Hot and Bothered (Hot in the Kitchen) (12 page)

“Jules is a friend,” he said to Shane through gritted teeth.

“And?”

“And,” he dragged out, “in another lifetime or if I was a different person, maybe I’d make a play for her.”

“If you were a different person? You’re sounding a bit sad, man. Do we need to go deeper here?” Shane rubbed an imaginary beard and scrunched up his eyes in mock consideration. “Tell me about your dreams,” he said in a terrible German accent.

Christ, give him strength.

“In these dreams, are you wearing dee frocks? Are dee penises involved? Are there women with dee penises?”

“Bite me,” Tad said, unable to restrain his laugh, uncomfortable as it was. He took a long slug of his beer and set the bottle down carefully. “I’ve been with a lot of women, Shane. A lot. I’m hardwired to play the field.” Maybe not so much lately, but it would come. Jesus, it had to. “I’m not interested in settling down, and that’s what Jules and Evan need. Stability and family.”

So what if during those precious moments with her and Evan, the crushing pain he felt over his parents’ passing and the shameful part he’d played in it seemed to weigh less? But it would never ease up enough to want to use her as a crutch for the hard times. She deserved a guy who didn’t turn everything he touched to shit.

Shane stood up and drained his beer. “From the way she was talking today, she’s not so interested in settling down just yet either.”

Alarm streaked through him. “I thought you said she was just saying it to rile Jack up.”

“Yeah, but she sure didn’t object when my lovely wife put a ton of guys into the Fling pile. Looks like she’s going to work on that list first, then move onto the Ring pile.”

“The what?”

“You know, a hot hook-up versus finding the one. There’s a complex points system in development.”

Tad had no idea which was worse: Jules having a meaningless affair or Jules meeting the love of her life. The first one. No, the second one. God
damn it.

Shane threw a twenty down on the bar, his work as the Grim Reaper of Tad’s heart done. “I’m off home. You coming?”

“No,” he muttered mutinously.

His so-called friend watched the gaggle of sparkly pink-teed women as they downed shots the other end of the bar. “Looks like you have your pick, playah.” He sauntered off to the exit.

Tad picked at the label on the beer bottle, determined to get it off in one piece. It tore a quarter of the way in. Wait a minute…
a points system?
He turned but Shane was already out the door.

“Aren’t you going to help me celebrate my last night of freedom?”

Giselle, again. Glassy-eyed, sugar-lipped, up-for-it Giselle. The bride, which was usually on his list of no-nos. Maybe he needed to break a rule or two just to get his mojo back.

He reached for his well-worn smile. “You look like a Jagermeister type of girl. Am I right?”

She hooked up the corners of those do-me lips and leaned in close. “You’ve got my number, handsome.”

Chapter Seven

The man loves a little and often… the woman a lot and rarely.
—Italian proverb Jules’s phone vibrated on the counter and she flicked a glance.

Bingo.
That old saw about never letting the sun set on an argument was something Jack lived by. He was the poster boy for blowing up hot and cooling down fast.

“Hey,” she said, holding the phone to her ear while she opened the jar of Nutella as big as her head. Thank God for Costco.

“I was worried you might not pick up.”

She smiled at how easy he was making it for her. “I know you’re just being your hard arse self, Jack. You’re older, and it’s tough to effect personality change at this stage of your life.”

His indrawn breath was so long she could hear the ten-second count in his head. They had always pushed each other’s buttons and because his one hundred percent Irish genes made him more emotional, he usually cracked first. Time with Lili had helped him realize that he should be more conscious of the filter between his brain and his mouth but there were moments he couldn’t control his temper. Most of them involving Jules.

“I worry,” he said, the two words he had probably said to her more than any other. She loved and hated how much he worried about her.

“I know, but you realize I’m not trying to stick it to you. This is just me looking to get things started. Stand on my own two feet.”

The line crackled with an unspoken retort. She was living here rent free and he kept her bank account flush so she was still relying on him. He was within his rights to point out her distinct lack of independence. But this wasn’t about money. Until she figured out her life, she wanted to feel something other than tired and inadequate.

She wanted to feel.

“I miss Evan,” he said softly.

Her heart keened at his pain. Not only did he miss Evan, but he wanted his own baby with Lili more than anything. They had been trying since the wedding ten months ago with no peep of a bump.

“He asked for you earlier before he went to sleep.” She walked into Evan’s room, immediately comforted by the breathy sighs that filled the room. In the first months after he was born, she would spend every waking moment playing helicopter mum over his cot, waiting for that catch in his breath that signaled difficulty. Surely something in her genetic make-up—her stupid gene, as she called it—would have a bearing on his ability to be normal. Might cause him to hold his breath or forget to move his head to draw in air, but it never happened.

She held the phone close to Evan’s face and on cue, he let out a sleepy murmur of content. Good job, little monkey.

“Hear that?” she said into the phone.

“Uh huh. He went down okay?”

“He was a bit fussy, but he’s getting used to his new room.” In truth, her golden prince had been a grizzly bear today, getting into a strop as soon as she put him down. She had let him air-punch himself to sleep with his chubby fists. Now, he gave off an angel vibe but no one was fooled.

“That apartment is too small,” Jack muttered.

“It has character.”

“Another word for small. I lived there with Lili, remember? The shower was a nightmare, especially for two people.”

“Ew, TMI!” She laughed. “Speaking of. Shouldn’t you be taking out little Jack by now?”

He sighed. “You’re never going to find a man with a filthy mouth like that.”

“You opened that particular door, bruv.”

The dense silence that followed checked her teasing. Jack usually had no problem telling her how he felt, so this hesitancy was new.

“We had a bunch of tests done.”

“And?” She held her breath. A pregnant pause, if you will.

“And everything’s fine. There’s no reason why we can’t conceive.” He sounded so woebegone she wished she could reach through the line and hug him. She wasn’t a hugger by nature but she’d do it for Jack. After Evan, he was her favorite person in the world.

“So you just have to let it take its course. It’ll happen.”

“If I stop being so impatient, you mean?”

“I know you can’t help it, but that kind of tension probably sours the mood.” Bleedin’ ’ell, was she giving sex advice to her brother? Quickly, she shoved the pin back in the grenade. “What does Lili think?”

“That I’m being my usual pain in the arse who has to have it now. Like everything.”

More likely, she was worried about disappointing him. He didn’t always realize he was doing it but Jack’s expectations of balls-out passion from everyone tended to set him up for discontent. Jules had lived most of her life afraid of not measuring up in Jack’s eyes. It had taken an unplanned pregnancy and a transatlantic flit to Chicago before she confessed to him that she couldn’t read.

Telling Jack was the hardest thing she had ever done, even harder than telling him she was pregnant or walking away from Simon that day two years ago. But Jack had been perfect. He had gathered her in his arms and told her he loved her more than anything. He took her into his home with Lili, stayed up to help her feed Evan, let her sleep when she needed it. He was also the most overprotective, stifling, pain-in-the-arse brother any girl could want.

“Go sexually harass your lovely wife. ’Night, Jack.”

“ ’Night, baby girl.”

She headed into the bathroom, slipping her robe to the tiled floor as she went, and turned on the tap to fill the bathtub. Cara had given her a set of essential bath oils because she was lately allergic to everything and now, Jules examined them, looking for answers. One claimed to be for stress relief. Another promised purification of body and mind.

No, thanks.
Her dirty fantasies were about the only indulgence she had.

Her phone vibrated again, a low buzz that sliced through the steamy whorls and rush of water.

Speaking of dirty fantasies…
Tad’s sickeningly handsome face popped up on the screen. The temptation to ignore it pinged her briefly but they had left things in a weird spot at Lili’s studio and maybe he wanted to clear the air.

Before she answered, she took a deep breath. “Erotic Circus Clown School. Squeeze more than red noses.”

“Very tempting.” She heard the hitch in his breath. “I’m downstairs. Can I come up?”

Hell to the no. It was far too late for a casual visit. She waited a moment, unsure how to play it.

“I’ve got salted caramel gelato,” he said into the steamy silence.

She didn’t want gelato… said no one ever. This guy was the devil who knew all her weaknesses.

“Okay, but you can’t stay long. I just put Evan down,” she answered, more for her own peace of mind. Oh, no, she would never use her child as a human shield.

She turned off the bath tap. Deliberately, she covered her warm, damp skin with the silk robe and stared in the mirror. Hair in a frizz, a lover’s flush on her cheeks, nipples standing in a stiff salute as if they knew the general was here for inspection.

It’s late and you’re alone,
Bad Girl Jules cheered.

Child in the next room,
Good Girl Jules replied primly.

Her hands flew to her hair in a smoothing motion as she shuffled to the door. Immediately, she pushed them back down to her sides. She didn’t need to make herself pretty for her friend.

His heavy tread up the stair had her heart beating a mile a minute. God, she was acting like a complete Muppet. So this was the first time he had visited her at her new place. He had come by plenty of times when she lived at Jack and Lili’s, so why should this be any different?

Because you’re in your own gal-pad now. Where anything could happen.

Where nothing would happen because he was not interested.

His dark head rose into view and she felt her pulse rise with it. Damn, she did not want to feel hostage to her hormones.

Apparently he was on board with that idea. The flick he gave over her robe-clad body was dismissive, adding further to her feelings of frumpery. A true friend would have lingered a touch on her breasts. What a waste of pouty nipples.

“What’s up?” she asked sharply, irritation over her body’s reaction and his clear lack of one provoking her surliness.

“I just wanted to stop by and see how you were.”

When she lived with Jack and Lili, he had done that a lot. Jack and Lili would be working late, leaving Jules alone with Evan who used to sleep more than he did now. Tad would call and ask her if she wanted him to stop by. Sometimes, she claimed busyness, not because she didn’t need the company but just to prove that she could say no. More often she said yes, because the one percent refusal made the acceptance more palatable.

And then one night, she jumped him like a lioness cutting down a baby antelope.

The t-shirt he wore tonight was a plain gray that would have looked, well, plain on any other guy. But not on Tad. Nothing looked plain on his sinfully sexy body. Thin cotton stretched over his well-defined chest muscles and fought a losing battle to cover his biceps. He’d always filled out a pair of jeans nicely, but for some reason, she was so much more aware of him tonight. Putting herself in “dating” mode had forged new neural pathways or something. Or she was just feeling randy after so long without a guy.

He brushed by her into the apartment, his upper arm kissing her shoulder and shiver-shocking her system. The one with all those newly forged neural pathways that led to Destination: Unfulfilled.

She shut the door behind her, the definitive click bringing Jack’s words about the size of the apartment back to her in a rush. Not so much character as claustrophobic. Toasty.

“Where’s the gelato?” she asked, removing her heated focus from his muscular body to his empty hands.

“What? Oh… I don’t have any.” He scanned the living room, still box-cluttered and messy from her move-in a month ago. “How are you settling in?”

“Okay. You want to tell me why you’re here?” For a moment, she had forgotten that she was mad at him from earlier and now he had waltzed in like she had nothing better to do but be at his beck and call. Her sour mood might have had something to do with the broken promise of salted caramel gelato.

He rubbed his chin and in the strained silence, she could almost hear the rough bristles under his palm. “Jules, about what I said earlier at the studio. I’m sorry if it came off as—”

“Paternal? Assholic? Slut-shaming?”

His eyes widened. “I’ll gladly own up to paternal and maybe, ass—”

“—holic,” she supplied helpfully.

“Okay,” he said, the word dragged out to soothe the barmy woman in the room, “but slut-shaming is all wrong.”

“You pretty much said that photo gave off a vibe. That’s the kind of crap guys come up with when women are attacked and they’re making excuses for their gender. She was asking for it because of what she was wearing. Commonly known as slut-shaming.”

He looked gobsmacked. “That’s not what I meant at all. I worry about you and I don’t want you to attract sleazy assholes looking to use you.”

She let loose a sigh in the hopes it might relax her anger-taut muscles. She wasn’t even sure
why
she was so angry. All she knew was she was cheesed off at all the paternal shit.

“I’ve already got a big brother, Tad. I don’t need another one.”

Thoughts chased each other across his face before finally settling on intense. Shocking, thunderstorm intense. “I don’t want to be your brother, Jules.”

The way he said it—a low rumble of sex—sent a shiver all the way down to her good parts. She opened her mouth to ask more and then closed it because she had nothing. Her mouth was desert dry. The sensitive area between her thighs? Not so much.

He walked into the kitchen, drawing her attention to his loose-limbed gait. She loved how he moved. He grabbed a spoon off the counter, twisted off the lid of the Nutella jar, and scooped some out.

“I heard you’re going to get busy with some guy in the back of his Honda Civic.” He popped a heaped spoonful of Nutella into his mouth as if that punctuation would keep him from shoving his other foot in his mouth.

Rage boiled up once more. “Been having a nice old gossip with your girlfriend, Shane? You braid each other’s hair, too?”

She took the spoon from him and helped herself from the jar of chocolate-hazelnut goodness, careful to keep as much distance from him as possible. Because there was a fair to middling chance she was going to use the spoon to excavate the sensitive area between
his
thighs.

“I thought you wanted to ease into the dating game. Now I hear you’re looking to hook up.”

She let out an exasperated noise. “And this is your business how?”

“Paternal. Assholic.” He held her gaze long enough to make her tingle. “Indulge me.”

She dug deep for her casual voice. He was here because he cared about her as a friend, no other reason, and she needed to get on board with that.

“Cara thinks I should play the field a bit. Pick a guy to have a summer fling with. Nothing serious, then start looking for the real deal after I’ve worked it out of my system.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve got something to work out of your system?”

“It’s been a while, Tad.”

“And you think picking some stranger off a website and starting an affair is the way to go about this?”

Of course not. She had no intention of touching that option with a ten-foot pole, but the fact
he
thought so was interesting. Eventually, she wanted to find a nice guy, a man who would treat her right and would love Evan like he was his own.

That Tad loved Evan was a solid gold certainty, but it was easy to be the uncle who handed the toddler back when he got stroppy. The man had already done so much for her, from supporting her through her pregnancy to holding her hand through every push in that delivery room.

He had shown her how to breathe.

But now she had to breathe on her own. Make her way and as much as she’d like Tad to be involved in her life as more than a friend, he was just not into her. The sexual charge she felt in the air between them was all generated on her side, she was sure of it.

Still, the idea of testing the limits here sent a wild pulse through her.

“I just know I’d like to have some fun while I’m still young. Something short-term and meaningless would be good, I suppose.”

It was a universal truth that a Nutella binge could not be enjoyed without leaving evidence. A smudge of chocolate scored Tad’s cheek near the corner of his mouth, and she itched to rub her thumb against it.

So she did.

Then she sucked the smear that dotted the side of her thumb.

Slowly.

Tad’s burning gaze latched onto her thumb-filled mouth, sending her sex into a heated clench. Warm liquid surged between her thighs and her nipples pebbled against the sensually thin silk of her robe. One look from Tad was like the equivalent of a good forty minutes of foreplay. One look and her body was ready for him.

Crazy, just crazy.

She blinked away her lascivious thoughts and stopped sucking on her thumb. This was completely ridic. Subtle seduction had never been part of her repertoire; old, slutty Jules was direct and to the point. Besides, Tad wasn’t interested in her in that way. He’d made that abundantly clear.

Except… something shifted incrementally. That imagined energy between them turned tangible the longer they stood there, staring.

“What about me?” he asked, low and soft.

“What about you what?”

He remained silent, just held her gaze with those unwavering blue eyes the color of a Chicago summer sky over the lake. Just stood there exuding… vibes. Sexual, dangerous, reach-inside-her vibes. While her heart danced a samba against her rib cage, she tried to comprehend what he was saying. Or not saying.

“Tad, this isn’t the time to do that dreamy stare you use on your victims.”

He took her hand in his, rubbing heated circles with his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “Something short-term and meaningless. That’s what you want, right?”

Not really. She wanted someone to hold her and soothe her, but that wasn’t what she was hearing here. She was having a hard time computing what exactly she was hearing.

“Are you—are you offering to be my fling?”

“Is that such a bad idea?”

He pulled her thumb to his mouth. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss it but then he surprised her by wrapping his lips around the tip. His tongue lapped at the delicate pad, taking her fingerprint.

Taking her breath.

Words would not form, but who needed words when every cell was roaring with pleasure? And how was she supposed to respond to her friend offering to… what exactly? How was she supposed to respond with his tongue swirling around her thumb in the sexiest contract-negotiating tactic she had ever encountered?

Thoughts were impossible, so she forced herself to dig deep and rely on actions. She yanked out her thumb and stepped away. His eyes fell to her breasts, which played their part in the proceedings by getting their perk on.

“Bloody hell, Tad, are you mental?”

“If all you want is some guy to…” He paused, searching for appropriate words for the most inappropriate conversation. “To get you off, some sort of release, then isn’t it better you do it with someone safe, someone you know who you can set the rules with beforehand?”

He was serious. Completely serious. Hotter-than-Hades Taddeo DeLuca was offering his much-vaunted services. Images of those big, blunt hands all over her body, molding, teasing, pushing her to the limits, flooded her sex-addled brain.

How exactly would that be “safe”?

A nervous laugh spilled out. “Tad, you do know how wacked this sounds. We’re friends and if we crossed that line, how would we go back?” A flash of what had happened between them a year ago scorched her soul. She had almost destroyed what they had with her desperate fumble and it had taken months for them to get back on track.

He didn’t answer. He just stared in a way that made her feel hot and desired. Ravenous.

“We’re practically related,” she went on, striving for her most reasonable tone. Someone had to keep their head here. “We’re always going to be in each other’s lives and to think it would be difficult between us… or cause problems for everyone else… that’s just not worth it.”

Well handled,
Good Girl Jules said.

Note we didn’t dismiss it out of hand,
Bad Girl Jules responded dryly.

A very focused look knotted his face and a vein at his temple jumped, but when he spoke, the contrast astonished her. Deep, low, calm. “I thought we could be adults about it. We scratch an itch and then move on.”

“Scratch an itch? I’ve got an itch”—not that her itch was a Tad itch, but more a general itch than any guy could attend to—“but what’s your excuse? You could have anyone. Surely, you haven’t run through all the Hot Taddies?”

Ruh-roh.
A black curtain descended over his face and that twitch at his temple went nuts. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Forget it,” he ground out. “It was a stupid idea.”

He skirted her, careful not to touch her, and headed for the door.

Nah-ah.
He was not walking out just because he didn’t like the direction of the conversation. “Tad DeLuca, stop right there.”

He halted but didn’t turn. His broad back muscles rippled in anger.

“You know what I’m saying. You have your pick of the crop so the only conclusion I can draw here is that you see me as some object of pity. You’re not attracted to me. That much I know, so—”

A chink of light creaked open in her brain.

“The photograph? You saw how well I scrubbed up in that photograph and now you want to tap some of what you haven’t had? That was just a Lili-crafted illusion. This is it.” She carved a shaky hand through the air in front of her baby-ravaged body, feeling suddenly more vulnerable than she had ever felt in his presence. “Half the time, I have cornflakes in my hair and my clothes are stained and I barely have time to shower.”

He turned slowly, deliberately. Statues had nothing on him. His deep blue eyes blazed his annoyance.

“You think I’m that shallow, that I’m only here because you looked good with some make-up on? Jesus, Jules, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Oh, but wasn’t that the problem? She knew him far too well.

“Tad, I know what kind of women you like and we both know I’m not it.”

Hurt flashed across his face. Probably just an ego hit, but what if it wasn’t? What if she had truly wounded him? Mouth working furiously, he wrenched open the door.

“Got it,” he bit out as he slammed the door behind him.

That went well. She hadn’t meant to insult him but really, his offer was a sandwich short of a picnic. Tad as her lover? It beggared belief. Fantasizing about it was one thing but to have it suddenly presented as a possibility was just crazy cakes.

Wasn’t it?

A faint tap on the door pulled her out of her guilt trip. She opened up to find him standing like a raging bull, still scowling.

“Tad, I’m sorry—”

His mouth covered hers, crushing the words and forcing the apology back down her throat. The sweet, chocolate-y taste hit her at the same time as her lips fell apart, the loss of control inevitable. Her muscles quickly followed suit.