Deliciously Sinful (8 page)

T
he next thing she knew she was in his arms. He crossed the room to sit on a crate of canned organic garbanzo beans. He still held her. His arms were strong and reassuring around her. She didn’t know what was going on, what had happened. Her entire body seemed to be connected to this man. Her heart seemed to be beating just for him. Her brain could only focus on him, and the sudden attachment to him that was threatening to blossom like an apple tree in spring.

Somewhere, she knew it was wrong. She didn’t like him. She knew she didn’t. So why did she want to sink into him? Why did she want to kiss his forehead and run her hands through his spiky hair? Why did she want to climb up, straddle him, and feel his cock inside her? She wanted him buried so deep inside her it hurt to even think about.

He kissed her forehead. “You okay?”

After a minute, she said, “I think so.” Reality was starting to set in. The fog in her brain was beginning to clear. “What just happened?” And why did she feel downright giddy?

She’d never been giddy a moment in her life.

When she looked into his eyes, she saw he actually appeared a bit confused. Interesting. “I whisked you,” he finally said.

She had to grin. “Yeah…you did.”

He shifted beneath her, and she could feel his erection—long and hard and…
long
.

Okay, there was that lust again.

But it was more. The experience of what he’d just done to her had left her feeling open and vulnerable, and that should have been enough to make her jump off his lap and run away screaming. Allowing herself to feel those things was dangerous.

And it was clear she’d crossed a dangerous line. Nick Avalon was even more perilous than she’d ever imagined. What he’d done to her had been thrilling. Exhilarating. And easily addicting.

And this thing inside her—the way her chest ached from this connection he’d created—was the most dangerous part of all. It gave him power over her. It made her have feelings for him that didn’t include irritation or hatred. Those feelings were things she could deal with, but that other stuff?

No way.

She went to push herself off him, but he stopped her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

It was then she realized she was sitting on his lap in her bra and panties. Panic began to set in. “I need to go! It’s nearly three. The night crew will be arriving any minute!”

Holy crap. What was she thinking? What if they got caught? Again, she tried to stand.

Again, he stopped her, holding her tight in his arms.

“So you think you can just go now because you want to?” He looked genuinely amazed that she would consider such a thing.

She pretended to think about it and then, “Yeah. I do.”

“Not so fast.”

“Nick. Let me go.”

He reached around and grabbed her ass, the place where he’d used the whisk on her. “You liked it.”

She felt her neck start to burn. “Maybe. So?”

“You gave yourself over to me, Miss Mayle.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yeah? You were begging me for it. Begging me to hit that cute little ass of yours.”

He thought her ass was cute? She shook her head. “I was curious, is all.”

“Kinky is more like it.”

She sucked in a breath. “Kinky! I am not!”

He laughed. “Is that so? Then why did you let me spread chocolate sauce all over your body and lick it off your pussy?”

Her cheeks were burning now. “I was…tired!”

But he was obviously enjoying himself. “And why did you let me take off all your clothes and beat your ass with a kitchen utensil?”

“Stop it.” She started rebraiding her hair. “Just stop it.”

He reached up to cup one of her breasts. She jumped. Her breasts were overly sensitive, and she yearned for him to do more than fondle her. She wanted him to rip off her bra, take her nipple in his teeth and bite—

Bite?

She punched his arm. “Let me go, you brute!”

“Brute? I’m sorry, love.” He mockingly glanced around the storage room. “Did we just travel back in time to Victorian England, and I somehow missed the journey?”

She gritted her teeth. “Just. Let. Me. Go.”

Releasing her, he threw his arms out wide. “Of course, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask.”

She jumped up, crossed the room, and started yanking on her skirt and top. Her ass was starting to sting, and not necessarily in a bad way. She glared at him. “You’re a jerk.”

He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back against the wall. She wanted to punch him. Perched on a crate of beans in a storage room, his hair sticking up in spiky chunks, he still managed to look laid-back and suave. She, on the other hand, knew she was a damn mess. Her kinky hair was half-braided, her skirt was all wrinkly, and damn! She’d just put on her T-shirt, and the tag was poking her in the front of the neck. She pulled her arms inside the shirt to jerk it around. At least she’d noticed before she went into the kitchen with her shirt on backward.

Glaring at him, she placed her hands on her hips. “Damn you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you, Nick.”

“Then clear it up, will you. What exactly did I do wrong?”

She pointed a finger at him. “You—you—you know exactly what you did!”

He gave her a smug smirk. “Took advantage of your helpless female self?”

Her mouth opened wide as she sucked in air. “What? Are you even more of an imbecile than I originally thought?” She barked a loud laugh. “That’s just ridiculous. Wait. You’re right. It’s me!”

“You?” He was looking at her as if he were observing a patient from an insane asylum.

“No.” Blowing a curl away from her face, she started pacing back and forth. “You are right. I did let myself become helpless to your…”
Charm
seemed like the right word, but it really wasn’t. She glanced at him. “Helpless to your
whisk
.” More pacing. “But that’s because of me, not you, you ass.”

“You?”

“Of course. I’ve always tried to curb my draw to dangerous things.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! And don’t give me that condescending tone either.”

“I’ll try not to, love.”

“And don’t call me love.”

“Um, okay. Phoebe.”

“Don’t call me that either.” She hated it when he said her name; it did funny things to her insides. “Obviously, I was weak today, after…” She threw a wave of her hand in his general direction. “After the other night. And it…it…has clouded my judgment. Ha, ha! Because there is no way I would ever, ever let you
do
…do those things you
did
to me if I was in my right mind.”

He seemed confused. “So, is this my fault…or yours? You’ve utterly lost me, sweetheart.”

“It’s my fault.” Was he stupid? “Because I, for some reason, behave totally irrationally when I’m around you!”

“Is that so?” He lifted his ass and pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket. “Interesting.” He extracted a cigarette out of the pack and stuck it in his mouth. Then he flipped open a silver lighter.

She gasped in exasperation. “What are you doing?”

He ignited the lighter and put a flame to the nicotine stick perched on the right side of his lips. “What does it look like, love? Surely out here in hippie central you’ve seen someone light up.”

She stalked over and smacked the lighter out of his hand. “You can’t smoke in here!”

“But you just keep talking. It’s tiresome. I need a little pick-me-up.”

She yanked the cigarette from his lips and threw it over his shoulder. “It’s illegal! If the health inspector came in and saw you, we could get written up!”

He just looked at her. “That’s easily taken care of, babe.”

“Oh yeah? Do share your ultimate wisdom with this inexperienced minion.”

“You give him a hundred bucks.”

“What? No! We’ve proudly been scored 99 since the day this establishment opened. Fair and square.”

He quirked an annoying dark brow. “What was the one percent you missed?”

She sniffed and looked down at him. “A patron snuck a dog into the restaurant inside her purse.”

He laughed. Loudly. “You’re kidding.”

“Of course not. Why?”

Retrieving his lighter off the floor, he said, “That’s just so…L.A. of you all.”

“It was a special-needs dog.”

“Is that so?” He stuck another cigarette in his mouth.

“Yes! It is. Was.”

“So why’d you get written up? If it was, indeed, a special-needs dog?”

She smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The patron didn’t have the appropriate papers.”

“And this special-needs dog was what? A golden retriever? A Labrador?” Once again, he flicked his lighter open.

Phoebe ignored it when he put the flame to the Marlboro stuck in his mouth. Trying to disregard the smell of burning nicotine that immediately swirled into the storage room, she said, “It was a hairless dog.”

He coughed on some smoke. “A what?”

“A hairless dog. You know, it didn’t have any hair. What harm could there possibly have been?”

“You mean like that cat from
Austin Powers
? Was the dog
shagadelic
?” He smirked at his own joke.

“Shut up.” Stomping over, she plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. She then proceeded to put it to her own mouth and take a deep drag.

He was looking at her as if she’d just grown snakes out of her head. Well, if she looked in the mirror, she might think he was right. Surely, her hair looked a fright.

Closing her eyes, she let the smoke fill her lungs.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

Her eyes popped open, and she slowly exhaled, making sure to blow the smoke directly toward his face. “What?” she said, taking another drag.

He looked appalled. “You’re smoking!”

“So?”

“You don’t smoke!”

“How do you know?” No one knew she kept a pack of Camels hidden in her underwear drawer.

“Because you said it was disgusting!”

“Well…” She took a drag. “Well, it is.”

“Then why are you doing it? I thought you were Miss Innocent Healthy Woman.”

“I am!”

“Then?” He held out his hand as if expecting some sort of answer.

“You don’t know everything.”

“I know what you said.”

“Phooey.” Seriously? Did she really just say that?

“Did you really just say that?”

“Maybe!” she exclaimed. “Maybe it’s time for you to get rid of all those ideas and concepts and ideas and stereotypes you have about everyone who lives here.”

“Hey, love. I’m just stating the facts.”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t smoke.”

“Why?” she said, inhaling another drag that made her want to vomit. It was all too much. Now she was just proving a point. A point that might make her sick.

Nick looked alarmed. He went to swipe the cigarette out of her hand, and she jumped back.

“You think you know me?” she asked.

He stood, obviously thinking of making another attempt to get the Marlboro out of her fingers. She could do this. She was tough.

“Back off, Mr. Avalon.” Resting her elbow in her hand, she took another drag. “You think you have it all figured out. You think you have us
all
pegged. A bunch of boring tree huggers living in the backwoods of nowhere.”

He glanced around the stockroom for a second. “Well, yeah. Kinda.”

“Ha!” She pointed the cigarette at him. “Ha, ha, ha!”

Looking genuinely concerned—or was it scared?—he said, “Phoebe, are you okay?”

“Don’t say my name!”

“Okay. Love, are you okay?”

Was
she okay? She had no idea. Her hands were shaking, and she felt shivers start to rack her body.

Nick took a step toward her. Slowly, as if approaching a wild, wounded animal, and he reached out his hand. “Babe. Come here.”

“N-no.” But her voice was shaky, and she didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her. She tried to inhale more from the cigarette, but it just made her cough. She felt as if she were crashing off some high. All the things she’d been feeling throughout the day came at her in a rush, overwhelming her until her eyes began to fill. Anger, hurt, trust, exhilaration, lust, defense…It was too much. And it was all aimed at this one man. And even as she hated him, she wanted nothing more than for him to hold her and comfort her.

“Damn it!” she said, swiping at a tear.

When he took the cigarette from her, she couldn’t—didn’t—want to stop him. Her fingers were trembling too violently to hold it, and her throat was clenching. She saw him throw the cigarette on the floor and stomp on it with his expensive trainers. He took her in his arms.

“You’ll have to clean that up,” she said into his chest. And then she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of him, and it was more calming and fulfilling than any cigarette could ever be.

Why was he doing that? Why was he holding her so tightly she felt like she could live here—
right here
? Why was he stroking the back of her head so soothingly she thought she could trust him? Why, why, why…

“Shhh,” he whispered.

Oh, how she’d loved that earlier. Loved the sound of his voice in her ear. It had made her want to shush, made her want to give herself up, just for a minute. Because it was dangerous to do so. And he’d made her think that was okay. That it was perfectly safe to take that leap.

She pushed away so fast that he stumbled backward.

Nick Avalon was a mystery. The only details he shared about his personal life were shallow, usually having to do with parties or women. He never mentioned his family, or a history not related to cooking.

He was unpredictable, which was dangerous. And that was the very last thing she’d ever needed in her life.

“Leave me alone,” she said, backing toward the door.

He looked genuinely confused. If she wasn’t brainless, she’d think he even looked hurt.

And oh, how he could pull it off; as if he actually cared what she thought of him. But he was trying. His eyes appeared downright baffled. Sad even, when he said, “Phoebe, love. Fuck, what’s wrong?”

“You. You’re wrong. Stop doing this to me.
I’m
going to stop letting you do this to me.” She yanked open the storage room door. “Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. Don’t…whisk me!”