into a delicious bit of piggy-meat heaven.”

She really shouldn’t. If her dad found out, he’d get that sad, puppy-dog look. And it would be her fault.

On the other hand, cooking was something that was becoming kind of an addiction. She loved learning techniques, especially the ones Nick had recently been teaching her, and she loved the end result. Out of all the hobbies she’d tried in school—painting, sculpture, poetry—nothing compared to the satisfaction she received from the art of creating the perfect béchamel sauce.

“Fine,” she said. “But we have to hurry. We only have an hour.”

Nick grinned. “That’s more than enough time, cookie.”

“Here’s tonight’s menu.” Phoebe threw a piece of paper on the counter, where it landed in front of Nick.

He raised a brow and leisurely picked up the paper. He knew Phoebe created all the menus herself, usually based on what she was producing from her farm. She also typed up the specials menu daily, and he had to admit she did a decent job of it. No cheesy graphics. Just simple type with simple descriptions.

“It’s Saturday.”

He glanced up. “Yeah. I know.”

“Fixed-price night.”

He took a swig from his glass of tequila. “I’m aware of the concept.”

“Good. Then read that over and make sure you can get it done.”

She raised her little chin and added, “I know we serve a fairly humble menu during the week, but our Saturday prix fixe carte du jour is a bit more upscale. Think you can handle it?”

“Gee, ma’am. I’ll try my darnedest.” He gave her a mock salute.

With one last scowl she turned, her skirt swirling around her as she stalked back outside, her sandals hitting the ground like hammers. He laughed. For someone who came off as such a hippie, she sure was wound up like the worst kind of executive yuppie.

Nick took another sip from his glass and read over the menu. He hated to admit it, but he was impressed. Starting with an Andante dairy minuet with fennel and watermelon radish salad and Acme
pain epi
with Straus butter. Appetizers included risotto burrata croquettes with salsa verde, grilled artichokes, squash and Treviso radicchio with warm butter and aged balsamic…

The entrées included butternut squash ravioli with Lacinato and Nagoya kale, spring onions, and caramel almonds…rosemary crepes with rainbow chard, savoy spinach, leeks, and goat cheese…wild-mushroom shepherd’s pie with caramelized onions, and a pinot noir mushroom sauce…

Damn. Even her wine suggestions were perfect, and he should know. He was good at a lot of things, but he had a special knack for pairing liquor with food. And not just wine. Sometimes wine just didn’t cut it. Nick thought tequila was often preferable.

He took another sip of the said liquid that happened to be right near his hand. Then he watched as Phoebe attempted to open the door to the café with a crate of artichokes in her arms.

She glared at him. “Can I get a hand here?”

“But it’s so fun to watch you struggle.”

“You’re an ass.” She finally made it through and the paned-glass door slammed shut behind her.

“So I’ve been told.” He almost felt bad for not helping her. He might be a prick, but he still had the knowledge of basic manners. But something inside him enjoyed annoying her. It seemed every day she got more and more bossy, and it was now like a challenge. How irritated could he make her?

Because she was going to break sometime. And he wanted to be there to see it. He wanted to see her utterly give up control. And he wanted to be the one who enjoyed every second when that happened.

And she was changing. When he’d first met her, he could almost smell her nervousness when he was around her. But those nerves were slowly morphing into an almost comfortable irritation, and he liked that she was, apparently, beginning to feel less and less intimidated by him.

Dropping the crate on the counter next to the sink, she glared at him. “Did you look at the menu?”

“I did.”

She made a gesture with her hand as if to say,
And…?

Finally, she prompted, “And?”

“Are you sure about the caramel almonds?” Nick had no problem with caramel almonds, but he couldn’t stop himself. He could stop taunting her, but he didn’t feel like it. Why? Was he really that bored?

Could be.

And there was the fact that if he wasn’t taunting her, he was thinking about her lush breasts, the taste of her skin, the way she smelled…

Better to taunt. “Because I think walnuts would be a better choice.” He didn’t even like walnuts.

“I made the menu. You just cook it.”

“I’m just offering my opinion. You know, since I trained at—”

She rolled her eyes. “The Cordon Bleu. I know! We all know! Jeez, how many times do you have to tell us?”

Slightly taken aback, he drained his glass. The tequila burned its way down his throat and landed in his gut. “I’m sorry.” He was apologizing? He never apologized. He said, “I think you people forget that I’m used to cooking—”

“Delicacies for patrons of the highest caliber! Trust me, we get it.
We know.
” Hands on her hips, she came at him.

He tried not to focus on the twisty little curl of hair that had sprung out of her braid. He focused on her pink little mouth, which was still moving. He couldn’t help but think that she’d be a lot less able to rail at him with his dick in her mouth.

Damn it. The thought made him shift as his balls went tight. Better to listen, even if her voice was rising by the second.

“We all know you’re way better than us, that you’re used to cooking things bumpkins like us could never
begin
to appreciate. We know what you think. The thing is?
We don’t care!
”

She was yelling at him. And flailing her arms. And her hair was coming undone in frizzy, curly waves. He just stared at her. It had been a long time since someone shouted at him in a kitchen. Generally, it was Nick who was doing the bellowing.

This place really was backward.

He spoke calmly. “I was just trying to help.”

Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. She’d really worked herself up. It shouldn’t be cute. But it was. So much so, he had to look away.

Then he looked back. “What got into your knickers? Oh, right. That was me.”

He thought she might explode. She resembled one of those cartoons where the animated animal becomes so mad that its head turns bright red and turns into a steam-blowing contraption.

Quite the contrast from the sassy woman who’d walked away from him in the woods. No, he hadn’t liked that very much. He’d been irked, yet he’d also been amused and somewhat surprised at her spunk. Not many people could stand up to him in the context of the two things he excelled at: cooking and wooing women.

Well, she may have been annoyed at him in the woods. Now she looked ready to kill him. He took a step back in retreat. She took a step toward him.

He put his hand out, palm facing her. “Hang on now, Phoebe. I was just giving you a hard time.”

She continued to encroach on his space. He felt his ass hit the counter. With her index finger, she poked him in the chest.

“Ow!” he said.

“You…you…you
jerk
!”

“Wow. You really have a potty mouth, don’t you, love?” He was trying to sound casual, but his heart was starting to hammer. Why did it do that around her? He couldn’t control his reaction to her, either physically or emotionally.

She made him feel. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it was there, and he wasn’t at all cool with it.

He took her hand, the one that had been poking him, and clenched it in his fist. He could feel her bones. Long and delicate. But despite her fragile appearance, it was obvious she was anything but. She was a strong woman who wasn’t intimidated by him one whit.

He needed to work on that.

P
hoebe tried to jerk away from Nick’s grip, but he held her firm. He was lean but freakishly strong, and he had no problem keeping her hand clenched tightly in his. A shiver went up her arm at the contact.

She glared up at him. “What do you want?”

Despite his casual appearance, she could swear she saw something in his eyes—something that belied his callous words and obvious attitude problem. His blue eyes bored into hers, and in those depths, she detected something strange.

“Oh, stop it,” she said.

“You don’t want me to stop anything.”

She lifted her chin. “Don’t give me that look.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. “What look?”

“That one, the one that says you’re trying to be all nice.”

“Nice?”

In a flash he reversed their positions, so she was now backed up against the counter. “I’ll show you nice.”

He released her hand and grabbed the counter on each side, enclosing her. She sucked in a breath. She could feel him, feel his legs pressed against hers. And then he pressed his crotch against her, and she felt it.

He was hard. Like, really hard. Harder even than in the forest, and that had been quite impressive.

How could she—a woman who must seem so plain in comparison to all those L.A. girls—get a man like Nick Avalon so frisky? She wasn’t insecure about her appearance. She knew she wasn’t a total knockout, but she wasn’t dog meat either. Still, why would a man like Nick Avalon be attracted to a girl like plain old Phoebe? Not that she was old. Thirty-two wasn’t old. Well, maybe in L.A. But not here.

Was it?

He took her chin in his hand. “Stop it.”

“What?”

“Thinking.”

She tried to swat his hand away from her face, but he held her steady. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

“I would.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Then you better go find yourself some bimbo with no brain.”

“I fully plan on it.”

“So why are you here—”

His lips stopped her words. His mouth pushed against hers, assaulting her as he pressed his jeans-clad erection against the flimsy folds of her skirt.

Damn. Much to her dismay, her body had already responded to him. She was wet, and her breasts were aching for his touch. His lips were warm, and his tongue was licking at her, trying to get her to open.

She opened. His kiss…it melted her. His mouth invited her in, teased her. Everything faded as her eyes closed, and she met him. His body was hard, imprisoning her to him. But his kiss was soft. Mind-numbing.

When her head was good and spinning, he pulled away. He had that little smirk on his face. If she weren’t floating from the kiss, she would have smacked it off his face.

Instead she yanked his T-shirt and pulled him down to her, bringing his mouth to hers once more. But the dynamics changed. He pushed into her mouth. She pushed back. She grabbed his head. He held her shoulders. Push, pull. Attack and retreat. Phoebe felt like she was, for some reason she didn’t understand, fighting for power. And so was he.

And it was all good.

She sucked his tongue into her mouth. Deep. Satisfaction went through her when he stilled. His eyes were closed, and he remained motionless. She was in control.
She
was the one kissing
him
.

But then he pushed her back. Panting, she looked at him. His eyes were dark, nearly black. His spiky hair was messy, messy from her hands.

He grabbed her arm and turned. “Come here.”

“What?” She stumbled behind him. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you a lesson.”

“I don’t want a lesson!” So why was her heart hammering with anticipation?
Yes!
her body was screaming at her.
Give me a lesson!

Why was she allowing any of this to happen? Because no matter how much she told herself she didn’t want him, no matter how much she denied it, the fact was that she was allowing it. Wanting it.

She wasn’t walking out.

Nick dragged her through the kitchen, plucking a whisk off the utensil wall without slowing his pace whatsoever.

A whisk? What was he going to do with that? Turn her into a meringue pie?

He pushed through into the stockroom, pulled her inside, and slammed the door shut. Then he flipped her around so she was facing the door and pushed her up against it. Her chest beat against the wood, so heavy was her breathing.

“Nick?”

“Shhh…,” he whispered in her ear. He pressed up against her back, and she felt the hardness of his body everywhere. Then he pushed aside the mass of hair that had come loose from her braid. His warm lips on her skin. His damp breath as he kissed her earlobe.

Just that. Just that had her leaning into the door, had her eyes drifting closed. And she could smell him, which was only making it worse. Or better. She couldn’t decide.

He had one hand on her shoulder, gripping her. Stilling her. And his mouth…

So simple. Softly, slowly, he was licking behind her ear. She thought he’d never stop. Her body trembled as he continued to kiss her there. Shivers shot through her as her mind emptied. She couldn’t stop the soft moan from escaping her lips.

“That’s right, gorgeous. Let me have you.”

His British accent was heavier than she’d ever heard it. And she hated that calling her gorgeous went straight to her head. And even more, she hated herself for nodding.
Let me have you.
She didn’t want to give herself away. Not to Nick or anyone.

But, as she felt his hand caressing her back, felt his palm skim her rib cage, her hips and her ass…she couldn’t help but let herself go. Just a little.

And then a little more.

And it felt so good to let go…He took her chin and turned her so the side of her face was resting against the door.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, and the words affected her. They satisfied her.

So when she felt him tug her skirt down over her hips, she didn’t care. She wanted to be a good girl. Nick’s good girl. When he caressed her butt, she sank deeper into the door because her legs were trembling, and she needed the support. He lifted her arms over her head to pull off her T-shirt. He tossed it aside, and then she was standing in her bra and panties. Still facing away from Nick. Somehow that was fine. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him. Feel his hands feathering down her back. Feel his breath on her neck. Feel his fingers as he reached around to press against her moist pussy.

“Wet, aren’t you, babe?”

She was. Her panties were damp. Her sex was giving away her arousal. He reached inside the waistband to slide two fingers into her throbbing flesh. She gasped.

“That’s my girl. So wet for me.”

“Yes…Nick…”

With his fingertips, he rubbed her clit. Little circles with just enough pressure to make her cry out. Such a simple act, what he was doing. Touching such a small part of her body with his hands…but
oh my God
…the pleasure was shooting through her. She’d never responded to a man this way before, never felt such excitement, such total abandon.

Except for the last time they’d been together. What was it about Nick that made her so excited?

It wasn’t just his hand between her legs. It was the unique fragrance of his body that was intoxicating her. It was the tequila-scented breath on her skin that was sending shivers through her system. It was the tone of his voice, commanding her.

It was him. She wanted to release herself. To
him
. When they’d been kissing earlier in the kitchen, she’d been fighting for power. But now he’d won. She’d given in to him. She had no idea why, but she wanted him to win.

Just this once.

And the lust pounding through her was taking over everything. Still working her pulsing clit, he increased pressure.

“Nick, yes. Right there!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” But then he stopped. She hitched a breath when he slid his fingers out of her panties.

“Nick…”

“Don’t move.” He placed his fingers, the ones that had been touching her sex just seconds before, against her lips. “Taste.”

He didn’t give her a choice. He slid his moist fingers against her lips and then into her mouth. She tasted herself on his skin. She sucked on his fingers as he kissed her neck. Her pussy yearned to have him fill her with the erection pressing against her back.

“Such a good girl.” He pulled his fingers out of her mouth.

“Nick. Please.” How had he reduced her to begging? But she was. No choice. All she knew was that she wanted this man fucking her. Hard. Rough.

She wanted him to
take
her.

But she froze when she felt the hard metal spokes of the whisk that he’d snatched from the kitchen.

Glancing over her shoulder, she was about to ask what he was doing.

But, once again, he turned her away from him. “Shhh,” he repeated. “Be a good girl.”

Did she have a choice? Her entire body was thrumming with lust and desire. Not just sexual, but so much deeper. She needed something more than a fuck. She needed Nick. She needed him to own her. Now that he’d won the battle, she wanted nothing more than to surrender completely.

She was on a precipice. And she wanted to jump. Somehow, somewhere deep inside her core, she knew Nick—the egocentric, irresponsible bad boy—would catch her. The thought was thrilling.

He was running the whisk over her body, gently over her shoulder blades, skimming her side, then across her ass.

“Lovely skin,” he said. “So pale.”

When he flicked her ass with the whisk, she jumped. But the sting was shockingly erotic. It amped up her already buzzing nerves.

“It’s okay, babe. Just feel.”

What he was doing seemed so naughty, so taboo. And she couldn’t help but be a little bit exhilarated by it.

There had always been a part of her, a part she’d restrained, that craved dangerous things. But she’d never allowed herself to go there. She had a family to look out for, two businesses to run, impoverished kids to help. She simply didn’t have the option to indulge her secret fantasies of bungee-diving from a bridge or jumping out of an airplane with nothing but a parachute to keep her body from shattering to a million pieces when she hit the ground.

This felt like that. As if she were indulging herself. She was exposed, under the influence of Nick Avalon, the most dangerous man she’d ever met. And she was allowing him to…

“Damn!” she cried out as he flicked the whisk at her ass once again.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His palm was flat on her back, holding her still.

She nodded. “Yes…”

He kissed her between her shoulder blades. “I know you are, sweetheart.”

Of course he did. He could tap right into this place in her, a place she hadn’t even been aware of. And now, like a chemical, something seemed to be releasing from her brain. Even as her nerves buzzed, something in her was calm. It was a heady combination, and she wanted more of it.

“Again,” she said.

“That’s my girl.”

His words made her legs quiver.

The way he spanked her, just below the line of her bikini underwear, was quick and efficient. Each time she felt the sting—and the sting of the thin metal was sharp—she gasped. But also, each swat intensified everything she was feeling: lust, desire, exhilaration.

Harder and harder. Holding her still, he whipped her ass until she felt as if she were floating. The sounds of her cries, of the metal hitting her flesh, of Nick’s breathing, faded. Her body was going numb all over as the sensations spread through her. She knew he was hitting her more intensely, that she should be screaming from pain. But the pain felt good. Right. She’d never been so relaxed, so out of her head.

Sticking her ass out, she pressed her palms against the door. “Yes, Nick. Harder.” She barely heard her own voice.

“Who knew you were such a naughty little thing, Pheebs?”

“Shut up and keep going.”

She wasn’t sure how many more times he smacked her ass. But he continued, and her mind kept disappearing. Then he whipped her hard, and this time it was much sharper, almost too much. But he knew exactly what she could take. And he paused a moment to allow her to catch her breath.

Her ass burned, but it was a good burn. Everything was good. Too good. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak anymore. She slumped against the wall.

“That’s my girl.”