The Reality of You (14 page)

Would it be that bad if I stuck out my
foot and tripped her?
Jules
had another entryway off the back of her kitchen. This was an obvious attempt
to interrupt us. Plus, Jules had a staff of three caterers who would leave her
kitchen pristine and take out the trash.

Kara bounced off the
porch and made her way to the curb.

Reese’s gaze drilled
into the back of her skull. When his regard came back to me, he smiled lightly.
“Reach in the left inside pocket.”

I did as he’d asked
and my hand encountered a box. It was light blue and encased in a white bow,
which meant Tiffany’s. He’d gotten me a gift from Tiffany’s?

Holy hell.

Staring in shock at
the little box, I went to tug at the ribbon.

He stepped closer,
and his hand covered mine. “Open it later.”

At the curb, a clang
echoed into the night. Kara must have dropped a lid. On purpose.

Reese’s lips
twitched. “I should get going.”

I frowned.
Toothpicks in the nose weren’t bad enough for Kara. Toothpicks saturated with
nasty gimlet it would have to be. “Charity event?”

“Yes. For a homeless
shelter on the Lower East Side.”

Something louder
clanged in the street. I guessed an entire bin from the loud, rolling echo.
“Well then, you should get going.” I shrugged out of his coat.

He took it and
opened the door for me. “Until Monday,” he said before sliding his lips along
my cheek. The loudest clang rang out as soon as he bent over, cutting the lip
slide short.

And I was really
starting to like that.

Pushing my lips
together, I internally cussed out the idiot woman in a ‘50s cocktail dress on
the curb. I stepped into the hall and waved from behind the glass. He went down
the stairs and then in the opposite direction of where Kara stood straightening
a trash can.

When he was gone,
Kara came running into the entryway. “Damn, it’s cold out there,” she said,
slamming the door behind her.

My hands clenched at
my sides. “Are you insane?”

“Are you?” she said
innocently.

“Are you drunk?”

“Nope. Level headed
as ever.”

I will not strangle my best friend. I.
Will. Not.

“Why are you doing
this?” I asked in an exasperated tone.

She sighed and her
stern face turned sad. “He’s going to hurt you.”

“How? I’m not after
a commitment here,” I said flatly.

“Because you’re you,
the girl who falls head over heels way too easy. And he’s him, the man who
no
woman seems to be good enough for.”

“Kara, you have told
me countless times that he doesn’t date more than three weeks. What better way
to get back in the swing of things with three weeks of luscious fun?”

“If it were anyone
else, I’d agree, but he’s bad news. Trust me, Naomi.”

She was being so
damn stubborn that I wanted to stomp my satin-encased foot just like a
Regency-era heroine. “Because he dates women for a short period and tosses them
aside?”

She nodded.

“So I’ll just look
at this as
me
tossing him aside.”

“Yeah, you of the
three boyfriends and about two dates your whole life won’t get attached. Sure.
I’m totally buying that.”

“Like you’re always
right? Remember when I ran into our dorm room and told you that James had
proposed? You said we made the cutest couple. You were wrong.”

“You did make a cute
couple. He was just a total and complete ass. Doesn’t matter because I’m not
wrong about Reese.”

“You don’t even know
him!” I snapped.

“Please. I’ve seen
his face plastered on the web and gossip mags with more than thirty different
women in less than three years.”

I let out a
frustrated sigh. Fine, Reese was a playboy. I didn’t want to know or even be
reminded of the rumors. I wanted to forge ahead and just enjoy.

“Is that what I
think it is?” she asked in horror, pointing at the box that I’d forgotten was
in my hand.

I gave her
my
villain smile. “It sure is.” I pulled
the ribbon off and opened the box.

Kara stepped closer
and we both peered inside.

“Oh hell,” she said.
“Not just jewelry, but jewelry with meaning. He’s good. I’ll give him that.”

I stared in awe at
the bracelet. Little, pretty silver charms were spread out around the circle of
it. I could see the detail of each one. A tiny golf club, a palm tree, a
dolphin, a wine glass, a soccer ball, and a crown—he even remembered my limbo
victory!—glinted at me under the hallway light.

Maybe Kara was
right. I couldn’t handle this.

He was charming me.
I didn’t want to be charmed. I wanted sizzling sex. But standing there in the
hallway while Kara scowled at me, I was charmed to the very tips of my toes.

Chapter 16

This
cooking idea was not the first time my big mouth had gotten me in trouble, and
unfortunately, it probably would not be the last. I wasn’t sure what had come
over me on that ride in the limo with Reese, but I was more than aware that my
culinary skills were lacking to pull off a real dinner. However, desperate to
solidify a date, I had invited him over on a whim.

A whim that was
going to destroy my apartment.

With only a little
over two weeks left of his dating window, tonight had to count. Though Kara and
I had argued over the entire weekend, she had promised begrudgingly after I had
moaned, nagged, pleaded, and threatened to feed every pair of her shoes to the
dog in the brownstone next door—I was fairly certain that the shoe threat was
what finally extracted her promise—that she would not come home until midnight.
It was seven o'clock, which meant I had about four hours alone with Reese.

Four long, hot
hours.

I seriously wanted
to kick my own ass as I opened the oven and smoke blasted me in the face. I had
been leaning on the counter, stuck in a daydream that included Reese and me
spread across the kitchen table, then the couch, and lastly my bed—well, I was
sprawled half on it—but my dang imagination never got to the deed. When I
yanked out the covered casserole dish, the smoke detector started beeping. By
the time I set the dish on the stove, the smoke detector blared. Coughing,
actually nearly choking, I grabbed the broom, and in one swift swoop, I knocked
the thing off the ceiling, dislocating the battery. Smoke continued rolling out
of the oven even after I shut it.

After fanning the
air for several minutes with hot pads, I cautiously lifted the lid of the
casserole dish. Inside, little pieces of what looked like coal glared at me. I
tried to skewer the meat. It was as hard as a rock. Even as a cooking idiot, I
was sure beef bourguignon shouldn’t look or feel like this. I scowled at the
rock formations in the pan as more smoke started pouring off the stove top.
Shit, the asparagus was also burning. I quickly removed the sauté pan, but each
piece looked like a crusted, burnt twig stuck in grainy mud, not lemon sauce. I
didn't want to peek at the Parmesan-encrusted potatoes that were in the oven.
If they weren’t burnt, the smoke from the meat had to have flavored them like
campfire.

I let out a groan.
The kitchen was a mess. Dirty dishes were everywhere and grease to onion
peelings covered the counter. Speckled with bits of food and flour in my hair,
I was a mess too. Not one portion of dinner was done, and Reese would be here
in less than forty minutes. I should have stuck to my original plan and ordered
in the food. Undeniably, I would have pretended that I’d cooked it. There
wasn’t even time for that ruse. I never should’ve listened to Jules, who’d declared
after Reese had given me such a thoughtful gift that I simply had to cook for
him. Her crazy recipes were far above my dip-making skills. Really, recipes
were like fantasy books. Exciting to imagine, but never going to happen. At
least for me.

On the verge of a
meltdown, I pulled myself together then quickly searched the cupboards, the
freezer, and the fridge. So far, being myself had worked best with Reese. Thus,
I decided that we were having a Naomi dinner, and if he didn’t like it, too
bad. At least we would be eating. And really, I hoped the food would be the
least interesting event of the night.

So as I cooked, I
cleaned—well, kind of cleaned. After opening the windows on each side of the
TV, wiping the counter, and sweeping the floor, I shoved dirty dishes anywhere
I could fit them—under the sink, in the microwave, and even in the fridge. Done
cooking, I put our meal in the oven to stay warm, sprayed down the apartment
with Febreze, shut the windows, and jumped in the shower. Fifteen minutes later,
I was wearing a short
skirt and a
blouse, my shoulder-length brown hair was a messy bun, and I’d even slapped a
bit of makeup on.

After putting my
iPod in the dock on the counter and picking a slow, romantic song list, I
finished setting the table with silverware and folding the linens like
fans—Jules had taught me that cheesy trick. I’d had just lit the candles when
the doorbell rang.

Pausing before
opening the door, I plastered a smile on my face and turned the knob. Luckily
that smile had been plastered on my face because Reese looked so beyond divine,
casually sexy in a black V-neck sweater and designer, distressed jeans, that I
almost let out a dreamy sigh. Fangirl did sigh and clap and fan her face. His
hair was the absolute best part of this new casual look. Usually, it was styled
neatly, combed back, but tonight, it had the messy, tousled look. The locks
falling over his forehead had me seriously holding in that dreamy sigh.

My gaze took him in
so long that he cocked his head. “May I come in?”

“Of course, of
course,” I stammered and stepped to the side.

He and his delicious
scent breezed past me. I shut the door and sprawled out on it, staring at the
back of him. I could do this. I could spend an evening with him without making
an ass of myself.

But
wow
. His butt was amazing in those
jeans.

He turned around,
catching me looking like a lovesick puppy while leaning on the door. His lips
curled into a smirk.

Dammit. I pretended
nonchalance with a smooth expression, as if I always leaned on the door
sprawled out like an idiot, before stepping away and gesturing to the table a
few feet from us. “Have a seat. Dinner is pretty much ready.”

He set a bottle of
wine that I had totally missed, even though I’d checked him out for over a
minute, down on the table. He glanced around the apartment, took in the table
with candles, the low lights, and the soft music before meeting my slightly red
face.

“Is your roommate
home?”

“Ah, no,” I said,
smiling sheepishly. “She’s been kicked out until midnight.”

He took a slow,
calculated step toward me. “We can wait to eat.”

“We can?” I squeaked
as he took another step, and I found myself moving back against the door, my
shoulder blades biting into the wood.
 

“Unless you can’t wait.”
He leaned closer and his lips hovered near mine. “Or maybe you need time for
your nerves to settle?”

“I can wait.”
Tension coiled in my stomach at the nearness of his lips. “And I’m not
nervous.”

“Liar,” he murmured
as his hands found my waist. “Let’s settle your anxiety by starting out where
we were interrupted the other night.” He yanked me forward.

Yum
, my body hummed at the contact with his. A slow, cocky grin
warmed his lips as he bent toward me.
 
At
the touch of his lips, I might have jumped even closer to him. His mouth moved
over mine like the burn of a potent drink. Each suck on my lips, each nibble of
his teeth on my bottom lip, each slow stroke of his tongue had me feeling as if
I’d downed a tray of shots. My arms wrapped around his shoulders as he kissed
me, making me breathless and more brainless than I habitually was around him.

While his mouth took
away the last of my brainpower, his hands glided to the small of my back then
slowly, possessively fitted over my butt. When he pressed us center to center,
the jolt of lust he created had my leg wrapping around his.

Those hands
continued their tortuous, sluggish progress to the edge of my hiked-up skirt.

Touch me!
my brainless body screamed. I was
going to pass out from the suspense of wanting his touch on my naked skin.

Yet he seemed to be
in no hurry, exploring my mouth with his tongue and the back of my thighs with
his palms—at least that was skin to skin—with a languidness that built the
anticipation. My leg squeezed him closer. My fingers dug into his shoulders.
But he seemed intent on savoring my mouth
and
the crease under my butt cheek.

Come on!

When his hands
finally slipped under my underwear to each cup a cheek, ramped up, I moaned
into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss,
he drew back a few inches to stare at me with heated eyes. He slid one hand
lower, his fingertips brushing the wet flesh he’d created.

I shuddered at the
electrifying touch, at the heat in his gaze. There was something extremely hot
and erotic about him touching me so intimately as he stared at me. I was
trapped in his gaze, imprisoned in the want he’d built inside me until the
sound of the doorknob turning had us jumping and stumbling away from each
other. He knocked into the dining table while hissing, “Damn.” I fell against
the back of the couch while holding in a
fuck!

The door flew open,
slamming against the wall. Kara rushed inside and became a blur of high-heeled
boots, a long, fluttering scarf, and a designer bag rushing past us and
mumbling, “I’m sorry. Sick. Super sick. Sorry!” She ran in the bathroom and
slammed the door.

We both stared down
the short hall at the closed bathroom door.

Un-fucking-believable.
I’d soon be wearing orange because I planned on strangling my roommate. I drew
in a deep breath. A tremble from both Reese’s kiss and hands on me racked
through my body. Holding in a scream of frustration, I glanced up at Reese. He
gave me a close-lipped, wry smirk.

“I’m sorry,” I said,
echoing Kara and moving to shut the door. “I should have guessed something like
this would happen.”

Shifting toward the
table, he rested two fingers on the top of the wine bottle, his expression
tight. “Should we move on with the evening? Not let her spoil all your work?”

I nodded and held in
a sigh. There was no way we were getting busy with Kara in the apartment.
Besides the slowly dying burst of lust, all the fantasies I’d had while ruining
Jules’s dinner recipes had become as burnt as the meat the minute Kara flew in
the door.

He twisted the
bottle so the label faced me. “Will a merlot work with your culinary feats?”

A chuckle escaped me
at the notion of culinary feats. Deciding to play along, I went to the drawer
and fished for a wine opener—yes, we had one, even if our bottles of wine were
usually the twist-off kind. Pushing the memory of his sizzling stare as he
touched me out of my mind, I turned toward him.

“I’m not sure
there’s a wine that would pair with what you’re about to be served, but it
can’t hurt.”

“Why does that sound
foreboding?” he asked, dragging out a chair.

I handed him the
wine key. “Oh, you’re in for quite the culinary experience.”

He opened the bottle
of wine, and after getting him two glasses—I took two deep, calming breaths
while my head was in the cupboard—I set down the first course in the middle of
the candlelit table.

Reaching for his
glass of wine, Reese eyed the pot of bubbling, reddish cheese surrounded by
crackers, celery, and tortilla chips. “Um…what is it exactly?”

I wiggled my
eyebrows. “Buffalo chicken dip, one of the tastiest things in this world.”

He didn’t appear
convinced.

“It’s basically
cheese, chicken, and hot sauce. I eat it all the time. It’s like my go-to
dinner when Kara’s late at work or on a date.”

Luckily for me,
Kara, Ms. Low Carb Diet, had had a full bag of chicken strips in the fridge. I
took a chip, scooped up some dip, and popped it in my mouth. Then I grabbed the
glass of wine waiting for me and took a sip. It worked. Maybe the paring wasn’t
as good as the shrimp pineapple thing, but buffalo dip could
never
taste bad.

“Delicious,” I said,
pushing the platter closer to him.

His expression
stayed skeptical. He reached for a celery stick and scooped up a smidgeon of
dip. After he took a sip of wine, he said, “Not bad.”

I let out a pfft and
reached for another chip. “Wrong. It’s awesome.”

The bathroom door
banged open. Reese frowned as Kara loudly stomped down the hallway.

Once her door
slammed shut, I took a huge gulp of wine, lifting my arm to show him the silver
there. “Thank you for the charm bracelet. It’s gorgeous.”

He finished chewing
his third—the pompous, lying ass did like it—dip-coated celery stick. “You’re
welcome. I thought you’d want to remember that trip, especially the last
night.”

Since I’d taken
another bite of dip, a piece of cracker stuck in my throat. I coughed so hard
that Reese went to get up. I waved him down and took a huge gulp of wine.

“Ego much?” I asked
after a huge swallow of air.

He shrugged. “Does
reality equate to ego?”

Letting out a
harrumph to cover the zing of lust his ego had created, I went to the tiny
island in the kitchen and started plating our dinner. A few feet away, he asked
if I needed help. Holding in laugh at idea of him helping plate what I had in
store for him, I just shook my head.

When I set the plate
in front of him, his eyebrows rose.

“Bacon, jalapeno mac
and cheese,” I said in an announcer voice.
 

His eyebrows didn’t
come down. “One of the tastiest things in the world?”