I Brake For Bad Boys (23 page)

“You can let go of me now,” she said quietly. “I won't bolt.”

He released her with obvious reluctance, but he didn't step back. His body remained in contact, his heat kissing the surface of her body.

“You know, my colleagues warned me about you today,” she said. “They say you're trouble. Too intense. That you've fixated on me.”

“Maybe.” His voice was elaborately light. “But you don't need them to tell you what to do. You can decide for yourself, right, Tess?”

She couldn't help but smile at his craftiness. That wily bastard instinctively knew just what buttons to push.

He smiled back, his eyes still wary. “You'll stay for dinner?”

“Just dinner,” she murmured. “Then I'll see how I feel.”

His face lit up with relief. He poured her a glass of wine and pressed it into her hand. “I'll go finish up the food, then. Call your roommate, like I said. It'll make us both feel better.” He indicated the phone table near the door.

Trish picked up on the first ring. “Chez d'Amour.”

“Trish, I suggest you enjoy your evening, because it's going to be your last,” she hissed.

“Well, if it isn't the love goddess herself. How's it going, chica?”

“There is no house party! It's just him and me and a bottle of wine! And what on earth possessed you to fill my purse with condoms?”

Trish clucked. “As if! No way would I let my precious Tess go off on a provocative weekend massage-a-thon with a hot sexy love god without stocking you up with latex! I mean, like, duh!”

“Trish, damn it, I—”

“Friends don't let friends have unsafe sex, Tess,” Trish lectured.

“But I'm not here for sex!” she shouted.

There was a stifled snort of laughter from the kitchen behind her.

She slammed the phone down and marched toward Jonah, her arms folded across her chest. She glared at him until he turned around with a nervous, what-have-I-done-now? look on his face.

“Why is it that every single person in my life assumes that I don't know what's best for me?” she demanded.

Jonah stirred something bubbling in a gleaming pot. “I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”

“That's the smartest thing you've said so far,” she observed.

His eyes gleamed with sly humor. “That's just because I don't know you well enough yet,” he amended. “As soon as I do, I'll let you know what's best for you. In great detail. You can count on it.”

She tried not to smile, but it was a losing battle. “You just had to ruin it, didn't you? Just couldn't resist, huh?”

“Nobody's perfect.” An answering smile spread over his face; something fluttered inside her. His warmth pulled at her.

He felt it, too. His smile faded, and he took a step toward her. Something sizzled and popped in the pan behind him. He spun with a muttered curse and did something with the spatula.

“You're distracting me,” he said. “Why don't you take that glass of wine and go out and watch the sunset fade off the mountain? By the time the colors are gone, dinner will be ready.”

She looked out the window. The mountain had faded from pink to orange. She took another sip of wine. “OK,” she murmured.

 

 

Jonah stirred the polenta with one hand, and roasted the sweet red pepper over the gas flame with the other. He felt off balance and weird. The only way to keep her here was to assure her that he had no lustful designs on her luscious bod, and lying made him nervous. He wasn't the devious type. Usually disarming honesty mixed with beguiling charm was his winning formula. But he'd never encountered so much resistance before, and he'd never wanted anything so badly.

How strange, to listen to himself promising so earnestly to be good, while the rest of him stood by laughing its head off at the load of bullshit he was shoveling. He couldn't wait to get his hands on her. She was drinking her first glass of wine, at least, the horny bastard inside him noted. A great first step.

The fucking polenta was lumping up because he didn't have enough hands to stir it constantly. Like an idiot, trying to do three things at once so he could get on with the business of seducing her. He craned his neck as he stirred, struggling to see if she was still on the porch. He wished he could go watch the sunset with her, but this meal was too important. The mushrooms were ready, the parm was under the broiler, the cream for the chocolate soufflé needed whipping.

This grasping intensity wasn't like him. It dismayed him, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. A beast had reared up out of the black lagoon of his subconscious, puffing out its chest and demanding its way, a thing with no manners, no self-control, no scruples. It wanted what it wanted, and since it wasn't acquainted with the concept of delayed gratification, it was therefore capable of fucking his chances of getting a massage or getting laid, either one.

He peeled the blackened skin carefully off the peppers, his mind considering and abandoning various half-formed strategies for controlling the situation. A delicious meal was the best he could come up with. He resolved to project an air of total harmlessness. A goofy, sort of feckless vibe. He had to seem awkward, anxious. It shouldn't be too damn hard. Put her off her guard, make her think, oh, yeah, I can handle this clown with one hand tied behind my back.

The blackened skin peeled smoothly away from the brightly colored flesh of the roasted pepper beneath. It had rendered up its crunchy stiffness to the searing flame, had gone voluptuously soft and lax. He sliced it into strips, dropped them onto the pool of olive oil and slivered garlic waiting on the plate. Swirled them till they were coated with oil, soft and moist and glistening. Some shredded basil on top, and that part of his seduction spell would be good to go.

 

 

Tess sipped her wine as she strolled down the twisting path that led into the forest. It was utterly dark. If she ventured inside, she could lose herself. The thought of a forest big enough, wild enough to lose herself in sent a thrill of excitement through her.

It stirred a buried memory. That trip, to see the redwoods with her parents, when she was ten. Long-forgotten details spread out like ripples through her mind. She had stared up at the enormity of those ancient, kingly trees, awestruck, and then tried to slip out of earshot of her mother's constant, anxious harping. Just far enough so she could hear the huge silence that embraced an infinity of tiny, harmonious sounds; rustling and quivering and chittering. Her ears strained for it.

She'd sneaked almost far enough to hear it when all hell broke loose, and she was hauled back to shrill, hysterical lecturing.
Stinging bugs and snakes . . . lost in the woods and wander for days . . . broken leg and starve to death . . . my poor nerves, where's my medicine. Look through my purse, my hands are trembling!

Then it was back to the car, to look at the redwoods safely ensconsed behind childproof auto-lock windows.
Sit straight in your seat and get your nose off the window, Tessie, there are
germs
!

But she had never forgotten that moment of almost breaking free. That was how she felt right now. Something inside her was struggling to emerge, gasping for breath, for life. She drifted closer to the darkness of the trees. No one was here to shove her into a car with childproof windows. Nothing could hold her back, no one could save her, no one could stop her. She could do anything. The hugeness of her freedom crashed over her like a wave. Terrifying and wonderful.

Time was measured only by gradations of fiery light on the mountain. It faded slowly to softer and softer shades of mauve, dusty pink, violet. The dream of violet faded. The colorless shadows of twilight embraced her. The screen door squeaked. Tess turned away from the mystery of the trees and watched his dark silhouette move toward her. She sensed that he was nervous. Wary.

As well he should be. He had lied to her and manipulated her, and she did not owe him a damn thing. She could always throw his check back in his face. She didn't need to worry about pleasing him, or be anxious about offending him. Let him sweat to please her. Let him fret about not offending her.

She couldn't see his eyes in the dark. He was as impenetrable as the dark trees, yet she knew his beautiful body by heart. Muscle and sinew and bone and skin. She had absorbed him through her hands. In a way, he was already hers, and she wanted what was hers. A longing as sharp and urgent as the cry of an eagle in a vast, empty sky.

“Dinner is, uh, ready,” he said hesitantly.

She took a deep breath of the fragrant evening air. The old Tess would have said something grateful and appreciative about him going to the trouble of cooking just for her.

The new Tess just took a leisurely sip of wine, and smiled.

“Good,” she said. “I'm hungry.”

The dinner table left her speechless.

Candles illuminated a lavish culinary array that was ridiculous for two people. An earthenware crock of polenta with exotic sautéed mushrooms on top. Eggplant parmigiana, the golden mozzarella that topped it still bubbling. Roasted peppers adorned with fragrant shreds of basil. Crusty Italian bread, three different kinds of cheeses. Tender salad greens, baby spinach, watercress, endive. A heap of artichoke hearts, with a ramekin of melted butter nestled among them. Tantalizing odors made her head swim, her mouth water, her knees weak. It had been eight hours since she'd eaten a cheese sandwich.

“It looks incredible,” she said. “It makes me want to cry.”

“It's all simple stuff, really. Quickie recipes, except for the parm, and I put that together last night.”

His casual tone was belied by the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. She laughed at him, pointing an accusing finger. “You're patting yourself on the back for scoring points, aren't you?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe. We'll see. You haven't tasted it yet.”

“Go ahead,” she conceded. “Fifty bonus points for Jonah.”

He made a move to refill her wineglass, and she put her hand over it, stopping him. “Do you want a massage tonight?” she asked.

His eyes flashed hungrily. “God, yes, if I can get one.”

“Then I shouldn't have any more wine.”

He frowned. “Don't be ridiculous. If you're too buzzed to give me a massage, I'll have only myself to blame. Let's be informal, OK? Otherwise I'll get tense and crabby, and the massages will be useless.”

She lifted her chin. “You're a fine one to be making pronouncements and setting conditions.”

The frown faded from his face. He looked uncertain. “True. But you're hungry, and we're celebrating. Have some wine, Tess. Please.”

Slowly, she took her hand off the glass. The low gurgle of the liquid swirling into the gleaming bulb of glass was as tender and intimate as a kiss. He poured himself a glass, and set the bottle down.

They stared at each other in mutual shyness. “I've never met a man who can cook like this,” she told him.

He swirled his wine around in his glass and took a sip. “I decided a few years ago that I needed a hobby, or I was going to turn into my grandfather. A workaholic steam engine with no life. I like food, so cooking was the obvious choice. And like you said, it earns me points.”

“You made all this food just for me?”

He looked away from her, embarrassed. “Yeah,” he said gruffly.

She fought the feeling, but everything he did, every word he said drew her deeper into his net. How sweet of him, to try so hard to please, with such attention to detail. She was utterly charmed.

“I decided to play it safe tonight, just in case you were a vegetarian, but I've got fresh steaks and fresh salmon fillets in the fridge. I brought along my kitchen pots of fresh herbs, and I've got pasta, and veggies, and six different kinds of cheese. I'll plan the menu around your preferences, of course. Whatever, you know, turns you on.” He looked suddenly awkward, and shot her a crooked, apologetic smile. “So? Any dietary restrictions that I should know about?”

She was dazed by the variety, accustomed as she was to a diet of sandwiches, toast, fruit, yogurt, and Lean Cuisines. “No restrictions,” she said. “It all sounds wonderful. I'll eat anything.” The tense, meaningful silence that followed her words made them seem provocative, and she rushed on, blushing. “I do try not to eat too much chocolate, even thought I love it. But that's my only restriction.”

His eyes slid over her appreciatively. “You don't look like you need to restrict anything. You look perfect. And lucky for you, because there's a hot chocolate soufflé with fresh whipped cream for dessert.”

“Oh, God,” she said weakly.

“I didn't make it,” he hastened to admit. “I bought it at the Sensual Gourmet Bakery. I haven't mastered pastry yet. Here, start with some peppers. They're good spooned over bread. . . like this.”

She was a goner at the first bite. The peppers melted in her mouth, their sweetness set off by the spicy tang of the fine olive oil, the sensual hint of garlic, all soaked into the savory hot bread. She closed her eyes to savor it with a moan of pleasure, abandoning herself.

When she opened her eyes, his eyes were glowing with hot excitement. “God, I love it when you do that.”

“Do what?” she asked nervously.

“Give in to pleasure. Wow. Here, have some more. Do it again.”

She tried not to giggle and blush and slide under his spell, but she was failing, she was falling. The wine was making her giddy. Every new flavor, every succulent bite made her moan.

Jonah watched her decimate her loaded plate with evident satisfaction. “Tell me something,” he said, dipping a chunk of steamed artichoke heart in butter. “That thing that happens when you give me a massage, does that happen with everyone? Here, try this.”

She accepted the succulent morsel off the end of his fork and savored it with a murmur of appreciation. “What thing?”

“You know. That magic thing, like your hands are talking to my back. You do feel it, don't you? Or is it just me?”

“Yes, I feel it,” she admitted softly. “And no, it doesn't happen very often. It depends on how receptive the person—”

“I've never been particularly receptive,” he cut in. “Just ask any of my ex-girlfriends.”

The claw marks flashed through her mind. She toyed with the salad greens on her plate. “I'd, uh, rather not,” she murmured. “What you're feeling is probably just a light trance state. When you achieve deep levels of relaxation, your brain produces—”

“Don't spoil it for me by explaining it away.”

Her mouth closed with a snap. “You know, you have a really bad habit of interrupting.”

“Sorry. I'll try not to do it, if it bugs you.”

“It's jarring,” she said sternly. “Like having bad shocks in a car.”

He looked abashed. “Ouch. Sorry. I'm kind of, uh, nervous.”

She tried not to smile. “I thought that men liked scientific, logical explanations for things.”

“Yeah. Usually I do like them. Just not when it comes to you.”

Suddenly, there wasn't quite enough air in the room to breathe. It was hot, immensely silent. Candles hissed and popped.

He got up and went into the kitchen, pulling something divinely chocolatey and fragrant out of the oven. He spooned steaming helpings of chocolate soufflé onto dessert plates and adorned them with towering mountains of whipped cream. He carried them to the table and laid them down, grinning. Immensely pleased with himself.

She giggled again, melting. “You've got to stop flirting with me.”

“Do I?” His eyes took on a predatory gleam.

“Yes. You do. This whole situation is getting out of hand.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, and almost knocked over her wine. Jonah's hand shot out, just in time, and gently put it in its place. “The food, the wine, the candles, the chocolate soufflé. It's over the top.”

He shook his head. “No, Tess. This is normal for me. I like to treat myself well, and I have the means to do so. That's why you're here.”

An image flooded through her mind. Herself, naked. Decked out in jewels and a sheer veil. Summoned to pleasure the lusty, sensual pasha. Commanded to fulfill his every erotic whim.

The image left her speechless. Her face felt damp and hot.

His glittering eyes seemed to read every thought that passed through her mind. “I like the way you massage me,” he said softly. “I want to indulge myself, for hours. Is that so terrible? What's the crime? I'm willing to pay for my fun. I'm not stealing from anyone.”

The harem maiden in her dream image threw off the sheer veil, and drew closer to the beautiful, naked pasha. Eager to prove herself. Desire sharpened to a dagger point that pierced through fear.

Nervous tension made her voice sharper than usual. “You're spoiled, Jonah. You're used to getting exactly what you want.”

He smiled lazily. “I do favor that scenario. Who could blame me?”

The arrogant, casual entitlement in his voice made her angry. “I could,” she snapped. “The world's not like that, you know.”

“It's not?” He picked up her dessert spoon and scooped up a mouthful of chocolate soufflé. He dunked it until it was heaped with whipped cream and leaned closer, holding the morsel out to her.

“Try this,” he said softly. “Let yourself go. Open up.”

She hesitated. He was projecting an intoxicating cloud of seductive energy. Pulling her effortlessly into his trap.

She opened her mouth, as if hypnotized, and accepted a mouthful of perfect bliss. Rich, creamy sweetness exploded through her senses.

“Welcome to my world, Tess,” he said softly.

She sipped the espresso that Jonah insisted on making for her, but it did nothing to bring her back to earth. She was mellow and goofy from the wine, and trying very hard not to think about where this was almost certainly leading. If she thought about it, she would clench up and ruin it. She didn't want to ruin it. She was having too much fun.

He wasn't even coming on to her, just lounging his long, graceful self at the far end of the couch with a relaxed, lazy grin on his face, laying on the foolish flattery, exerting himself to make her laugh. It was working, too. She was giggling and snorting like a teenager.

She laid the espresso cup on the coffee table. “I'm a little tipsy, but I could still give you a back rub,” she offered shyly. “It won't be one of those intense, mystical massages you like so much, though. Our stomachs are too full.”

His eyes lit up. “Great. Fine. I'll take whatever I can get.”

She set up the table and draped one of her flannel sheets across it, carefully keeping her back to him as he undressed. When she dared to turn around, she was surprised to see his jeans still on.

“You're going to leave on your jeans? I can drape a towel—”

“It's my back that needs work. Believe me . . . it's best.”

She squirted oil into her hands and stared down at him. She'd never been the target of a strategic seduction before. She'd been tempted by food and wine and chocolate, mountain and forest and moonlight. Now the choicest bait of all was stretched out on the table in front of her, eyes closed in anticipatory pleasure. He couldn't wait to be touched. And she couldn't resist for another second.

She placed her hands against his hot, smooth skin. A shock of awareness went through them both. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyelids fluttering. Far from relaxed. She could feel his tense, coiled eagerness. He was waiting, with the patience of a seasoned hunter for . . . what? What did he want from her? What did he expect?

She ran her hands over his powerful back, leaning low enough to smell his subtle, unique scent beneath the perfume of scented oil. Clearly, he was either leaving it to her to make the first move or simply biding his time. She appreciated his delicacy and restraint, but she didn't have a clue how to begin. If only she could take a little time-out and call Trish for a quickie consultation. Should she follow her neck-kissing fantasy and find out where that led? Her heart pounded with excitement. Maybe she would hyperventilate. It would be so awful to flub this, to embarrass herself. To have him, God forbid,
pity
her.

She was monumentally untalented in the bedroom, after all. Larry's voice floated out of her memories, snappish and tense. “Can't you please at least
try
to concentrate?” She'd tried and tried to be less ticklish and tense, keep herself from floating out of her body and noticing odd, comical things that made her want to giggle—like the way Larry's skinny shoulder blades stuck out like wings.

Jonah's shoulder blades did not stick out like wings. He had the most beautiful, powerful back she'd ever seen. And she didn't feel ticklish or tense. She felt hot. Inflamed. Her hands were sliding over him purely for their own pleasure, not for his. She didn't have a therapeutic thought in her head.

She put both hands on his shoulders. She was leaning over, like she was actually going to do it, to just up and kiss that beautiful place on the nape of his neck that was so vulnerable and tender it just broke her heart and made her toes curl. She was inches away from the point of no return and drawing closer. Her breath came quick and fast and audible. He could probably feel it against his skin by now. The sense of anticipation, of waiting, swelled, like a wave about to crest.

She jerked back, and lifted off her hands.
Damn
lily-livered, scaredy-cat chicken. “What's going on, Jonah?” she whispered.