Just One Kiss (11 page)

But this was a business call. “I spoke to my boss about you on Friday.”

“Oh?” She was cautiously hopeful. He found himself hating to disappoint her, flashing back to Kate, who when he’d failed on some mission, anything from asking for a raise to buying a certain kind of bread, had acted as if she were disappointed to discover he was human. He wasn’t sure how Angela would react.

“I mentioned your international pastries.”

“Ye-e-s?”

He rubbed his forehead. This was not easy. “I have to be honest. He wasn’t enthusiastic. His niece has a French bakery that—”

“Oh, right. You warned me. What place is hers?”

Her nonchalance surprised him. “Nell’s on Fourth Avenue.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of it. I’ll have to go check her out, see what she’s doing.”

“Yes. Sure. Good.” He frowned in confusion, having braced himself to offer sympathy and apology to a woman who didn’t seem to need either.

“So what was your sense, is all hope lost?” She didn’t sound cheerful, but certainly not despondent. Daniel didn’t get the slightest sense that she was about to demand he try again, or pitch a fit at what she’d perceived as his failure. Most of the time Daniel respected the perfectionism that drove Kate, but on those occasions he’d learned it was best to roll his eyes and wait for her to calm down.

“Hope is not lost—Larry does want samples, as long as they don’t duplicate Nell’s contribution. Maybe you could send some of those cookies that—”

“No, no, not cookies. That’s not the direction I want to expand in.”

Again, he was taken aback. No? Kate would have done anything, pushed any button, pulled any string to get what she wanted, even part of what she wanted. She’d been a force of nature.

“You might want to reconsider. A foot in the door at Slatewood couldn’t hurt. And those cookies I tasted were—”

“No. Thanks.” She spoke firmly. “He wants samples, I’ll send pastries. I think mine are unusual enough to stand on their own. If he doesn’t like them, okay, we tried. Thank you for doing this for me, Daniel. It was really nice of you.”

“You’re welcome.” He shrugged, picked up a shirt that had fallen from the bed onto the floor and balled it up. “We’ll work out a time to hand over the samples, then.”

“What are you doing right now?”

He froze with his arm back, ready to throw the shirt into his hamper across the room. Had he imagined the suggestive tone of her words? He pictured her, lovely shining eyes, beautiful curving mouth that tasted so sweet, smooth skin enveloping her hourglass body.

Temptation. Not for the first time. But this time it wasn’t only Angela’s sexual pull tempting him to reexamine his promise to Kate. It was Kate herself, and his relationship with her. It was the comments Jake had been making, which Daniel had rejected for the past eighteen months without really listening to. It was how odd and twisted the promise had sounded when he’d told Angela about it.

Kate hadn’t been out to make his life hell after her death. The vow had been asked for and given in a moment of shared agony over having to say goodbye to love they’d been sure would last forever. The promise was part of the denial stage of grief, a way of holding on to each other and to that love a little longer.

Maybe understanding the vow and what it really meant, or more importantly, what it didn’t mean, could make it possible for him to move forward with Angela. Rather than betraying Kate, maybe Daniel was finally emerging from his grief, and grappling with a clearer picture of his life and his choices.

“Er…hello?” Angela’s voice was cautious now. “I’m sorry, was this not a good time to suggest we—”

“No. No, it’s fine.” He launched the shirt, watched it sink into the hamper for a two-pointer, heart strangely full and oddly weighted. So much emotion, so much confusion over a simple visit to a bakery. But one thing remained clear in the shifting landscape of his emotions. Daniel wanted to see Angela again and he wanted to stop feeling miserable and dead to the world. “Believe it or not, Angela, this is the absolutely perfect time.”

8

A
NGELA
HOVERED
AT
her bakery counter, jittery and excited. Daniel was on his way through Seattle’s streets on another cloudy, chilly day, up and down its hills to A Taste for All Pleasures. That in itself was not surprising. She’d invited him after all. What had made her breath stutter and her skin warm was the way he’d responded. For the first time his voice had sounded alive, careless, his words had come out with passion and spontaneity.

Believe it or not, Angela, this is the absolutely perfect time.

Not words of transparent passion, but he’d said them as if they were.

Yes, she’d had a small setback when she’d caught herself imagining more between Daniel and her than simple attraction. But Angela had spent a good long time getting her head back on straight, talking herself out of that mistake, and had succeeded perfectly. It could well be that she was on her way to developing feelings for Daniel. It could well be that she had met the love of her life and they’d live happily ever after. Or it could be nothing even close to that.

The concept she was determined to keep front and center was that she didn’t have enough information yet to know whether he was or wasn’t, so there was no point even thinking about it. Her original plan was back on track, to free a fellow prisoner of a previous relationship. It was up to Daniel how seriously he took the promise to Control Freak Fiancée and whether he’d welcome that freedom or not.

Either way they would each take charge of what they wanted and needed right now, because right now was all they had to work with.

Her door opened, triggering a new song Seth had put in for her, Jason Mraz’s “I’m Yours,” and guess who walked into her shop. Her heart started sprinting.
Daniel.

Except he looked different. She couldn’t tell how. Still tall. Still handsome. Still built like a Greek statue. But…more somehow. More alive, more masculine. More himself.

She started getting ridiculously nervous.

He sauntered over to the counter. “Good evening, Ms. Loukas. The bakery is still open?”

“Only for you, Mr. Flynn. May I help you?”

“Yes.” A slow grin. “I believe you can.”

Oh, my.
She was ready to hyperventilate. All she had to do was keep reminding herself
she
was in control, of the situation and of herself.

“You need pastry samples.” She grabbed a flat cardboard box and crossed to the display case on her left, while Daniel kept pace on the other side of the counter. She could see his strong thighs through the glass, knew the shape and size of his butt, found herself picturing the muscles of both working on top of her, and nearly dropped the cardboard she was trying to unflatten into a box.
Steady, Angela.

She grabbed her tongs and gathered her wits to start her selection. French first, a thyme-and-orange macaroon and a strawberry-balsamic millefeuille, a black-pepper
tarte aux fruits.
Then to some Italian specialities: an anisette cookie with passion fruit seeds and pignoli with sage. From Germany, tiny allspice vanilla linzer cookies alongside a slice of the cream-filled yeast cake, Bienenstich—her version with Mexican chocolate. After a few other choices the box was full, looked and smelled wonderful. She’d count that as a good thing. “That ought to do it.”

He took the package from her. “I’ll make sure he gets this tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you. Anything with cream should be refrigerated tonight.”

“I’ll remember.” He glanced around the shop, then back at her with such sudden intensity she had to fight not to step back. Wait, this was supposed to be
her
seduction of
him
.

She was ready. Daniel didn’t know yet, but no one was in the kitchen. Her bakery was closed on Mondays so the crew hadn’t come in tonight. It was just him and her and lots of room and time to play.

“Daniel, would you like to come in the back with me? I have a new cookie for you to try.”

“I’ll try anything you make.” He followed her into the space where the smell of last night’s bread lingered, mixing with the aromas of the sweeter cakes and just-baked cookies she was experimenting with, her favorite smells all jumbled together.

Now add Daniel and she was nearly in heaven.

Nearly. That part she hoped would come next.

“I’ll be right back.” Angela sauntered out into the bakery, then dashed to turn her sign to Closed, turn out the shop lights and lock the door, making as little noise as possible, so he wouldn’t know what she was doing, then dashed back toward the kitchen, putting on the brakes at the entrance so she could resume the sauntering thing when she was in view again.

She picked up a chocolate pistachio cranberry cookie, a recipe she’d only just perfected, having tried too many flawed versions with dried cherries before deciding cranberries gave the cookies a better balance of flavors. She broke off a bite and handed it to Daniel. “Try this.”

“Ohhh.” His groan was pure ecstasy, and got her shivery with anticipation. She wanted to hear him groan like that in a very different context.

“You like that?”

He nodded blissfully. “I
so
like that.”

“Good.” She took a step toward him, broke off another tiny piece of cookie that she ate herself, as sensually as possible. “You know, the best part of being a baker…” She took another step, ending about two inches from his broad chest, broke off another chunk and held it to Daniel’s lips. He stood frozen for a beat, then opened them and took the piece in, not taking his eyes off hers. “…is giving people pleasure.”

“Angela.” Her name came out on a hoarse whisper.

She swayed forward. Her breasts grazed his chest. He inhaled sharply. Swallowed. His hands found her shoulders and he gripped them, staring down at her with tortured desire etched on his face, blue eyes dark with suppressed passion.

Angela could spend the rest of her life in that gaze.

“I think you could give me a lot of pleasure.”

Her cue. A smile. Her hands landing on the firm planes of his pecs, her mouth lifted toward his. “I think I’d like to.”

“But…”

“No.” She put her finger to his lips, shaking her head, heart thudding in spite of her miraculous ability to act as if she were in total control. “We’re here, Daniel, you and me. We’re alive and we’re together. This is supposed to happen. For both of us.”

He closed his eyes, and for one second she thought he was going to balk. Then, slowly, remarkably, his gorgeous lips parted to kiss the finger she held there, their touch smooth and warm.

One kiss on one finger, and she was on fire with longing.

Steady.

His mouth moved down to her palm, pressed a kiss there, too. She let herself melt fully against him, and whispered, “You’re okay with this?” just to be sure.

“Yes.” He murmured the word without hesitation; his hand cupped the back of her neck and he bent to her mouth, his lips sure and sweet.

Angela’s reaction was likewise without hesitation, likewise sure and sweet, begun and completed in the same word:
Yes.

Her arms slid around him and explored the sweep of his back, the rounded power in his shoulders, the soft prickle of hairs at the nape of his neck, the thick tangle above them.

And oh, that mouth. Firm, warm, varying pressures and positions, so every kiss felt new. She closed her eyes, let her other senses lead, taking in the hard length pressed against her abdomen, the hands wandering over her, slowly descending the small of her back, stretching to the rounded swell of her bottom.

Angela moaned at the touch, the intimacy, the erotic promise, and something broke loose between them, turning the kisses hot and deep. She pressed her pelvis against him in a suggestive rhythm, over and over until they were both panting and desperate.

Clothes.
She pulled up the hem of his shirt, bent to press lips to the firm wall of his abdomen, working her way up his chest, stopping to circle his nipple with her tongue, nipping gently, loving his soft
“oh”
of pleasure.

More.
She shoved the material of his shirt higher. He reached to take it off, flung it onto the clean worktable. Angela slid her fingers inside his shorts to cup the soft handful of his balls, pressing the heel of her hand against the base of his penis.

Daniel held still for an endless second while she touched him, then groaned and threw his head back, eyes closed. It hit her suddenly: the poor man hadn’t been touched by a woman in a year and a half. The realization shot her desire higher and hotter. He deserved this any way she could give it to him.

“Will anyone come in?” He murmured the words, swaying on his feet.

“I closed and locked up.” She slid down his body to kneel at his feet, heard his brief gasp when he realized what she was going to do.

“You…planned this?”

“I was hoping.” She lowered his biking shorts, anticipation growing as his erection came into view, material sliding down its length before it cleared him to jut up and out.

Free at last…

Mmm.
His cock was beautiful, substantial without being frightening, golden and smooth, rosy at the tip.

She pressed her cheek against it, nuzzled his balls with her nose, then lips. Tipping her head back, she ran her tongue over his length, then let her mouth close gently over the head, holding for a few seconds, listening to his uneven breathing.

Then she gave him what he wanted, closed her lips firmly, moved forward, then pulled back, forward and back, tonguing him, sucking hard, then letting go, sucking hard again. His gasp of pleasure urged her on; she fisted the base of his penis, pulling the skin taut, used her other hand to caress his balls, feeling deep satisfaction and arousal of her own at his barely controlled excitement.

“Angela.”

“Mmm?”

“If you keep doing that…”

“Mmm?”

“I’m not going to be able to…”

She paused for the rest of the thought. Not going to be able to what? Hold off coming? Get it up again? Stand?

“…make love to you the way I want to.”

Make love?
Not screw or ball or bang?

She peeked up at him. “How do you want to?”

“Slowly and sweetly, so I can look in your eyes and feel you with me.”

Daniel.
Something inside her split into two halves, warm and lovely on the one side, icy and threatening on the other.

Hands came under her arms and pulled her to standing. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her forehead, her mouth again. “You are beautiful, Angela. Watching you with your tongue all over me…”

He finished the sentence with a low sound of pleasure that made her shudder and shove away the odd oil-water mix of feelings. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“
Liked
it?” He chuckled. “Yes, I ‘liked it.’ A lot. Why are you wearing clothes?”

She glanced down at her top and skirt. “Gosh. I have no idea. How did that happen?”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it. All over it, in fact.” He ran his hands up her sides, dragging her knit top with them, then pulled it over her head. She shook her hair back, hoping he found her body at least half as sexy and wonderful as she found his.

One quick hitch and her bra loosened, her breasts felt cool air in a room usually jungle-like from the heat of the ovens. Then his mouth took her nipple, warm and insistent; he palmed her other breast at the same time, and she nearly fell over.

Her turn to moan, close her eyes, clutch his head and ride away on the sensations. She’d been too long without this kind of touching, without feeling skin on skin. How had she survived?

“Come with me.” Daniel moved them, step by step, toward the back of the room. She didn’t know where he was taking them and didn’t care. She just wanted to feel him touching her more, touching her everywhere, so she could touch him back everywhere as well, every inch of his smooth skin and muscle.

Stacked paper sacks of flour hit the backs of her thighs. Somewhere in her lust-hazed mind it registered that flour packed solid might be about as soft as cement. Right then she didn’t care, eased herself down, feeling the flour shift slightly underneath her, grudgingly accommodating her shape. She pulled gently on Daniel’s shoulders, inviting him to climb after her, over her, hoping the bags wouldn’t break or fall underneath them.

He put on a condom, pulled from some pocket she hadn’t been keeping track of. Angela gestured and mimicked his previous question. “You planned this?”

“Like you, Angela, I was hoping.” He lowered himself over her, his solid, beautiful body aligning itself to hers, up on his elbows to keep most of his weight off her. The feel of him touching her, toe to chin, both warmed her and made her shiver in delight. This was what bodies were made for. This was perfect. This was so right.

He lifted his head from the hollow of her shoulder and whispered her name, gazing at her as if she were the goddess of love and beauty.

Angela caught her breath, holding his eyes, unable to look away, mesmerized by their connection.
No, no, not love.