A Love For Always (7 page)

He only smirked at her.

“Ugh!” She turned around and stomped to the laundry room.

Nate felt guilty, but then again, he didn’t. Fuck. He was bipolar when it came to her. Anyway, Sylvie paid him back the only way a feisty woman like her would. After she tossed her clothes in the washing machine, she returned to the living room and watched TV beside him on the couch.

Sylvie. Naked under his shirt.
 

Nothing happened obviously. She wasn’t really seducing him, but more like telling him, “Hey, you were a dick for wanting to know if I were wearing undies or not, but here’s me trusting you not to do anything.”

 
And now he was lying on his bed as wide awake as his dick. His shaft had risen past the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Nate reached down and groaned when he brushed the tip, which was now moistened with pre-cum. He wrapped his hand around his erection, gripped it tight, and started to stroke. He imagined Sylvie on her back, shirt shoved all the way past her tits. Her breasts weren’t big, but he remembered how her dusky nipples responded when he had sucked them. Nate groaned again.

“Sylvie,” he muttered. “Fuck.” He pumped his dick harder. Now he imagined his face between her thighs as he lapped up her juices. She’d moan and squirm against his face as he ate her out. Finally he would push inside her . . .

“Fuck!” Nate grunted. He stiffened as warm jets of cum landed on his abdomen. He continued milking his cock, still imagining thrusting into Sylvie, fucking her hard into his couch.

After an indeterminate stretch of time, he looked down at the mess he’d created and muttered, “Fuck.”

CHAPTER FIVE

She continued cranking the pasta machine. Ramen noodles were everywhere. Tangled in her hair, stuck to the ceiling, hanging from the kitchen cabinet. Flour spilled into a mound on the counter top, the smell of potassium bicarbonate reacting with her dough permeated the air like soured beer. Sylvie needed to get this recipe right.

Crank.

Crank.

Crank.

Her face started itching from the specks of flour. She swiped her sleeve on her face, but it too was covered in powdery residue.
 

“Perfection, Sylvie San. You will never amount to much if you do not strive for perfection,” her chef-mentor’s voice echoed around her.

Crank.

Crank.

Crank.

The noodles continued to stick together. Too much water? More flour? Sylvie yanked them from the machine in frustration and hurled them on the wall. She grabbed more flour to make more dough, but the air suddenly became pressing. She couldn’t breathe.
 

“It will be okay, Sylvie.”

She looked up, and there was Nana, looking at her with understanding.

“I can’t let you die, Nana.”

“It will be okay.”
 

“Nana . . .”

“Sylvie.”

She awoke to Nate’s frowning face and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
 

“You were mumbling in your sleep and uh . . .” He glanced down her body. “Thrashing around.”
 

The shirt she was wearing was bunched around her waist exposing her bare vagina. Yanking the shirt down in mortification, she croaked, “A decent man would turn around and leave the room.”

“I’ve had you wrapped around me in sleep and naked before,” Nate chuckled, although his heightened color indicated he wasn’t as cool as he was letting on. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and made no move to go anywhere.
 
“I’ve witnessed your most embarrassing sleeping habits. Hell, you’ve drooled all over me in your sleep and I still asked you out on a date.”

Sylvie sat up in bed and grabbed the coffee mug from the nightstand.
 

“You have to remind me of that,” she mumbled into the cup.

“Why not? It was the day we met.” Nate’s lips turned up in a knowing grin.
 

The day in question was the day Sylvie had sat beside Nate on a flight to D.C. They had made small talk all throughout the long-haul flight from California. Never had she been more attracted to this combination of boyish charm that hid a dangerous persona. Her assessment of him was spot on as she would soon find out. A knot of excitement formed in her gut when she found out he was living in D.C. and was not just passing through. Not that she had any illusion of seeing him again after the flight. Six hours was too long to maintain chatter and Sylvie nodded off on Nate’s impressive shoulder. She, however, was far from impressive when she woke up and realized she had drooled all over the man’s expensive dress shirt. She offered to pay for dry cleaning, but Nate asked her out for drinks instead. Three months of a scorching hookup ensued, followed by eight years of friendship and over a year of cold war.
 

“What were you dreaming about?” Nate’s unexpected question snapped her out of her reverie. His arm reached out and his fingers brushed stray locks from her face. “It didn’t seem pleasant.”

“It wasn’t.” Sylvie sighed. “I think my troubles are catching up with me.”

Nate regarded her thoughtfully, his jaw working tensely. “We need to finish our talk. You were not in a receptive mood last night.” He looked at the mug in her hand. “Drink your coffee. I’ll make breakfast. Waffles okay?”

She nodded.
 

He leaned in and kissed the top of her head before he got up and left the room.

Although Nate hadn’t made any overt sexual moves, she could sense him nudging their relationship into intimate territory that was in no way platonic. Sylvie didn’t know whether she was thrilled or scared.
 

*****

It took all of Nate’s self-control to walk out of that bedroom. Her pussy exposed for him to see, her legs rumpling the bed covers as she squirmed in her sleep. He was commando under his pajama bottoms, and he’d had to summon all his training to keep his hard-on down. Thankfully, he had made waffles from a box so many times, he didn’t need all his mental faculties to be at 100 percent. Years ago, an ex-girlfriend used his credit card to go shopping at a high-end kitchen store with the hopes of domesticating him. It didn’t work. The ex left with most of the appliances, but at least she left the waffle maker.
 

The scrape of the barstool alerted him to Sylvie’s presence. He turned and noted in disappointment that she had changed back into her clothes from the night before.

“I left your shirt in your bedroom,” Sylvie said. “I can bring it home with me and wash it if you want.”

Nate sighed his irritation. “We’ve known each other for nine years. Don’t you think we’re past these bullshit niceties?”

She arched a brow. “I’m just being a polite guest.”

“Sylvs.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Cut it out.”

“Okay, then, can I have bacon with those waffles?”

“That’s more like it.” He opened the fridge, grabbed the packet of bacon, and tossed it on the kitchen counter. “Make yourself useful.”

“Hey, I’m the guest.”

“You’re the chef.”

And cue the eye roll
. Nate controlled his grin. His little firecracker was so predictable.

“You don’t need to be a chef to cook bacon,” Sylvie grumbled, snatching the packet in question from the countertop. She bumped him with her hip. “Out of the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can you get me that frying pan?” Sylvie ordered.

Nate unhooked the cast iron skillet from the overhead pot rack. “Here you go, shorty.”

She glared at him, but her lips twitched.
 

“Looks like someone needs more coffee,” Nate observed teasingly.

“If I remember right, I’m more of a morning person than you are,” Sylvie retorted.

“That could be up for debate.” He was very adaptable, but having her wake him up with breakfast was reason enough to feign morning sluggishness. He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Do you want to find out the answer?”

Sylvie didn’t answer him, pretending to be preoccupied with rendering the bacon fat, which would take a while since she was starting with a cold pan.
 

“Well?” Nate prodded. This time he shifted behind her, his body a few inches from hers. He lowered his head, inhaling her and caught a whiff of his shampoo. Smelling himself on her invoked some deep-seated satisfaction.

“Did you just sniff me?” Sylvie turned, her eyes twinkling in amusement.
 

“I like smelling myself on you.”

“Pee circles around me, would you?”

Nate stepped back. “First of all, babe. Men don’t pee. We take a piss. Second, I have other ideas of marking myself on you, and third, yes, I like smelling myself on you. In fact, I’d like to rub myself all over you.”

“You’re laying it on thick there, buddy.” Her elbow poked his abs. He barely felt it. She was such a tiny thing. He did feel a bit guilty for laying it on so thick. However, he had to remember who he was dealing with. Despite Sylvie’s barely five foot one height, she was formidable. Hours handling kitchen staff built her grit, and hours standing on her feet certainly built her stamina.

“And fourth, you call me buddy again and I will kiss the fuck out of you,” Nate warned.
 

Sylvie’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. No words came out.
 

“Babe, that’s a cool imitation of a goldfish, but you got to let me know when I need to start the waffles.”

She eyed him coolly. “Nate, you need to work on your follow-up. You got me soaking my panties at ‘kissing the fuck out of me,’ but you’ve just negated your advantage with that goldfish comment.” She returned her attention to the bacon. “Five minutes.”

“What?” She sucker-punched him at “soaked panties.” Why couldn’t he shut his smartass mouth for a damned minute?

“The waffles, Nate?” Sylvie leaned slightly, casting a sidelong glance. “What’s the matter, Mr. Reece? Think you’re the only one with a filthy mouth?”

“No,” he muttered, his hands instinctively gripped her hips to pull her against him. He groaned. The contours of her body fit so snugly against him, it felt so goddamned right.
 

“Nate—”

“Relax,” he said softly. “I just want to feel you against me.”

“The waffles—”

He huffed in resignation, noting briefly the goose bumps raised on her skin where his breath fanned her neck. “Later.”

“Later, what?” Sylvie asked warily, head angled at him, but not quite looking at him.

He brushed his lips lightly on the shell of her ear. She inhaled sharply and stiffened as if waiting for him to answer her question. “Later I’ll prove what else I can do with this filthy mouth.” His hands left her hips to slide up her sides, stopping short at the swell of her breasts. Fuck, his body heated up. He wasn’t doing himself any favors by talking dirty to her, because it was backfiring big time.
 

Down, boy.

Nate dropped his hands and strode to the bowl containing the waffle mix he whisked up earlier. “Waffles coming up.”

*****

“I don’t like this.”

Nate’s brusque tone stilled her hand on the Ferrari’s door. Sylvie turned to the man beside her. They had reached an impasse about her predicament and it took cajoling, pleading, and some threatening to convince Nate to take her to Sapporo Ramen this morning. He refused to hand over the pills; Sylvie refused to let him handle Hiroshi, refusing even, to reveal the name of her contact. She knew Nate would figure it out eventually, but she had to make sure the situation didn’t escalate needlessly.
 

“Nate, handle the DEA for me. Get them off my back. That’s how you can help me while I manage things from my end,” Sylvie said. Thankfully, he didn’t have a choice. As Nate had expected, a wrathful phone call came in from the DEA demanding an immediate meeting.

“I’ll see if I can pull one of my guys—”

“Nate, I’ll be fine,” Sylvie said firmly, placing a hand on his arm to stress her point. “I’m in no danger from my father’s men. The worst they can do is make things uncomfortable for my business.” Her jaw tightened. “I can certainly manage that.”

He expelled an irate breath and shook his head. “Stubborn woman.”

“I’m my mother’s daughter.”

“I wasn’t exactly being complimentary there,” Nate muttered.

A car zipping into the back of the restaurant parking lot caught their attention.
 

“Look, that’s Kato pulling in. I won’t be alone at the restaurant,” Sylvie pointed out.

“What’s that kid gonna do when the Asian mafia comes calling? Beat them back with a soup ladle?”

“Kato is twenty-one years old. You were about his age when you joined the army, right?” she retorted, opening the car door before she gave in to the urge to bean Nate with her purse. Getting out, Sylvie ducked her head back into the vehicle. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Call me or text me if you notice anything out of the ordinary. Keep your eyes peeled and your phone close to you. Get me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

“Sylvs, I’m really serious here,” Nate growled, the planes of his face strained.
 

Guilt washed over her.
 
“I promise.”

She could hear Kato singing in the kitchen as the sound of prep work echoed through the hallway. Sylvie was in her office, if one could call the small space as such. There were boxes of stock items stacked behind and in front of her. Most of her furniture was from auctions of pieces salvaged from business closures. She’d been frugal with non-essential items, but she would splurge on things like good knives. She bought her set during her stay in Japan. The cutlery maker’s ancestry and skill could be traced back to seven hundred years of Samurai swordsmithing. Forged of the finest carbon steel, Sylvie could consider this her greatest investment outside her restaurant equipment.
 

She’d rather be honing her knives with her whetstone than dealing with the mundane chores of running a business. Her gaze drifted to the stack of papers before her—dealing with bills and payments. She sighed. Being a cash only establishment, she usually tallied her sales at night and dropped the money in the nighttime depository. Sylvie had been so tired Saturday evening, and she wanted to get an early start Sunday morning to visit Nana, she never got around to it. Then the fiasco of yesterday happened, and she almost forgot she had $6,000 in cash stored in her office safe.