Broken Desires (3 page)

She opened her car door
and threw her purse in and locked it. Shit, her phone. She opened the door, got the purse and pulled her phone from it. No pockets, purse had to come.

Twenty steps down the sidewalk she pulled her phone out and called
Dara. “I’m on my way,” Sophie half whisper sang to her Romanian friend.

“Ohhhhh hihihi.
You better take notes for me, I want to know everything that happens.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be etched into my brain.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to dinner with him. Don’t you dare jump in the bed with Mr. Vagina either, or I’ll fucking be pissed.”

“I know, I know. Romance, love, yada yada.”

“Yadda my ass, if you want something to turn out right, you have to put the right ingredients in. No fucking this up. Literally.” Dara giggled at her intended pun and Sofia grinned.

“Still can’t believe the man moved to
my
neighborhood.”

“This could be a sign, me thinks?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure. But good or bad is the question. What if he’s just using my sexual hang-up to start his group sex affair?”

“What if he’s not? Shut up and think positive.”

Sophie nodded. “Positive. Nothing wrong with positive.”

“Not a damn thing
.”

“Okay, coming up on my target, need to let you go.”

“Go. But with him—hold your horses
. Try and make him talk as much as you can without you spilling your guts to him. Or jumping him. Let him know he’s not a god given to female population as much as your coochie might disagree. Keep it casual…and tight.”

Sophie smiled. She kinda loved
Dara’s scolding when it came to this stuff. “Yes mother Theresa.” She was hard as nails but old fashioned as they came. A Romanian nun packing an iron rod and a sailor’s vocabulary. For Sophia, the combo was irresistible, a parallel of her own life. She too was old fashioned but often times too afraid to show it. Which always landed her in a heap of trouble with men.

Chapter Three

It was too late to back out now. Meeting Sofia in the supermarket was fate. Or so
Daniel had chosen to think. She may not have been sexually qualified in the maturity department but there was something promising about her. Enough to at least set a date and go to the next step. Not to mention he was desperate for release.

T
he doorbell rang and Daniel put his cocktail down and went to greet Sofia. She was examining her reflection in the door’s glass. He paused several feet from the entrance and watched her a second. Arms crossed over her stomach, foot rapidly tapping. She reminded him of a trapped specimen under a microscope. She’d dressed casual and straightened her auburn hair. He couldn’t wait to smell and touch the shoulder length satin. And shit, she wore blue jeans—that seemed to fit perfect—a quarter length black t-shirt, and black, fuck me ten different ways, go-go boots. She seemed comfy in her physique but it was all a show. Beneath that hard confidence was nothing but silky soft, timid female. A huge negative. But one he might have to work around.

He
allowed himself to imagine how perfect she would look while being forced to multiple orgasms. He unlocked the door and opened it.

Daniel pretended not to notice the way her eyelids flapped in shock like a rapid shutter on a camera as she took in his alternate personality.
He grinned at the
slow burn
body scan she did on him. She liked the real him, that much was obvious. Nothing sophisticated or yuppie, just simple male. He wore the suit and gelled the hair for his profession, but at home, he pampered himself with t-shirts, blue jeans and bare feet; classical organic. The women usually loved it.

S
he actually
waved
at him. So childlike. He resisted a sigh at the negative sign. He highly doubted she could behave so naive and not totally flip out at the things he’d want to do to her. He gave her a pleasant smile and stepped aside. “Come in.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you,” she said as she walked in.

He shut the door and watched her take in the comfort over class décor. She scanned the wall with the TV and stereo, then his wall of books, framed abstract art, and his perfectly worn leather furniture. “Wow, this…this really fits you. I like it. And holy hell does it smell delicious!” She looked around as though searching for the source while sitting on his overstuffed mocha leather chair.

She loved food. One point on the positive side
. Not that women needed to love food, he just found it a major turn on. Another one of his kinky dysfunctions. “Would you like a drink?” He listed several alcoholic beverages and ran into an unexpected snag. Her frown.

“I’
ll have the Martine. But virgin.”

He stared at her.
Virgin?
He tried to recall any woman he’d had that didn’t drink. He bit his tongue on a frustrated curse at what had to be the most unexpected deal breaker ever. “Not a drinker?”

She shook her head, clearly comfortable with
her anti-alcoholic preference.

“I’ll get you some lemonade.”

A sweet smile. “Sounds perfect.”

Sonofabitch.
Liquid courage wasn’t needed for him, but he preferred his women completely uninhibited and
especially
for her, she was already too much of a goddamn Snow White. Now he’d have to fake an entire dinner that he knew wouldn’t end like he really needed it to. What a fucking hair puller.

“
I mean it. What smells so darn good?”

He came back with her drink and
set it down on the coffee table before her. “Still a surprise. Are you hungry? I have appetizers.”

Her eyes strayed over his chest briefly.
“Starving,” she nearly whispered.

“Be right back.” He hurried off to hide
the hard on she’d caused with her innocent behavior. Fuck, that was no good. He was too desperate and she was…too unpredictable, too different, too soft, too beautiful. He returned with a tray and set it down on the coffee table. She immediately zeroed in on the shrimp and picked one up. “Mmmm,” she muttered, investigating. It was butterflied, stuffed with cheese and cubed ham meat, wrapped in a strip of organic bacon, and deep fried. He sat on the sofa next to her chair and watched her sink her teeth into the shrimp. “Oh. My. God.”

He
licked his lips as her erotic sounding response shot fire into his cock. “Glad you like it.”

Her eyes went wide. “
It’s delicious, I’m not kidding. It’s like what the hell are you doing in gynecology? You should be a
chef!”

Unbidden laughter gushed out of him
at the unexpected comment. “You think?”

“Oh yeah.
” She nodded emphatic, reaching for another. This time, her bite wasn’t as gracious as the first and half the cheese fell on her shirt. “Craaaaap,” she exclaimed, swiping it with her middle finger and sucking it off.

He caught a glimpse of t
hat little pink tongue and again his cock jerked. He willed his body under control. Before this was over with, he was going to be a fucking wreck. He’d needed a fix bad and now he had this. This beautiful woman with the perfect body. The problem was her. She was the type to turn up with a child and claim it was his and demand marriage. His heart raced as he recalled her
you should be a chef
remark. “Gynecology is much easier.”

Her
blue eyes snapped to him. “Are you serious?” She picked up a zucchini appetizer. “Easier to stand between women’s legs all day than
cook
? Come on, no way.”

“Easier for me.”

“Guess so, since you’re a guy.” She bit into another shrimp. “Mmmm, Doc, this is fantastic, holy cow, seriously.”

His body was picking up speed in the excitement department. It didn’t care if she qualified in every way. It qualified in the way it wanted. A soft pussy to suck and pleasure
and pump various sized dildo’s into. And that perfect ass. He wondered how she’d react to having his tongue probing it. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees to hide his hard on. With each bite she took, she gave the sultriest moans, driving the heat in his blood higher. She would’ve been amazing as expressive as she was. He loved an expressive woman.  

“Thank you,” she muttered.

His gaze had been lost on the curves of her sweet body when her timid gratitude breached the red haze of lust. He knew he was in trouble when he didn’t care that she’d caught him. It was a good time to start the seduction.

“One of these days, you’ll have to let me make dessert for you.”

Dessert? He frowned at the dirty food word. “I’m
really
not a dessert person. Health issues associated with it and all. How’s your…condition by the way?”

She appeared clueless for a split second then remembered.
“Oh it’s fine. Rarely flares up.”

“What type do you have?”

She waved her hand. “Not a real bad one. No shots or anything.”

“For now,” he said.

“Oh stop. I don’t eat that much sweets. I mostly just like to bake them. In fact, I rarely eat what I bake.”

She took a sip of lemonade then set it back down.
“Hey, which is better…a skinny baker or a fat one?”

The
strange question snapped him out of his mood. “I have no clue.”

“A skinny one. Cause bakers eat their mistakes.”

If it weren’t for his dire need to release, she’d be much easier to smile with. “That’s a good one.”

She nodded. “My dad told
it to me.”

He
r dad. She was fond of him. He lifted his leg, ankle to knee, suddenly recalling the little stories his mother used to tell him. “I have one.”

She
smiled and sat back, getting comfy. “Go for it.”

“
Many years ago, a baker's assistant called Richard the Pourer, whose job it was to pour the dough mixture in the making of sausage rolls, noted that he was running low on one of the necessary spices, sent his apprentice to the store to buy more. Unfortunately, upon arriving at the shop the young man realized that he had forgotten the name of the ingredient. All he could do was tell the shopkeeper that it was: ‘
For Richard the Pourer, for batter for wurst.’"

A snicker preceded Sofia’
s laugh. “Nice, doc.”

Maybe he could survive this if he focused on the mundane.
“You said your father is a baker?”

She nodded
, leaned for her lemonade, and took a sip while playing with the hem of her jeans. “He passed away last year though.”

Hmm.
Why had he thought he was alive? “Sorry to hear that.”

“I’d told you he
is
a baker, I’d meant was. Was a baker. A very good one.”

He put his arm on the back of the couch.
“I see.” He could almost feel the tension pouring from her body now. Her father was a sensitive subject for her. “You miss him?”

S
he took several gulps of lemonade and shrugged. “Sometimes.” She gave a little laugh. “Wow, that sounded cold, right?”

“I get it.
” He nodded a little, feeling like he could level the playing field for her. “My grandmother passed away thirteen years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Were you…close to her?”

He leaned back. “We were inseparable.” He gave a light grin, pretending to remember good details that didn’t exist.  

Sofia chewed her lower lip
again. She seemed to do it when she was nervous and embarrassed. “How’d she die?”

“A massive heart attack. She weighed four hundred and twenty pounds.” A heartbeat later, he wiped the
foul memory from his mind and smiled at her. “So, what do you do for a living, Miss Sofia?”

She
shook the ice in her glass then glanced at him. “I take care of my grandmother. Full time. She has Alzheimer’s.”

And there it was. She was
a goddamn saint. When he needed a female demon, he ended up with her. “That’s honorable of you.”

She shrugged,
looking uncomfortable with the compliment. “Well, I get a free place to stay, free food, a small salary.”

“
Nothing wrong with that.”

She nodded and sighed
like she wished she could see it the same. “Yeah, that’s what I tell myself.”

“If you weren’t doing that, what would you be doing?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a professional baker.”

The
sweet topic brought distaste toward her. He sat back, deciding he’d better pounce on the feeling if he was going to defuse his dangerous desire to eat her pussy right where she sat. “I bet you didn’t know that most Americans consume a hundred and fifty pounds of refined sugar a year. Most health issues stem from bad sugars. It’s unfortunate that you’re so bent on destroying your body along with other people’s.”