Hot and Bothered (Hot in the Kitchen) (20 page)

He shucked off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. “It’s gotten cold.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blatant relief sketched on her face as the jacket caped her body. She eased up the clawed grip on her phone and returned it to her sequined purse, but not before he saw the jagged gash across the screen.

“What happened to your phone?”

“I dropped it,” she mumbled.

She headed toward the street and he lolled beside her. Too close, and not close enough.

“You don’t need to walk me home,” she said, her voice mechanical, distant. “Your guests need you.”

“They can survive,” he said tersely. “You’re more important.”

She stopped and turned to him, a flash of fury in her eyes illuminated by the street lights overhead. “Haven’t you heard the stats? Seventy percent of new restaurants fail in the first year. That probably goes up to ninety where the owner can’t be bothered to actually spend time there.”

Hello, mood swings.
He welcomed her pissiness. Better that than what he had encountered back at the bar. That version of Jules with her soft, vulnerable eyes made him want to wrap her in his arms again and never let her go. But if he gave in to that protective wrestle, he was going to indulge in every filthy urge and make her cry for other reasons. Come-so-hard reasons.

Pissy Jules was the best option all round right now.

“You’re not walking home alone,” he ground out.

The words sounded almost possessive, so much so that he felt a stir in his groin. The combination of her bad mood, the urge to keep her safe, and how sexy she looked in that dress was arousing him unbearably.
Good job keeping it in check, dickhead.
Once he got her home and away from him—because let’s face it, the biggest threat to her right now was his boiling libido—he’d be on his way.

A few pin-drop silent moments later, they came to the front door to her building. She fumbled for her keys, fumbled again with inserting the key into the keyhole, then three-for-three, fumbled with turning the knob.

“Righty-tighty,” she muttered. “No, that’s for light bulbs and screws.” She continued turning it the wrong way, all while spitting expletives under her breath. “Bugger, bugger.”

He splayed his hand over hers and opened it. The touch was enough to make her stumble through the now-open door, and he caught her forearm.

“Careful,” he said, more to himself than to her.

With her eyes averted, she shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. “Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you up,” he said, slipping his jacket on so it was clear to both of them he would be on his way as soon as his chivalrous duty had been performed. Because people put on jackets to, you know, go outside.

“You don’t—”

“I do.” He tucked his hand under her elbow, the touch electrifying his every cell once more. He didn’t let go of her arm as he guided her up to the second flight.

He took the key and opened her door. No problems with the door knob.

“I’ve got it from here,” she said, still avoiding his eyes.
Good girl, look away.
If she had any sense of self-preservation, she would close the door and send him packing because he was this close to pushing her against the wall and banging her boneless.

“How did your date go tonight?”

Fuck. The self-preservation thing goes both ways,
bischero.

There was that flare of anger again. He wished she’d come right out and say what she was mad about.

“I didn’t know Cara was going to bring Darian.”

“So, a pleasant surprise. A doctor.”
Merda,
that came out sarcastic, which, to be honest, he meant it to be. Judging by the freeze-his-nuts stare she aimed his way, she took it in that same spirit.

“Think I don’t have it in me to date someone smart like that?”

“Don’t use that card, Jules. You have it in you to get anyone you want. I just don’t think that guy’s right for you.”

“Why?”

Because he’s not me.

None of those idiots understood the first thing about her. Tad did, though. He knew that sometimes she felt dumb because the words on the page refused to cooperate for her. He knew that she had spent her childhood wishing that someone, anyone would see her. He knew she had fought like a tigress to get here so she could provide the best life possible for Evan.

Tad had been there from the beginning, shoulder at the ready for her tears, hand outstretched so she could crush it while delivering Evan. Fancy diplomas, fat bank balances, a McMansion in Schaumburg—none of these things qualified them for shit where this woman was concerned.

“He’s just looking for a housewife to support him and pump out his kids while he does his important job.”

“Wow, you got all this from watching me flirt with him?”

He could feel his teeth mashed together like a trash compactor and he spat out the next words with trouble. “Conor’s no good for you either, so you can forget about that.”

“What’s his problem, then? He owns his own bar, saves people from burning buildings… Oh, is that it?” She kicked off her shoes, an angry smirk crinkling the corner of her mouth as one of the heels hit the leg of her coffee table with a satisfying thud. “You don’t think guys who save lives are good enough for me. You’re not exactly saving any lives when you pair that silky Pinot with the aged manchego.”

As insults go, it was pretty tame, but the sharpness in his chest registered the unintended blow. Saving lives was the last thing he was qualified for.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Jules.”

“That’s a neat trick. You move your lips and Jack’s words come out. I’ve already told you I don’t need another brother.”

She might not need a brother but she needed a protector. Someone who could be with her through the tough times, who understood the meaning of sacrifice and family. Someone not like him.

But he could be her friend. “What happened to get you so upset tonight?”

Her brows drew together over eyes sparking with determination. “I realized I have to take what I need and fight for what’s mine.”

Whoa, if he wasn’t turned on before, he sure as hell was now.
Mine.
He loved how that sounded on her lips, even though he had no idea what she was yammering on about. She was grabbing something by the balls—her destiny, perhaps, and he was man enough to say, she had him by the balls as well.

The smoky lines around eyes dark with emotion hit him like a shot of moonshine. Every hair, and more, stood to attention at the sight of her Cabernet-red lips in that beautiful bow shape that would look so perfect trailing scorching kisses across his chest and beyond. Warmth washed through his veins. The edge of desire rose up to meet him and he embraced it fully.

He was only human.

She padded toward him, showcasing the sultry sway of her hips even without the sparkly fuck-me heels. Her eyes turned to shadowy emeralds like the pupils had swallowed the usual sea-green brightness. He recognized that look. He had seen it the other night in the wake of his kiss. Except for one difference: Juliet Kilroy, his friend, hot MILF, was now seducing him.

She brushed by him and closed her fist over the doorknob. Looked like her difficulties with the open/close thing were a thing of the past. Drawing the door ajar a few inches, she speared him with a look that might have flattened a lesser man.

“I’m giving you a choice. You can walk out this door and pretend there isn’t something happening between us or you can stay and give me what I need.”

His cock thickened and grew achy. “What do you need, Jules?”

“You. Inside me. All night.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

He held her green tilty gaze, aiming to infuse his next words with cut-the-bull clarity. “I’m not like the others, those men you’ve been dating, the ones who slobbered all over you tonight. I’m not boyfriend material.”

“That’s not what you offered, though, was it?”

Leaning past her shoulder, he pressed the door shut, the snick short and final.

Inevitable.

“That’s not what I offered.”

* * *

That’s not what I offered.

So much to unpack in that. He was making it clear that anything he gave would be on his terms and could not possibly lead to something more permanent between them. She was supposed to be okay with that, but the fact he was so okay with it gave her pause.

But wasn’t this what she wanted from him? One night to lose herself in the pleasure of his kiss, the ecstasy of his touch, the oblivion of his body. Tonight she didn’t want to talk or think or dwell on her problems.

Her world was about to crash and burn in a fiery wreck. All her lies and evasions were coming home to roost because Simon wanted to see Evan. Yet her mind was filled with desperate thoughts of one man’s strong arms, the hair on his body raising every hair on hers, the sensation of him as he buried inside her that hard length she had felt pressed against her belly a week ago. Guiding her through this storm in her head and tumult in her soul. Not just any man but her friend who stood before her like a Roman god of sex, offering the comfort she so urgently needed.

Take him!
Bad Girl Jules screamed,
That body is made to love you tonight.

He’s going to break your heart,
Good Girl Jules said sadly. That bitch was such a downer.

“What about the bar?” she asked, darting her tongue over parched lips.

“Kennedy can manage. Unless you’ve changed your mind and are trying to get rid of me?” He brushed his knuckles against the swell of her breasts. Greedily, they strained to meet his glancing touch—a clear answer to his question about her supposed turnabout.

His lips twitched in understanding.

“Tell me everything you want,” he said, slow and edgy as if every word took colossal effort.

Surely he knew what she wanted, what a night in his embrace would mean to her.
Love me, Tad. Love me like you love all the others.

“For one night, I want you to look at me like I’m your world.”

It was all the invitation he needed. Whip fast, he pushed her back against the door, pinning her completely with all six-feet-two inches of hot Italian male. His unyielding firmness moved against her soft body, no rhythm, no rhyme, just primal got-to-touch you. All she could feel was heat, his breath on her neck, his hot solidity shaping her, his body imprinted on hers.

Feeling bad had never felt so good.

His raw moan in her ear shot straight to the fork of her legs.

“Jules.”

She had heard him say her name so many times—sometimes amused, often times with affection, even in exasperation when she called him to task about how he had treated some poor girl he dated, but never had it sounded like this. Needful, desperate, as if it was the only word in his vocabulary.

As if it meant everything.

Heat roared over her body. Pleasure howled through her. There was a decent chance she was going to explode any minute if he didn’t ki—his mouth found hers and claimed it for his own.

Those sensuous lips should have been familiar to her from chaste pecks and the not-so-chaste kiss a week ago, but tonight everything felt new and fresh. Some kisses needed a build to get to the heat, not this one. It ignited the second they touched, so much so Jules wondered how it could possibly improve. There should have been nowhere to go but down. Instead it spiraled up, plateaued for a moment to catch a breath, and then rose higher still to find new ways to blow her mind. He tasted of wine and male, a combination that all but destroyed her.

Her fingers raking his hair drew him away from her with a subtle pressure. In his hooded eyes, she saw his warm gaze stoke to flame as he admired her cleavage. Her breath caught in her lungs at the intensity in his expression.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he said.

“Observant,” she said dryly.

“Yes, I am. And so was every other guy tonight.” He brushed his thumb over the stiff nipple that poked through the sensual fabric of her skimpy dress. At the throaty sound she made, he pushed the fabric aside and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

His eyes flashed in anger. “Anyone could have done that all night. Every guy in my bar was thinking about getting their filthy hands on you and I wanted to punch every last one of them.”

His voice was husky, the beast of a growl straining at the leash. Along with the snarl, she felt his body tense and coil. Against her hip, his curled palm flexed, as if testing his willpower. He was a gleaming, dangerous predator and she was prey.

She wanted to be taken down.

“You’re the only one I want touching me. I need your hands, your mouth, your everything on me.”

“I’m not going to last if you keep talking like that.” Slowly, his fingers moved sensual circles around her exposed breast, ruching her nipples, driving her wild. No one was going to last.

“
Così bella
,” he whispered, followed by a stream of Italian she didn’t understand and didn’t need to. It sent arrows of want to her sex.

Her fingers got busy with his belt, deftly separating the buckle and pin.

“Not so fast,” he said, pushing her hands away.