Then he stopped to look at her.
Deep green eyes watched him, alight with fire. A line of tiny freckles danced across her cheeks, her skin warmed golden by the sun. Her slender throat led down to the swell of her creamy breasts, nipples like roses tipped in brown. He bent down almost reverently, gathering her breast in his palm, then sucked the nipple into his mouth.
He heard the hiss of her breath as one hand came to rest on the back of his head, holding him tight against her. The nipple pebbled against his tongue as he sucked hard again, tongue against teeth, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, geez,” she gasped. Her fingers clasped his head, her breath rasping against his ear.
Maybe…” Her voice sounded thick. “Maybe we should move to the bed?”
He pulled back, trying to get some air into his lungs again. “Maybe so.”
She reached for the button on her jeans, but he pushed her hands away. “I like to do that.”
She licked her lips. Her full, ripe lips, already swollen from his kisses. Another arrow of desire sped down his body. He felt like groaning.
“Okay,” she whispered, her hands moving to his belt.
He pulled her zipper down, then pushed her jeans over the swell of her buttocks. Her panties were the color of spring rain, and he didn’t care. He was ready to rip them off her if that was the fastest way to get her naked.
MG saved him the trouble by pulling them off. He stared down at the tangle of strawberry blonde where her belly met her thighs. A natural blonde, no less!
“Now you,” she said.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure he could push his pants down over his erection without doing damage. But then his cock sprang free.
MG licked her lips again. “Oh my.”
He started to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, he reached for her again, scooping her into his arms and dropping her back onto the bed. She propped herself on her elbows, staring up at him. “Well?”
He stepped across her prone body, straddling her, trying not to grin in anticipation. Stuff like that might tend to piss a woman off. “Well.” He dipped his mouth to her belly, running his tongue around the navel and down. Beneath him, her back arched, her hands grasping his shoulders.
He opened her folds with his thumbs, running his tongue along the tight bud. Her breath caught and he slid one finger inside her, sucking now, moving his finger as he did.
“Christ,” she whimpered. “Sweet Christ.”
He sucked hard and she arched again. “Joe, please. I can’t.”
“Sure you can, darlin’,” he murmured, sucking again.
She cried out as her body convulsed against his mouth. Then her hands clasped his head again, pulling him up. “Please, please, inside me. Now.”
He fumbled for a moment in the pocket of his jeans beside the bed, then sheathed himself in well-nigh record time. MG opened her legs wider, grabbing his shoulders to pull him up. He took a moment to savor the sight of her, green eyes dark with desire, golden hair tumbled wildly about her head, as he guided himself into her body.
She gasped, then wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling herself tight against him. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his forearms as he began moving. His head swam with sensation—heat, moisture, desire. “Darlin’,” he whispered, “darlin’.”
He struck deep, deeper, sinking into her, her sighs whispering in his head. Her body surrounded him, pulled him in.
Madness.
Madder by the moment.
He dropped his head, running his tongue across the fragile spot where her throat met her shoulder. Leaning further to nip it lightly, as the pressure began to build down his spine. Heat, light, pleasure. And then he felt MG’s teeth graze his shoulder, a quick sting that sent him crashing over the edge.
He half-heard her cry over the sound of his own shout as his hips hammered against her. And then he was sinking, the scent of her, of them both, filling him. He tucked his head into the curve of her throat, pulling her with him as he shifted to his side, his arms looped around her waist. “Sweet darlin’,” he murmured and closed his eyes.
MG lay still, one hand absently stroking Joe’s side, her fingers rippling over his rib cage. His arm circled her loosely. She could feel the warmth of his skin and the slight prickling of hair.
Pretty amazing.
No. Lose the
pretty.
Amazing.
Her last boyfriend had been a guitar player with a fondness for craft beer. He didn’t yet have a pot belly, but he was headed in that direction. Joe, who should have been soft given the amount of butter and cream he dealt with, was hard, with bands of muscle across his chest and back. A dusting of dark hair covered his chest and arms, the color of his moustache and beard. She could see a slight fuzz of dark hair on his shaved head as well.
She remembered the feel of his head against her belly, the slight prickling against the smooth skin as he worked her with his mouth.
Lord have mercy.
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, he was watching her. His lips moved into a slow grin. “How you doing, darlin’?”
“Good. Very good. Fine.”
Stop talking, for the love of heaven!
She reached a hand toward his head, moving her palm lightly across his scalp, feeling the prickle of shaved hair. “Why do you shave it?”
His grin broadened. “You thought I didn’t have any hair to begin with?”
MG flushed. “No. I mean, I knew you had hair. I just…” She closed her eyes again and took a breath.
“It’s okay.” He stroked the hair lightly away from her face. “I started shaving it off because it bugged me in the kitchen when I was a line cook. I just kept doing it because it was easy.”
“Oh.” She leaned into his palm, feeling the warmth against her cheek. “I like it.”
“Good.” His lips moved to the base of her throat, sending shivers in a line from her throat to her core.
She grasped his biceps, tilting her head so that her lips touched the silky hair at the base of his chin, then the corner of his mouth where beard and moustache met.
He turned his head, his lips catching hers in a long, drugging kiss. Then he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “Oh, lady, I don’t know whether to feed you or shag you. I might try to do both at once, which would be a first.”
She started to giggle, then lost her breath when his palm cupped her breast. “I could go get some cheese or something. I don’t know what else I’ve got that you can eat in bed.”
“You’d be surprised.” He grinned down at her. “But let me see what I can find to cook for you. Give me a chance to build up my strength. I got a feeling I’m going to need it.”
He sat up, then pushed himself to his feet, reaching down for his jeans. The dark hair on his chest arrowed down in a line to his groin. The muscles in his arms flexed as he pulled the jeans up his legs. He had a tattoo on the right side of his lower back, but she couldn’t see it clearly.
MG felt a little like pouting when he covered himself. The view was so enticing.
He grinned down at her again. “I’m going to need some help here, ma’am. Although you can do it naked if you want. Might be inspiring, as a matter of fact.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Does this involve chopping or frying? Because if it does, I’m putting my clothes on.”
“No chopping, no frying. When I’m not at the Rose, I do my own prep.” He gave her a slow grin. “Mainly I need inspiration. You got that in spades, darlin’.”
“In that case…” She swept her legs around, putting her feet on the floor as she reached for his shirt. “We’ll go informal.” The shirt tails hung to mid-thigh. She buttoned a couple of the lower buttons but left the rest open. “Ready?”
He blew out a breath. “Oh yeah. More than ready. But for now, let’s worry about dinner.”
She followed him down the hall to the kitchen. “I don’t exactly have an overstocked refrigerator here. What do you have in mind?”
He shrugged. “There’s a famous story about Mario Batali creating a sauce for
foie gras
out of orange soda and Starburst Fruit Chewies, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He pulled open her pantry, tossing a package of spaghetti on the table. “Good start. Got any garlic?”
“Sure.” She opened the cupboard and pulled out a head. “It’s even fresh. Or as fresh as you can get at HEB.”
“Fresh enough.” He placed it on the table with the spaghetti. “Olive oil?”
“In front of you.” She leaned around him to pick up the bottle and he ran his fingers lightly along the side of her throat. “It’s not extra virgin.” Her voice sounded breathy.
“That’s okay. I’m not fussy about virginity. Even in my olive oil.” His hand rested for a moment on the small of her back. “Don’t suppose you have any anchovies?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She dug around among the containers, emerging with a flat can. “I like to put them on my pizza.”
“A woman after my own heart. Obviously.”
He grinned as he washed his hands, and MG felt another of those quick thrills, like pure caffeine to the nervous system. The man was addictive. She sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “So what now?”
“Got a processor?” He raised an eyebrow.
Once upon a time. “Nope.”
“So we do it the old fashioned way.” He pulled a couple of slices of bread from the loaf on the counter, then turned to the stove. “Ah. Gas.” He sounded as if he’d just been given one hell of a Christmas present. “Pans around here somewhere?” He gestured toward the kitchen cabinets.
MG pointed at the closest one. “Down there. The few I’ve got.”
Joe reached in, pulling out a cookie sheet. He turned on the oven, sprinkling the bread with some olive oil before putting it inside. Then he turned back to the cabinet again, pulling out her soup pot and a sauté pan. The soup pot he filled with water in the sink, then put it on a back burner, turning the heat up to blistering. “Salt?”
“Regular or kosher?”
“Regular’s fine.”
She handed him the salt container, then watched him dump enough salt into the soup kettle to raise the water’s specific gravity. He brushed the salt grains from his hands and turned back to her again.
“Cutting board?”
She pointed to the plastic one alongside the magnetic strip with her precious knife.
He picked up the board, then took down her chef’s knife, running his thumb across the blade. He sighed. “Darlin’ we need to get you a wooden cutting board. It’s going to screw up your knives if you use ’em on plastic.”
He laid the knife on the cutting board, then put the sauté pan on the stove, turning up the flame as he poured in olive oil. Then he turned back to the cutting board.
MG regarded the sauté pan uneasily. Maybe she should turn down the burner.
“Don’t worry,” he said without turning around. “It needs to heat up before we put anything into it.” He broke off a couple of cloves of garlic, laying them flat on the board, and whacked them with the side of the knife before shucking off the skin. He ran the knife through each clove with negligent grace and a speed that should shoot flames. “Kosher salt?” He raised an eyebrow.
She pushed the box toward him. He threw a pinch down on the chopped garlic, then ground it into paste with his knife.
“Now the oil’s ready.” He gave her a quick smile, then grabbed the can of anchovies. “Can opener?”
She pulled open a drawer and handed it to him.
He opened the can, then dumped the fish into the oil where they sizzled dramatically. He pulled a wooden spoon out of the drawer and used it to stir the anchovies.
“What about the garlic?”
He shrugged. “Let the anchovies melt down a little. Then we’ll add it.” He glanced around the kitchen again. “Did I see some tomatoes around here someplace?”
“Over here.” She pulled the bag out of the cupboard. “I forgot to put them in the refrigerator.”
“Good for you. Don’t ever put them in the refrigerator.” He took two large tomatoes out of the sack and pulled a serrated knife off the rack. “Got any fresh basil hanging around?”
“Nope.”
“No problem. They’re nice and ripe. Olive oil and salt’s probably all we need anyway.” He placed the slices on a plate and drizzled more olive oil across them from the bottle, then sprinkled them with kosher salt.
MG glanced nervously at the stove. How long did it take anchovies to burn anyway?
Joe took the lid off the soup kettle, then dumped in most of the package of spaghetti. He stirred it enough to submerge the strands, then opened the oven and pulled out the now toasted slices of bread. “Okay, field expedient time. You got a grater?”
She pulled a Microplane out of the drawer and handed it to him.
He grinned. “No, darlin’, this is where you get to help. Get a bowl and grate the bread into it, okay?”
“Crusts and all?”
“Just tear off the crusts. You’ll do fine.”
MG did as she was told, all the while watching the anchovies. Joe gave them another stir, then finally scraped up the garlic paste with his knife and dumped it into the pan stirring quickly to combine garlic and oil. “Any fresh parsley?”