Forbidden Fruit (5 page)

Suddenly she was feeling things she hadn’t felt in years. Oh, she’d
thought
about it all, spent years studying alternative sexuality, but she realized she hadn’t really
felt
anything for a very long time. She hadn’t allowed herself to.

But it was too much to grasp, sitting there in the darkened classroom, surrounded by her students.

No, she had to pull herself together; the film was nearly over. She would deallwith it later.

She’d been telling herself the same thing for longer than she cared to remember. But she meant it this time.

A few more excruciating minutes and the film ended, the lights came back on. Mia went back to the podium.

“Okay,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, shuffling her notes. “Read pages one twenty through one forty-two, and we’ll discuss the materiallon Friday. And don’t forget to start thinking about your midterm papers. Anyone who’s having a difficult time with a topic or has other questions can see me during office hours on Tuesdays. Have a good night.”

Everyone stood up and moved out the door as she went behind her desk and began to gather a few scattered papers together. Everyone but Jagger.

Damn it.

She picked up her water bottle and took a sip. He was making this too hard.

She could smell him when he was still severallfeet away, that sex-scent of patchouli and
him.

God.

“Hi, Mia Rose.”

“Hi. What can I do for you?” She kept both hands wrapped around the water bottle.

“Look, I’m sorry I overstepped the boundaries the other night. I didn’t mean to run you off like that.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged, but there were tremors of heat running over her skin.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“What do you mean?”

He moved in closer, untillhe was right up against the desk. She swore she could almost feellthe pressure of his body against the wood. But that was ridiculous.

“You did say you love good food, Mia Rose?”

She nodded warily.

“I’d like to cook for you.”

She started to shake her head but he interrupted her, holding a hand up in front of him. “Before you say no, just hear me out. I told you I gave up cooking professionally because I was burned out. And I was. I still am, on that level. But cooking for someone, well, that’s different for me. That’s when I love it again.

And I have a feeling you’re the kind of person who would appreciate it. So, there’s something in it for both of us, right?”

He looked so sincere. She couldn’t figure out suddenly if the shaking she felt on the inside was about the food or him or the fact that she knew damn well she shouldn’t do this.

But she was going to.

“What…what do you have in mind?”

“How about Cajun pan-seared sea scallops I get fresh off the wharf, with this great sauce that has a little spice to it? It’s a speciallNew Orleans recipe. I can’t tell you what’s in it; you’ll just have to taste it yourself. And for dessert, a chocolate mousse unlike anything you’ve ever had before, with a fresh raspberry coulis. I guarantee your mouth will be in heaven.”

Did he have any idea what his words were doing to her? Was he even aware that as he spoke, his voice had lowered, untillit was a deep, dusky tone that reverberated through her body?

She nodded, hardly able to speak. “Okay. That…that sounds good.”

Too good.

“It’ll be great. I promise.” He was looking right at her, a small, crooked smile on his face. She could not get over how beautifullhe was.

“How about Friday night? Here.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. She felt the heat of his hand as his fingers grazed hers.

His address and telephone number were written on it. Bold print done with a green Sharpie. Why did that seem to say something about him?

“You came prepared.” She tried to smile, but she was still too tight with nerves, with heat.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.” His smile turned into a cocky grin for a moment, but she couldn’t find it within herself to mind. “Eight o’clock.

Come hungry.”

Oh, she would. In more ways than one. She understood that she couldn’t completely trust herself with him. What she didn’t quite get was why she was willing to do this anyway. But she was going. To his apartment, where he would cook for her.

You have lost your mind.

“I’ll be there. With my appetite.”

He flashed another grin at her. Then he took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. So soft, his lips. She shivered.

“You won’t regret it.”

She did already. But he would make it worth her while. Her guilt. For once, she was letting go of her rigid self-control, the controllthat had held her together her entire life, but which also held her back from ever having what she truly wanted. And this man seemed to be the key, somehow.

She hadn’t allowed herself to connect food and sex, other than those lonely nights in front of her television, watching disembodied hands stir sauces on the screen. Never with another person. Not since Ben, anyway. But that connection had been made the moment Jagger told her he was a chef. Despite the alarm bells going off in her head, she was going to Jagger’s apartment.

Maybe she was a fool. But it was just food. Just a meal.

When had food been “just” anything for her?

Oh, she would regret this. No question about it. But she would damn well enjoy herself a bit first.

“I’ll see you Friday, Mia Rose.”

He dropped her hand, turned, and left. And damn her if she didn’t check out the sinuous movement of his tight ass beneath fitted jeans as he went.

Karalee sat in her favorite chair in the university library, the lights dim this late in the evening. She loved to come here, to sit in the quiet corners and read. The classics, mostly. Jane Austen, Walt Whitman, even a little Shakespeare. She loved the near silence of this place, with nothing more than the white hum of the air system, the soft turning of pages, the coollslide of books from the shelves in the air, that quiet murmur of hushed voices. This was a sacred place to her, of sorts.

She glanced at her watch. It was just after nine. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been here after her last class let out. She closed her book and stood, stretching. Time to go home.

“Karalee.”

She knew that soft, deep voice. Knew the scent of him even better.

“Gideon. What are you doing here?”

“I came to look something up, then got lost in research.” He smiled, that movie star smile of his.

He really was the handsomest man she’d ever seen outside of Hollywood. It was easy to forget he was a history teacher. That position didn’t seem nearly glamorous enough for him.

She smiled back at him. “What were you looking for?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

He stepped toward her, and she felt the heat coming off him. Her mouth went dry. Her pulse thrummed, a deep keening that reached her sex and throbbed there, all heat and need and insistence.

Jesus Christ.

He curled a hand around her waist, pulled her in possessively. It didn’t occur to her to protest.

He leaned in, his mouth right next to her ear, his breath warm in her hair. “Did you know that the security guard makes his rounds every hour, on the hour?”

“No. But why…why are you telling me this?”

She was breathless already.

“Because I just saw him go by. And that means we’llhave this little corner of the library all to ourselves for approximately another fifty-five minutes. There’s hardly anyone else here.”

She swallowed. Her muscles were going loose allover, melting into him as he pulled her closer, untillshe could feellthe solid ridge of his hardened cock against her thigh.

“Jesus, Gideon.”

“You don’t want to say no to me, Karalee. I can tell. I can smell your need.”

Lust swam hot in her veins. She didn’t say a word.

“Ah, I thought so.” He paused, snaked a hand up into her hair, pulled tight. Just enough to leave no doubt as to who was in command of the situation. “So nice that you wear these skirts. Almost as though you’re waiting for me. Ready for me.”

He slid a hand between their bodies, grasped her nipple through her blouse, her lace bra, and squeezed. She moaned, low in her throat.

“Are you ready for me, Karalee?”

“Gideon…” Her hands gripped his shoulders, digging into his flesh beneath his blue oxford shirt.

His voice lowered even more. “If I slipped my hand between your legs, would you be wet? I think you would be.”

“Yes,” she whispered. It was true.

“Come here.”

He backed her up, farther in between the tallshelves, untillher spine was pressed into the protruding edges of the books. She could smell the paper, the ink on the pages, the starchy bindings, and his skin. He moved his hand beneath the hem of her skirt. She gasped when he slid his fingers under her panties and right into the wet, aching heat of her.

“Gideon!”

“Shh. You don’t want anyone to catch us like this. Do you?”

She was shaking all over. “No. No.”

He plunged his fingers deeper. Pleasure shot through her, a lightning flash of need.

“I want to fuck you again, Karalee. You have no idea how badly. But this is not the place for that. So damn tempting, but even I have some control. No, now I’m just going to get you off. Right here, where anyone could walk by at any moment. But they won’t. Or willthey? Of course, that’s what makes it so good, isn’t it?”

He moved his thumb over her clit and pressed, circling the hardened nub of flesh. Karalee tilted her hips into his hand, hardly believing she was doing it.

“You like that, don’t you? Tell me.”

“Yes. I like it. Need it. Oh!”

He pumped his fingers deep inside her as her climax came bearing down on her. She shivered, tensed, bit her lip to keep from crying out. He moved his head in and kissed her, his lips pressing onto hers. And she was still coming when he opened her mouth with his tongue, slid inside. So wet and warm, driving her orgasm on.

She was shaking when he pulled his fingers from her.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly. “Perfect, Karalee.”

She grabbed his wrist. “Are you going to leave again?”

He brushed her hair from her face with a gentle hand, leaned in to kiss her once more. Lord, the man could kiss! She opened her mouth, let him in. His tongue twined with hers, and she wanted to come again suddenly.
Needed
to. Needed him to fuck her as he had in the janitors’ closet. Oh yes, hard and fast and all animal.

He pulled away.

“I’m going now, Karalee.”

“What?” She could barely think straight.

“You should have dinner with me this weekend.

Leave your number on my office line.”

“Oh…yes. Okay.”

That smile again, then he touched his fingertips briefly to her lips, just long enough for her to catch her own ocean scent there, then he turned and left.

She watched him go, moving gracefully between the stacks, before she collapsed into a chair. Jesus, what this man did to her! She loved every minute of it, even that small sense of humiliation he always left her with.

Her sex was still throbbing. Oh yes, she loved it all.

Loved that she had no idea what might come next.

So, dinner with him this weekend? Their first realldate. What would he ask of her? What would she do for him?

She knew she’d do anything, anything at all.

Because just thinking about it was making her wet allover again. She couldn’t wait.

JAGGER CHOPPED A HEAD OF BUTTER

LETTUCE, THE KNIFE coming down in a hard, staccato beat on the enormous butcher block built into the counter in his kitchen.

Take it easy, buddy.

Why the hell was he so wound up? You’d think this was his first date. How many times had he cooked for a woman? But tonight it was Mia Rose, and that was different.

His body was as wound up as a clock, his mind fullof images of her: her heart-shaped face, those startling green eyes, the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. And most of all that soft, lush mouth that begged to be kissed.

Slow down.

Oh yeah, he’d have to take things damn slow with her if he wasn’t going to run her off again. She had that deerlike flight response down. He’d have to find a way to break through that. Because he planned on kissing that hot little mouth of hers. That, and every inch of her pale skin. He could almost imagine what she might taste like…

Shit! He yelped as he nicked his finger. Not a good idea to be so damn distracted with a knife in his hand. But she did that to him.

He had to get it together, to keep it under control.

There was no reason why this woman should throw him off balance. No, he’d learned his lessons well, and although he’d dated a lot these last months, he’d kept his guard up, kept the promise he’d made to himself after Elena had left. Just like Dad, finally.

Just keep it cool. It was simple enough.

But no one had ever made him feellthe way Mia Rose did.

He hardly knew her. He was being an idiot.

He tossed the lettuce into a large wooden bowlland grabbed a handfullof Roma tomatoes, chopped them up, going a little hard with the knife again. It didn’t help to dissipate the edginess in his body. He threw the tomatoes in, crumbled some Gorgonzola cheese over them, added a handfullof pecans he’d toasted earlier, then put the bowllin the refrigerator. It was a huge, brushed steellpiece of equipment he’d had to have. You could fit food for twenty in there. He loved it. Just as he loved his Wolf range, the smooth, modern concrete counters, the dark wooden cabinetry he’d had custom built.

He’d used most of his inheritance from his great-aunt Glenda to do it. But she’d been a helluva cook herself; she wouldn’t have minded. His father’s family was all from New Orleans, a reallfood town. It was in his blood, he figured. Too bad he hadn’t inherited the music gene. That would have made his father a lot happier than his becoming a chef.

A small pang went through him, but he pushed it away. He’d always strived to please his old man in other ways, but it had never worked out. They were too different. Dad could fall in and out of a different woman’s bed every night, while Jagger just fell in love.

Not anymore.

He jammed the tip of the chopping knife into the butcher block, wiped his hands on a towel. Done with the food prep, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could not get Mia Rose out of his mind.

She wouldn’t be there for another hour. What was he supposed to do untillthen?

His cock gave a twitch.

Oh no. He’d been doing enough of that for a team of adolescent boys lately. He pressed down on his hardening member.

Down, boy.

This was ridiculous.

He grabbed the bottle of Cabernet he always kept on the counter and poured himself a glass. He needed something to take the edge off, and he was not going to masturbate again. Not this close to her being in his house. Christ, he would see her in an hour; he could manage to hold off that long.

Couldn’t he?

But there it was again, her face, her mouth, that hot, gorgeous mouth. He knew exactly what it would taste like. Sweet, but not too sweet. Oh no, Mia Rose Curry was a little hard on the outside. He’d have to work his way past that before her lips went soft and let him in. But once he got past that edge of reserve, she’d be all pliant and loose. He could imagine what her body would feelllike pressed up against his. Her hips would be at that perfect height where he could fit his thigh in between them and rub right up against her hot little mound. And she would grind into him…

yeah…

Christ.

He pressed his hand against his aching cock. He was hard as steel. And the wine was not going to help unless he drank enough to render him senseless.

He shed his clothes as he stalked across the open wood floor of his loft to the bathroom, kept his hand on his swollen member as he waited for the shower to heat up.

The water came down on him, slid over his naked skin, a sensation he loved. He always jerked off in the shower; it added to the thrill for some reason.

Didn’t matter why. Just picture her face, imagine what her body looked like, felt like, tasted like…and knowing she would be there with him in only an hour, close enough to touch that pale skin, oh yeah…

He gave himself over to the images flashing through his mind, his hand stroking and pumping his cock, untillhe was reeling, shuddering with pleasure. Lost.

His come was hot, slipping between his fingers. He had to close his eyes, give himself a moment to shake it off, that after-burn of climax that completely clouded his mind.

Yeah, he was losing it over this woman. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that Mia Rose was a totallmind-fuck for him. But he could handle it.

Despite that small voice whispering doubts in the back of his mind. That familiar voice telling him he was falling again already.

At eight o’clock sharp Mia stood outside the converted warehouse where Jagger lived. The door was corrugated metal, big enough to fit a car through. She put her finger out toward the buzzer, pulled it back.

If she rang the buzzer, she would have to actually go up, see him.

Eat with him.

Just do it.

Silly of her. She’d made it here, and now she was afraid to ring the doorbell? But it wasn’t the bell she was afraid of, or even him. It was herself.

Just do it, Mia.

She drew in a deep breath, the scent of damp sidewalk and exhaust from the cars passing by on Sixth Street, then pressed the button.

His disembodied voice came from a speaker over the door. “Hi. Come on up. Freight elevator to your right when you get into the building. I’m on the top floor.”

A shrill buzzing and she pulled the heavy steelldoor open, slipped into the dim foyer, closed the door behind her. She found the cagelike elevator, got in, and pushed the button. The elevator slid upward, shaking a little as the old cables moved through the pulleys. She was shaking, too, a small trembling allover. She was nearly breathless by the time she stepped out into a small hallway, and Jagger opened the door.

God, he looked good, in a pair of worn jeans and a fitted white V-neck T-shirt with some band logo on the front that contrasted with his brown skin. She noticed for the first time the triballbands tattooed around both biceps peeking out from beneath his sleeves. She had a thing for certain kinds of tattoos on a man, and this was her favorite.

The perfect man.

“Come on in. Did you find the place okay?” Jagger took her hand and pulled her gently inside. He smelled like that patchouli oillhe wore; that and a faint whiff of soap. Clean and a little exotic at the same time.

“I’m familiar with the area, so it was easy. Oh my God, this place is amazing.”

One large, open space, with the battered, wide plank wood floors so common in these old warehouses, and huge windows everywhere. He’d laid the place out into roomlike areas marked off with colorfullethnic woven rugs. The living room held two large couches in a dusky sage green, flanking a rectangular brushed-steellfireplace. An enormous slab of old, dark wood made a coffee table. And everywhere were pieces of art: pottery, abstract paintings, baskets, primitive musicallinstruments from all over the world. One wall was lined with towering shelves full of books. Old Ella Fitzgerald played, just loud enough to set a mood.

The man had great taste.

Her gaze wandered to one end of the loft where a low bed was set beneath a skylight. It was simple, Zen-like, with its charcoallgray duvet and wood platform. But it was piled with pillows in gray, black, and white. Starkly luxurious and masculine, but sexy.

Everything about Jagger James was pure sex to her.

She tore her gaze away and looked to the opposite end of the apartment. And saw the kitchen.

She moved toward it silently.

“So, what do you think, Mia Rose?” he asked her.

“This is…this is beautiful. Look at that stove! You could cook anything on there.”

“Yes I can.”

She turned her head and caught his pleased smile.

Pleased, seductive.

God.

“How about a glass of wine? I’m serving a white with dinner, but I have this great Cabernet from Chile.”

“Sure. Yes. I’d love some wine. Anything is fine.”

She was still overwhelmed by his kitchen, by the lovely aesthetic of his living space. By this glimpse into who he was.

Jagger was no ordinary college student. But that much had been obvious from the start. And she realized she was probably in more trouble than she’d thought. He was too smart, too hot, too everything. And she was too unsure of her own motives in being here. But she didn’t want to think about that now.

Jagger gestured to a pair of padded iron bar stools at the high counter that separated the kitchen space from the dining area. “Come and sit at the bar while I cook, talk to me. I love to have company in the kitchen.”

Mia slid onto one of the stools as Jagger poured her wine, handed it to her. While he pulled ingredients from the commercial-size refrigerator, she glanced around the kitchen, a huge space with the same vaulted ceilings she’d seen everywhere in the apartment. The counters were the poured concrete becoming so popular in modern homes, the cabinets a dark, rich wood, the appliances allbrushed steel. The overall effect was clean, masculine. And seemed to fit him perfectly.

She watched him work in his kitchen, the way he moved with utter efficiency, totallconfidence, as he set colorful, heavy pottery bowls out on the counters, pulled out bottles with oils and spices. She was beginning to feella little weak and loose all over, just from seeing him handling the food. She took a sip of the deep red wine, swallowed, sipped some more.

The wine was either going to calm her down or make it worse.

“I hope you like spicy, Mia Rose.”

Why did that sound sexual? She simply nodded.

He went on while he rinsed the tiny bay scallops at the sink. “I like to cook with spices, love that smallbite of flavor. Spices need to be subtle. Use too much and it overwhelms the dish. Too little and it’s bland. It’s all about striking that perfect balance. Tellme what you like to cook.”

“Oh, well, I like Italian cuisine, and I cook a lot of Asian dishes.”

“Ah, then you know something about spices.”

He smiled at her. And once more, she had that sense of sexuallinsinuation. She couldn’t tell at this point if it was him or her overactive imagination. She was too stirred up, every nerve in her body coming awake, heating.

He was concentrating on what he was doing for a few minutes: seasoning and searing the scallops in a sputtering pan, steaming a pot of fresh asparagus spears. But she really lost it when he began the sauce.

It had always been that sort of thing for her, those fragrant liquids. Her sex gave a squeeze as he browned butter, whisked ingredients into a pan. She focused on his hands, his long fingers moving quickly. And her body surged with lust.

“You’re going to love this, Mia Rose.”

Oh yes, she would.

His hands were a blur of motion while the scent of the food surrounded her, filled her mind. Her breasts began to ache, her sex to fill with need. She could barely manage to sit still.

“Jagger, do you mind if I look around a little?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

She slipped off the stoolland wandered into the living area, went to stand in front of the shelves and pulled in deep breath after deep breath. When she’d calmed a little she searched the titles of the books there, which she’d been itching to do since she walked into the apartment. Plenty of classicallliterature, books on music, history, art, dozens and dozens of cookbooks, of course. And on a bottom shelf, a copy of the Kama Sutra next to a row of classic erotica:
Story of O, Lady Chatterley’s Lover,
collections of erotic poetry.

She shivered, bit down on her lip.

“Are you a fan of reading, Mia Rose?”

His voice startled her. “What? Yes. I love to read.

You have an interesting collection. Eclectic.”

“Everything interests me. Literally everything. One of my favorite ways to spend a weekend is in bed with a stack of books. Just being lazy and reading for hours. What do you like to read?”

“I love reading everything, too. Books were a luxury when I was growing up.” She moved down the shelves, running her fingers over the bindings.

“Precious. I’ll read anything I can get my hands on.”

“I can’t imagine books being a luxury. They were a necessity in my mother’s house, and my father’s.”

“You were lucky.” She moved back to the counter, lifted her wineglass, and drank.

“Yeah, I guess I was. So, were your parents just not into reading?”

“My mother and I moved around a lot.” She really did not want to get into this. She needed to change the subject. “When did you learn to cook?”

Not that food was any safer a subject, when she got right down to it. Her gaze was drawn back to Jagger at the stove. The mere sight of him stirring a pot, checking the asparagus for tenderness, made her weak all over. Her fingers tightened on the stem of her glass as she told herself it was simply a programmed response. One that had been programmed into her long ago. She could ignore it, if she chose.

“I always cooked. My mom is an amazing cook. She has really great instincts, and she taught me everything. My dad’s a lousy cook, but he’s always loved to eat, so I cooked for him whenever I went to visit him, even as a kid. It made him happy. Not as happy as he would have been if I’d turned out to be a musician, like him.” He let out a hollow laugh, and Mia realized there was some deeper issue there.