Sweet Sizzle: A Red Hot Valentine Story (3 page)

Slamming his mouth over hers again, he set about proving that age-old adage—all it takes is a spark to reignite a flame.

CHAPTER THREE

There was no freakin’ way she was getting the living daylights kissed out of her by Bennet. Only according to the suddenly drenched state of her panties, she was. Very well. Holy crap, was that ever an understatement. Ben’s kisses had always dazzled her and left her brain fried, but this was a whole new level of rocking her socks off. Which left her wondering precisely how many women he’d seduced over the last ten years to improve his technique to this impressive degree. The niggling question worming its way through her conscious, she stiffened in his embrace. He massaged her nape soothingly; the sinful flick of his tongue on the tip of hers a sneaky counterassault on her senses. She whimpered and turned her face away from his. The crafty bastard took it as the perfect opportunity to suck on the side of her neck. The rasp of his days old beard scuffing her sensitive skin provided an additional torment. A greedy ache clenched her core, sending a reciprocal beat through her clit. She tensed, her breath catching in her throat.

Ben’s devious fingers dipped lower, continuing that tantalizing swirl on her nape, but now adding a new dimension to the sensory overload by gently tugging on a few stray strands of her hair. Getting her hair pulled shouldn’t have resulted in delicious shivers racing through her body, but the resulting goose bumps that chased the sensation spoke a different story. When Ben angled her head back, his suction on her neck unceasing, her eyes threatened to roll back in her head.

He let up on his kisses for a moment, his hot breath fanning her damp skin. “I used to be able to make you come like this. Bet I still can.” His statement was more sinful tease than arrogant boast. Either way, she had a bad feeling she was about to make an honest man out of him. Especially when he shifted slightly, bringing her in sizzling contact with the hard bulge between his legs. He rocked his hips, grinding her on his cock with slow circles.

Her body reacted with a traitorous racking shudder. She clutched at his broad shoulders, her head spinning. “
Ben.
”

“You ready for me to take you over the edge, baby?” He slid his mouth to hers, his whispered words a sinful promise as his tongue swept past her lips. His hand snuck inside her jacket again, this time making a bolder play by burrowing under her sweater too. He massaged the weight of her lace-covered breast, his thumb grazing the swollen tip in a persuasive figure eight. “Damn, you feel good. Wish I could lick and suck these pretty nipples while you’re losing it on me.”

She stared into his eyes, helpless against the building climax looming ever closer. An unmistakable flicker of triumph flared across his features. Bastard knew he had her. Knew she was going down. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.

An awkward cough sounded behind them, shattering the moment. She and Ben both jolted before simultaneously jerking their gazes toward their ill-timed interrupter. Gritting her teeth, she gave herself a mental head smack.
More like perfectly timed, you twit.
Because one more second of Ben’s devious seduction, and she would have
really
given the fellow gaping at them a sight to remember. She unhooked her legs from Ben’s waist and tried to untangle herself from him. When he refused to let her go she tweaked his nipple. Hard.

“
Ow!
” His expression wavering between a scowl and a grin, he released her and gingerly rubbed his chest. His thermal shirt pulled taut with his motions, defining the sculpted band of his pecs.

Somehow she managed not to swallow her tongue. He’d always been built, but
holy hell
. Clearly he hadn’t let himself go to pot.
These thoughts aren’t helping at all.
Giving herself another mental whack, she scooted around him. “I hope that hurt. A lot.”

“It did.” He snagged her by the shoulder before she could make a clean getaway and pressed his mouth near her ear. “But I kinda liked it.”

“You would.”

The stranger standing near the rear of the fire truck cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I heard a rumor about cookies.”

Oh Lord. She’d almost forgotten her entire purpose for being here. Just went to show the devastating spell Ben continued to spin over her. Not good. Thoroughly irked with herself—and Ben—she shot his coworker an exasperated look. “For the last time, no one is touching those cookies until George gets them.”

The man nodded. “I’m George.”

“Yeah, heard that one before.”

Ben chuckled. “Honey, he is George.”

She tossed him a fulminating glare. Judging from his ear-to-ear grin, he was well aware that his term of endearment was the cause for her visual daggers. Trying her best to keep her cool, she snatched the cookie bouquet from the wooden shelf Ben had placed it on earlier and stalked to George. She plopped the vase in his hands. “Happy freakin’ Valentine’s Day.”

“Err, thanks. I think.”

Doing an about face, she strode stiffly in the direction of the exit. The fast thud of Ben’s boots coming up beside her revved her heart rate, but she refused to acknowledge his presence.

“Ro, every damn word Michael said is true. I
am
fucking crazy about you. Always have been. Always will. I screwed up bad, baby. I know that. And I’m gonna spend the rest of my days making it up to you. I swear to Christ, I am.”

She slammed to a jarring halt and spun to face him. “It’s a little late for that, Ben.”

“I don’t think it is.” He caressed her cheek, his beautiful soulful eyes pleading. “And down deep, I think you realize that too. It’s still there between us. The kind of explosive chemistry we have, it doesn’t vanish just because you want it too.”

Oh God, but she wished with everything inside her that it would. She couldn’t afford the gut-punching fallout of Bennet Jackson breaking her heart again. She’d barely survived the last time. If it happened again, there’d be no pieces left of her heart to put back together. “It doesn’t matter, Ben. Bottom line, there is no us anymore, and nothing you say or do is going to change that fact.”

The stricken look on his face sent a corresponding wave of guilt through her, causing her stomach to cramp. Yes, he’d hurt her—devastatingly so—but it gave her no pleasure to return the favor. Regardless if he deserved it or not. She balled her fists, battling the desire to reach for him.
Be strong.
Mutely repeating that mantra, she started to turn away from him.

He slipped his arm around her waist, once again thwarting her intentions  of escape. “Okay, I know you have every reason to believe that’s true. And I accept full responsibility for why you feel that way. But I
still
think we do have a shot at a future together. We were made for each other, Ro. No other woman is going to do it for me, because you’re the one.” His knuckles brushed her cheekbone. “You’ve
always
been the one.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.
A lump of emotion lodged in her throat, she desperately panned the room for any means of escape. Both from Ben and the foolish yearning in her heart that clung to the whispered lie that maybe they
could
work things out.

His fingers splayed on her nape, forcing her to meet his compelling gaze. “I know you don’t believe that either. But I’m asking you for a chance to prove it’s true.” He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. The touch was tender. Coaxing. Not succumbing to its heady invitation proved a Herculean feat. Apparently sensing her internal war with her waning willpower, Ben turned up the heat a notch, his tongue hunting down hers when she attempted to dodge his sensual ambush. Killing her moan before it could rat her out, she broke their kiss, her breaths sawing from her far more rapidly than she would have preferred.

Ben licked his lips. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

She gaped at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. I’m one hundred percent dead serious. I’ll take you someplace romantic. Linen and candles on the tables. The whole shebang.” He slid her a smile that she damn well knew was designed to annihilate her defenses.

Fortunately her renewed fury was doing a bang up job reinforcing the chinks in her armor. “Has your brain gotten so pickled over the years that you’ve forgotten what today is?”

He frowned. “I’m not a damn drunk, despite the impression Michael gave. And yes, I’m fully aware it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s only half right.” She yanked her jacket lapels together and zipped them up with a vicious yank. “It’s also the anniversary of when you proposed and dumped me a year later. Pretty damn fitting, huh?”

“No, that’s not—” He paused; the slow wash of wariness gripping his features hinting that his speedy recalculation suddenly wasn’t looking so good. “Aw, fuck.”

“Hm, you nailed it on the head there, Einstein. ‘Cause you are most definitely fucked. And not in the way you were hoping for, I’m sure. Because this holiday? Well, it’s nothing but a big ole Hallmark Card moment of every bad decision I ever made trusting you with my heart.”

He scraped his fingers through his thick,  ink black hair, his unblinking
how-the-hell-do-I-get-out-of-this-one
stare pinned to her. Expelling a resigned breath, he dragged his hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t know it was today. But it almost seems like fate, when you think about it. Of all days for you and me to crash back into each other’s lives. Maybe the universe is telling us something.”

She snorted. “Yeah, it’s telling me that if I continue being a crash test dummy for Cupid, I better invest in protective gear.” Not that she was ever letting herself get taken for a ride again. The next time she got involved with someone, she wasn’t going to give her heart away. Meaningless sex was the name of the game from here on out. Hell, men did that kind of shit routinely. Why couldn’t she?

“You won’t need it, Ro. Because you got me. I would sooner cut off my own arm than hurt you again.”

“Fortunately for you, self-amputation is unnecessary, seeing as how I have zero intention of going down that road with you again.”

“Baby, one dinner. That’s all I’m asking. Let me make this right again. We’ll rewrite the past by creating a new Valentine’s memory tonight. One that will forever erase my stupid ass, fuck up ten years ago.”

“Oh, that’s precisely what I plan to do.” She held up her hand before victory completely sealed his smile in place. “Just not with you.”

His poleaxed expression made her feel uncomfortably like she’d just kicked a puppy. Or even worse, a kindly old lady carrying a puppy and baby as she shuffled through three feet of snow in a walker. Yeah, took an extra heaping dose of Mega Ultra Bitch to pull off that one. But she’d had no choice. When it came to her and Ben, the inevitable outcome seemed to always be one of them hurting the other. For once, she wasn’t going to be the one left holding the baggage of heartache.

Desperately clutching at every ounce of inner strength she possessed, she made tracks for the exit.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Bro, you don’t look so good.”

Digging deep for the energy that’d abandoned him the moment Rory stormed out the door, Ben lifted his gaze from the oil stain he’d been blindly staring at for the last fifteen minutes. He offered Michael a halfhearted shrug. “Lack of sleep is catching up with me.” The words rang hollow, even to his own ears. After all these years, he was still a chicken shit liar when it came to spilling his true fears. The knowledge sat like an anvil on his sternum.

Would it really make him less of a man if he owned up to his failures and weaknesses? He doubted Michael would judge him. And if he did, well, maybe he was no friend worth keeping. “She fucking hates me.” The wobble in his voice was a vulnerability Ben didn’t much like hanging around, but he sucked in a fortifying breath and persevered on anyway. “She fucking hates me because I broke our engagement on Valentine’s Day. To make things even better, I told her I needed the break from her so I could focus on getting my football career off and running. In other words, basically giving her the impression I chose the game over her.”

Michael winced. “Shit, man. No wonder she fucking hates you.”

Ben slumped onto Smokey’s bumper in a dejected heap.

“Crap. Forget I said that. I mean, technically you said it first. But you know what I’m gettin’ at. It’s easy to convince yourself that’s how she feels given the obvious fact that you’re beating yourself up over it.”

Gusting a weary breath, Ben shook his head. “No. I could see it in her eyes. And the kicker is I don’t blame her one bit for despising me.” Didn’t mean it wasn’t a bitter pill to swallow. Particularly since he’d give his left nut to have her love again. Being the recipient of that blessing? Back in the day it’d been a high like no other. The notion that a gorgeous, smart, sexy and sweet girl like Rory could actually love him, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks whose only real marketable skill in life was throwing a football? Craziness. Even now it still blew his mind. And here he’d tossed away that love. What a complete dumb ass.

“I bet she’s just angry. That’s a helluva lot less harsh and easier to overcome than hate.”

“Not when it comes to Rory. When she sets her mind to something there’s no changing it.”

Michael smirked. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“You calling me stubborn?”

“If the mule head fits…” Michael stroked his goatee. “All these years I’ve known you, and this is the first I’ve heard the whole story. Why?”

“You think I wanted to admit what
a jackass I was?”

“Yeah, suppose not,” Michael said with a snort. “Jesus, you are one exasperating idiota.”

Ben squinted at his best mate. “You know I hate it when you revert to Spanish.”

“How hard is it to translate
idiota
, for God’s sake?”

“Guess I’m an idiota.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Beyond me what she ever saw in you.”

That makes two of us.
Grunting, Ben scratched his jaw.

“Maybe that’s what you need to do—remind her of what she saw in you in the first place.”

“Yeah? And how do you reckon I go about doing that when I have no damn clue what that might be?”

Michael leaned his hip against the side of old Smokey. “Well, what did you do to woo her back then?”

“Dude, you’re younger than me and just used the word
woo
. I worry about you sometimes.”

“Says the guy trying to get his girl back.” Michael scuffed his boot heel on the cement, his forehead furrowed in concentration. “What did she enjoy doing with you?”

“She seemed to really like me eating her—”

Michael coughed into his fist. “TMI.”

“You asked,” Ben pointed out with a grumpy growl.

“Did you ever take her dancing?”

“Do I look like I’m a fucking Rico Sauvé on the dance floor like you?”

Michael gave him a pitying look. “It’s a wonder you white boys ever get laid.”

“No shit.” Ben leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands, his fingers steepling. “Money was tight back then, even with me having the scholarship. But I’d still splurge and buy her flowers whenever I could. Her favorite was freesia.” Damn, he’d gotten it right on the first try. For once. “She was also a big fan of this little Italian joint down by the campus.” For years after the breakup, he’d deliberately find an excuse for driving by Antonio’s just on the off chance he’d spot Rory’s car in the parking lot. He could never bring himself to go inside. To do so would risk the chances of seeing her with another man, and that would have been an extra layer of hell icing his misery. Plus he probably would have ended up in the clink after breaking the  motherfucker’s knee caps. 

“You’d take her there as a treat? Okay, we can definitely work with that.”

“Yeah, she loved the Chicken Marsala. And the tiramisu. Usually we’d take that to go though, since all we could think about was getting back to her apartment and tearing into each other with some hot, mind-blowing monkey sex.”

Michael gave him a pained look.

“I know. TMI. Fuckin’ A, Reyes. My granny is less of a prude than you.” Ben tossed up his arms. He attempted to use his exasperation as a buffer against the storm of memories that relentlessly hammered his defenses, but it was no use. They were ripping apart his haphazard shamble of a barricade and pummeling his brain.

Images of Rory, beautiful and smiling with such joy in her eyes. Him sinking into her kisses, and later her body. A frantic, consuming mating of flesh and senses. Her moans and gasps electrifying his skin. Nails digging into his flanks. The pale arch of her neck, silky blonde waves spread across the pillow. So close. So fucking close. The strained cry rising up in her lungs, racing to beat the first telltale pulse of her climax. But he knew what to expect, craved it to the marrow of his bones. Lodging deep with one smooth thrust, he waited for his reward. Right on cue, it came. Eyes rolling back in her head, she opened her mouth on a silent scream, her pussy contracting hard around his cock. Emotions, too intense and terrifying to analyze under the bright microscope of day as he rode out her orgasm. She shook uncontrollably, her entire body continuing to bow into him, as if she wanted to merge with his. In that moment, he hungered for that unending union, even while the thought of welcoming it brought every single one of his insecurities raging to the surface. He could potentially fail her. No, most likely he would fail her. Because he didn’t know how to take care of anyone but himself. And most days he did a crap job of that.

“Earth to Bennet. You’re dazing off again, bro.”

He sheepishly lifted his focus to Michael. The younger man gave him a shrewd look. “I don’t wanna know where your thoughts were at, do I?”

“Nope.”

Michael nodded before gesturing with his hand. “Well, what do you think about my suggestion?”

There’d been a suggestion? Shit, he really had been lollygagging on Sexy Memory Lane. “You, uh, mind refreshing me on the details just so I’m sure I got ‘em right?”

The wry curve of Michael’s mouth hinted that he wasn’t about to fall for that old trick. “No problem. The idea is to show up on her doorstep tonight with flowers and candy. None of that cheapo stuff either. Godiva at a minimum. Antonio’s take reservations? ‘Cause you need to hop on that
pronto, otherwise you might be SOL with it being Valentine’s Day.”

“Whoa, you’re getting way ahead of yourself here.” Ben braced his elbow on Smokey’s frame and hefted to his feet. “I already asked her out to dinner, and she shot me down.”

Michael stacked his arms over his chest, his posture challenging. “I didn’t take you for no quitter.”

Ben immediately bristled. “I’m not.”

“Oh yeah? You ask her out
one time
, she says no, and now you’re all Emo in the corner and probably debating knitting yourself a new pair of man panties. Sounds like the essence of quittertude to me.”

“Dude. Man panties?”

“Yep. Bet they’re pink. With little bows.”

Ben chuckled. “Wrong, you asshat. They’re leopard print. Now stop picturing me in a thong.”

“I didn’t say anything about no thong!” Michael made a dramatic gagging motion.

Once they’d both stopped laughing, Ben stepped away from Smokey and scratched his nape. “Fine, I get it. And I agree with you one hundred percent. It’s not like me to tuck my tail between my legs and accept defeat. I’m sure as shit not starting up that trend now.” He bumped fists with Michael. “But I do have one minor setback. I don’t know where Rory lives.”

Michael shrugged. “You know where she works though. Next best thing.”

Ben swung his arm around Michael’s shoulder. “I knew there’s a reason I keep you around, probie.”

***

Rory suspected her expression must have bordered on murderous, because the second she strode into The Sweet Spot Trisha ducked behind the counter. The younger woman tentatively peeked over the edge of the glass at Rory. “Whatever it is, I swear I had nothing to do with it.”

“I know. So you can come up now.” Rory plopped her purse next to the register and yanked her gloves off with her teeth.

Trisha cautiously straightened. “Should I not ask how the deliveries went?”

“They were fine.” Up until the last one. Who would have thought she’d find a reason to hate Valentine’s Day even more?  And it was all Bennet Jackson’s fault. Again.

Grumbling to herself, Rory stripped from her jacket and crossed to the coat rack on the other side of the kitchen door. Why, oh why, did Ben still have this overpowering hold on her? It’d been ten years, for God’s sake. But it’d only taken one kiss, and her self-control had disintegrated. He was a hazard to her sanity, plain and simple.

A timid cough broke through her inner grousing and she turned to find Trisha standing in the entryway, chewing her thumbnail nervously. Trisha rocked back and forth on the heels of her knee-high Ugg boots. “I was wondering if I could maybe take off a little early? Rich has something special planned for Valentine’s Day.” She twitched her nose. “I just hope it’s better than what he cooked up last year. Hanging out with his dopey frat buddies wasn’t exactly my idea of romantic.”

Rory glanced at the enormous cupcake-shaped wall clock hanging above the door. “Sure. We’re near closing time anyway, so go ahead and punch out now. You’ll still get paid for the whole hour.”

“Really?” Happiness lighting her face, Trisha bounced up and down before squeezing Rory in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Your boyfriend might have something even more epically lame planned than beer pong.”

“Ugh. He better not.” Trisha grabbed her suede coat and slipped it on. A fraction of her excitement dissipated as her attention returned to Rory. “Are you sure you don’t mind being here alone?”

Rory didn’t need a secret decoder ring to translate the real source of Trisha’s concern. “I’ll be fine. Hey, I made it this long today without
completely
defaming Cupid, right? What’s forty more minutes?” She waved Trisha to the exit with a reassuring smile. Once the door shut behind her and Trisha tromped out of sight, Rory groaned and slumped against the counter.

Is this what she had to look forward to?
Another
ten years of outwardly grinning and bearing Valentine’s Day, while inside she was a teeth-gnashing Cupid hater? Scrubbing her hands over her face, she pushed away from the counter and trekked back into the kitchen. After washing off the makeup she’d just boneheadly transferred to her palms, she yanked on her favorite apron and grabbed the large canister of flour. Her only hope of burning off this excess energy was by losing herself in some serious baking. Lord knows she wasn’t a culinary genius like Hailey, but butterscotch scones were more than doable and their clients adored them. She fetched the remaining ingredients and lined them up on the prep station. Flour got tossed into the mixing bowl, along with baking powder and salt. Next came butter, properly chilled to provide that perfect golden flakiness. Milk, egg, and last but not least, those delicious butterscotch chips. Combine everything, scoop onto cookie sheet, and boom! —Ready for the oven.

She set the timer and tidied her work station. Still restless after that task was done, she pulled out the giant file folder of dessert recipes and aimlessly rifled through the glossy pages, trying to decide which of the delicacies she stood less chance of screwing up. She settled on a tropical fruit tart just as the entrance bell chimed. Blowing a loose strand of hair away from her eye, she glanced toward the clock again. Two minutes until closing. Always the way. Oh well, not like she had a hot date to rush off to or anything.

And therein lies your problem, you nincompoop. What happened to your bold pronouncement of rewriting Valentine’s Day with some headboard shaking smexin’ action?
Instead, here she was, taking out her frustration with baked goods. Snuffing a sigh, she brushed her hands on the skirt of her apron, doing her best to banish the remaining traces of flour dusting her skin. She stepped through the doorway, and resisted the urge to do an about-face when she spotted Bennet standing in the middle of the room, looking devastatingly gorgeous in a navy sport coat and khakis. Pulse thumping in double time, she took in the bouquet of roses and the suspicious heart-shaped box he held. “What do you think you’re doing?” She wasn’t entirely surprised at him showing up. She knew damn well how persistent Ben could be when he wanted something badly enough.