Guilty Pleasures (8 page)

She was a small, struggling restaurant owner in a bad part of the Mission District, not that there were a lot of good parts. She wasn't trying to regain her reputation—she was trying to keep a struggling business alive. But she'd been so sex-sated, so high on her secret affair with Nick, that she hadn't listened to reason. She'd just dreamed and trusted and reveled in the sexual feast that he offered.

Well, now she was picking up the tab.

She hadn't slept with him or been alone with him since that night. She wasn't trying to punish him—she was just trying to get some distance and clear her head. He hadn't pressed her. In fact, he'd left her alone. He hadn't been cold to her, but he'd obviously been hurt, and that she regretted most of all.

It wasn't his fault, really. He had big dreams and bigger ambitions. The problem was that she needed to be more reasonable. She needed to pay attention to the big picture.

If his ambitions were to be believed, then his big picture didn't include her. Guilty Pleasures was a way station for a guy like Nick Avery. She couldn't trust her future to a guy who was looking for a way out.

Still, she thought, as she caught him looking in her direction, if it could have worked out some other way, she wished for a second that it would.

She shook her head. She was too old to believe in fairy tales.

Lindsay entered the kitchen with a dramatic push of the doors, Mo hot on her heels. Before Mari could even call out a greeting, Lindsay shook out a large newspaper.

“We're in it,” she said, and you could have heard a pin drop in the kitchen as everybody's head spun around.

Mari shot a quick glance at Nick, who was already looking at her. She chose instead to focus on Lindsay.

No matter what happens, it was my choice, and my fault,
Mari thought, steeling herself. She wasn't going to blame Nick if they got grilled.

She remembered being blamed for the failure of Le Pome. She wasn't going to have anybody else take the rap for what happened. If her restaurant was going under, then she'd take responsibility.

Lindsay opened the paper with shaking hands, and Mari gritted her teeth.

“‘Treat yourself to a Guilty Pleasure,'” Lindsay started, and Mo made a triumphant thumbs-up gesture behind her back. “‘Hidden in one of the roughest neighborhoods in the Mission District, a stone's throw away from an adult theater and other dens of iniquity, you'll find a garden of sinfully delicious, hilariously sexy culinary delights that will have you canceling your previous plans and heading straight home to bed…
if you're lucky.
'”

The crew, as one, cheered…and Mari felt relief wash over her like a cool bath.

Lindsay read out the rest of the review. It had some pithy things to say about the location, but overall the piece was glowing, a real boost. Mo already talked about having it framed, or maybe blown up large and put out front by the host's podium. The crew was chattering excitedly to each other.

“So, we're going to be, like, really busy from now on, huh?” Zooey said.

Paulo nudged her. “We're gonna be
money,
” he said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically.

“It's just one review,” Mari said, even though some part of her felt like singing. “But good job, guys. We earned that one.”

Again, they cheered, then clattered with buoyant energy through the next round of orders.

Lindsay walked up to her as Mo returned to his station. “I'm sorry,” she said, tugging Mari into the back room and giving her a hug. “I shouldn't have snapped at you. Obviously I underestimated what you're capable of.”

“Nick helped,” Mari said. Just because she wouldn't throw the blame on him didn't mean she'd hog all the credit now that they were coming up roses. “We worked on it together.”

A picture of the last time they'd
worked on it
flashed through her mind…warm water sluicing over hot bodies. She closed her eyes, suppressed a shudder.

What was he thinking now?

“All the same,” Lindsay said, not noticing Mari's little sojourn down memory lane. “You did a great job, and it will do wonders for the menu. I'm sorry. I guess I just focused too much on the bottom line.”

Mari patted Lindsay on the shoulder. “That's your job, remember?”

Lindsay groaned. “Job. That reminds me…I've got to see my parents. They're thinking of opening another restaurant, and they want me to go over their books.”

“All right. We'll talk tomorrow.”

Lindsay nodded, leaving the paper on the desk, and hurried out. Mari stayed behind, all but collapsing against the desktop as she read through the review again.

They liked it. They really liked it.

“You okay?”

It was Nick. She sensed him even before he spoke. She looked at him. “I owe you an apology.”

He didn't disagree with her, just studied her with his dark golden wizard's eyes.

“I should have given our menu more of a chance,” she said, shrugging. “I guess I just got scared.”

He quirked one eyebrow at her. “And that's all you're apologizing for?”

She felt a small burst of irritation. “What else should I…” She thought about it, then whispered, “What? I should be sorry I didn't sleep with you while I was worried?”

Now he glanced out the door, then walked up to her. “I don't care about the sex,” he said, surprising her. “What I mean is, you shut me out. You didn't have to be scared by yourself. I was a little nervous, too.”

Now she gaped. “Nervous? You?”

He grinned. “I've got a good game face. But yeah, Mari, I get nervous.” He paused. “And the fact that you thought I was just in it for the possible career advancement and the plentiful nooky was a trifle insulting, too, don't you think?”

She blushed. “Okay, that was uncalled for. I am really sorry about that.”

He leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling the delicate skin just behind her right lobe. “Enough to make it up to me?”

She smiled, her body reacting even before she could mouth the words. “What did you have in mind?”

“I told you I wanted to celebrate, before all this happened,” he murmured. “And work on some specials.”

She felt heat pulse through her, and an aching between her legs. After a month of sensual exploration with this man, even a week without seemed too long.

Maybe this isn't a good idea,
her subconscious stated, waving a red flag.

But in the face of her body's urging, she ignored the warning. “What time?” she asked instead.

 

N
ICK WAITED UNTIL
every last crew member left for the night before accompanying Mari back to her apartment. It had taken some time—they had been jubilant over their first promising review, and they wanted to take Mari out for drinks to their favorite hangout, a bar called Tiger, just blocks away. Mari's gentle evasion finally worked, and now he was alone with her, headed for her loft.

It had only been a week since he'd slept with her, but his body craved hers, and the withdrawal had bordered on painful. He'd never really felt this way about sex before—he enjoyed it, naturally, but when women made demands he found it easy enough to forgo the act in order to get rid of the hassle. Besides, sex with one woman versus the other was pretty much the same.

That wasn't the case any more. He wasn't sure what made it different, but he did know that it was.

He climbed the flights of stairs to her apartment, watching as her long legs shifted and her derriere
taunted him. Tonight wasn't going to just be about sex, though.

Tonight, he was going to get her to trust him.

She let him into the darkened loft, then shut and locked the door behind him. Then she reached for him, kissing him hungrily. At first, his body responded like a man dying of thirst, drinking in her lips as his hands roamed over her body. Her hands moved quickly, reaching for his pants, tugging at his shirt.

When she got his zipper down, he forced himself to back off, take some calming breaths. “Not like this, Mari.”

In the dim light, he saw that her eyes were wide with surprise. “Why not?”

“Let's go to your bed,” he said instead. “I want to try something.”

She smiled, a small, coy smile. “Okay.”

He followed her up the ladder to her bedroom. Most of the time they'd slept together had been at his house, so he took in the surroundings. She had a four-poster bed, piled high with a mountain of pillows in a pale peach color. There was a filmy white canopy that made the whole thing seem dreamlike. She sat down on the bed, still smiling.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I thought we'd talk a bit first,” he said, trying hard to put a leash on his desire.

“Talk.” She seemed to think about it. “Okay, let's talk.”

He took a deep breath. At least she was cooperating…

She stood up and started to tug off her shirt. “You don't mind if I get comfortable while we…talk?”

He shook his head, and she pulled her shirt off slowly, revealing a pink bra edged in lace that pushed the globes of her breast up, taunting him.

“So what did you want to talk about?” she said casually, as she unbuttoned her jeans and stared at him.

He felt his pulse accelerate like with a hit of adrenaline. His mouth watered. “I wanted to talk to you about last week.”

She nodded, unzipping her pants slowly and then inched them down her thighs, revealing a matching set of panties, tiny wisps of pink silk. “Okay.”

It was getting hard for him to focus. It was getting hard,
period.
He fought doggedly to keep talking. This was too important to ignore.

“Do you trust me?”

She'd just kicked off her jeans, but now she froze like a startled deer, sitting on the edge of her bed in her enticing outfit. “What?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to leave some space between them. “Do you
trust
me?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Mari, it hurt when you didn't come to me. When you made it seem like if anything bad happened, it was just happening to
you.
” He kept his voice low and steady, but the pain of that incident still lashed at him. “I know you don't think I have as much to lose as you do…and you're right. But the fact of the matter
is, I care what happens to you. If you're hurting, you don't have to be alone.”

She looked away, biting her lip unconsciously. “Okay. Can't we just…”

“I wanted to try something different tonight.”

She looked back at him, and he swore he saw relief in her face. “What'd you have in mind?”

“Do you mind if I look around a little bit?”

She nodded, relief sliding into puzzlement.

He rummaged through the drawers of her small dresser, feeling a shock of erotic awareness as he saw the wide variety of lingerie the woman owned. Finally, he got to what he was looking for. “I thought so. Artistic types always have scarves.” He pulled out three.

Now her expression turned wary. “What do you plan to do with those?”

“Lie back.”

She stood up instead. “I'm not so sure…”

“Mari, you've got this need to be in control. You might not always be on top, but you're always in charge. You want everything to be your call. You don't want anybody's help.” He stroked her skin, kissing her lightly, keeping his hunger in check. “I want to show you that sometimes, it's good to just let go, let somebody else take care of things.”

She looked away. “I've let you…er,
take care of things.
”

He thought back to the first night, on her couch, when he'd brought her to orgasm. “Yeah, but it was your idea. You jumped me first.”

She giggled at that one. “And I'd do it again.”

“Just lie back,” he said persuasively. “I'm not going to do anything you don't like. I promise.”

For a second, when her gaze slid to his, she looked vulnerable…much less the tough restaurant owner she tried to project. She looked young.

“All right, Nick.” She went to the bed and stretched out. “What do you want me to do?”

He smiled. “Just relax. I'll take care of the rest.”

He noticed that her body was still tense…probably both with desire and nerves. He'd take care of both in a minute. First, he kissed her, keeping things gentle, brushing over her skin like a cloud. He smiled as she let out a small sound of appreciation. Then he unclasped her breasts from their restraint, licking at her raspberry-colored nipples, then sucking in slow, sure strokes. She moaned, arching up to meet him.

“Ah,” he said, his voice playful. “You're helping.”

“Well, I can't help it,” she said.

“Lean back.”

She did what he asked, and he reached for the scarves.

“First, I'm going to blindfold you,” he said, wrapping a rose-colored scarf like a bandana. She sat up enough to accommodate him. He noticed that her pulse was beating rapidly in the vein in her neck. “Now, put your arms up.”

Slowly, she followed his instruction.

He tied her wrists in gentle loops around the posts
of her bed. Not tight, not in any way painful…just enough to keep her from participating.

“Nick,” she said, nervously.

“If you want to be untied, just say so. If there's anything uncomfortable, just let me know,” he said, reassuring her. “But I'd appreciate it if you gave this a chance.”

She lay there, silent. Then she nodded.

He didn't want her to feel forced or uncomfortable, and for a moment, he felt a jolt of nerves shoot through him. He was just trying to help. Was this wrong?

He shook his head. At least he'd try. And he'd stop whenever she wanted.