Sultry in Stilettos (13 page)

After she’d driven his too-drunk ass
home from a party once, he’d mumbled something about her being so
beautiful. Unsure of how to respond to something like that, she’d
sat there in the driver’s side of the car, letting it idle, while
he stared at her. “I don’t believe you. There are a million women
out there. There’s nothing special about me.”

Drunkenly, he smiled at her. “You’re
not listening. I think you’re beautiful.”

And drunk. He’d been very drunk. She
knew better than to believe mumblings from a drunken fraternity
boy. But a small part of her had hoped and wanted to believe.
“Okay, you want me to believe you? Say it again when you’re sober.”
They’d pinky sworn a deal and made a study date for the next
night.

Ricca shook her head. She’d been so
over the moon that she hadn’t paid attention. Guys like Beckett
didn’t go out with girls like her. When she’d gone to the
fraternity house to meet him, he’d been talking about her with his
fraternity brothers. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear
his brother Colin Fray say, “Seriously, the short chubby one? Why
not one of her friends? The one with the legs and all that hair.
Now, she’s hot. And thin.”

Beckett had been initially silent, but
then said, “Ease up, Fray. She’s a friend. And she’s nice.” He’d
paused then and added, “And she’s not chubby. She’s….” His voice
trailed off. “She’s a good girl.”

Colin had laughed. “Well, we know you
don’t like good girls.”

Beckett’s response had said it all.
“That’s the truth.”

She’d gotten it wrong then. What she’d
construed as him coming on to her was nothing of the sort. She was
his friend. That was it. At least he’d sort of stepped up for her
when that moron Fray had called her chubby.

But after that night, Ricca had vowed
to stop chasing after something she couldn’t have and focus on what
she could attain. She was funny and smart and a whole bunch of
other adjectives her mother would be proud of. Hot didn’t have to
be one of them. Until now—when she’d traded who she was to get
noticed.

****

Beckett woke to the sounds
of the islands. He smiled to himself.
Ricca
. She’d come to take care of
him again. He’d told her she didn’t need to, but she’d given him
one of her determined looks, and he’d shut up. Besides Trinidadian
food was one of his favorites. Short of Ricca’s mother Kelan’s
cooking, this would be heaven.

Careful of his left arm, he rolled
himself into a sitting position and readjusted his sling. He didn’t
really need it anymore, but the doc had wanted him to wear it as a
precautionary measure. According to the white coats, he‘d been
lucky to survive the crash with only a dislocated shoulder and
concussion. Roberto had been even luckier. Just bumps and
bruises.

What Beckett wanted to know was how
the hell it had happened. He knew he should have checked the car
himself. There were very few times he was OCD—usually checking over
his cars was one of them. But he’d let the client change his mind.
Once Roberto had insisted on driving and Serena had backed him, it
had all gone to shit. Serena had insisted that the hired pit crew
would do the final checks.

Beckett groaned. Lesson learned the
hard and bumpy way—always check your own equipment. If Roberto
wanted to BASE jump or anything else, Beckett was going to be the
one doing safety checks. He couldn’t have another accident like
this endangering the client. Or getting in the way of the
job.

Feeling sluggish, he shuffled into the
kitchen. Immediately, his body jerked to attention. Ricca was
dancing around, singing and winding her hips to some calypso reggae
song he didn’t recognize. The way her leggings hugged her ass and
her muscular legs made his eyes cross. Her fitted, button-down
stopped just past her waist, revealing a tantalizing strip of flesh
for his viewing pleasure. Her cinnamon-brown skin
glowed.

The heavy bass beats dropped in the
song, and she ticked her hips like he’d seen some women do at a
dancehall reggae concert he’d gone to once. His mouth went dry as
he stared in wonder at the perfect isolation of her hips. Liquid
heat rushed under his skin. Vaguely, he wondered if that was his
body’s way of telling him to take another pain pill. But he doubted
it. As she stirred and tossed a pinch of something into the pot,
she did a little body roll. The groan was out of his mouth before
he could control it.

She whipped around with a gasp.
“Jesus, Beckett. What the hell are you doing up?” Her hands flew to
her face. “Shoot, did I wake you up? I thought the music was low
enough. I’m sorry.”

He grinned at her flustered state.
“No, it’s cool. It’s time I stopped loafing around anyway.” He
indicated the stove. “What’s cooking? It smells awesome.” Absently,
he rubbed his stomach.

“My mother’s chicken
curry.”

When she turned around to stir, he bit
back another curse. She looked so beautiful standing in his
kitchen. He’d never had this. The women he dated couldn’t even find
the kitchen, let alone the stove to make homemade anything. They
all would likely swear that the magic food fairies brought them
dinner in restaurants. Not one of them actually cooked. Watching
Ricca cook was sexy as hell.

She gave him a half smile. “What are
you staring at?”

“You.”

She blinked, then tucking her hair
behind her ears, moved around him to the island. “So, um. I see
you’re feeling better. You think you’ll be making it to work
tomorrow?”

Warmth spread through his chest. “So
you’re saying you miss me?”

Ricca’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
“Uhm, well, despite your injuries, we still have a Master Fantasy
to complete. Just because you’ve been lazing about, doesn’t mean
the rest of us have. We need you to pull your weight.”

He knew what she was doing—attempting
to deflect. Just like she had the other night. She’d come onto him,
but when he’d reciprocated, she’d run off like a scared
butterfly.

“Go on, admit it, you miss me.” He
stepped into her space.

Ricca took a step back and cleared her
throat. When she spoke, her voice was husky. “Maybe a little.” She
lowered her voice, then added, “I was worried about you. You really
scared the shit out of me. You could have died.”

He frowned. “I know.” He took another
step toward her, not sure what he wanted the end result to be. Who
the hell was he kidding? He wanted her on his island naked and laid
out like a buffet.

She coughed and took another step back
until she pressed right up against the island. When she spoke, her
voice was soft. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay? I don’t
think my heart could take it.”

“That’s a deal.” He glanced around his
kitchen. It was spotless. She’d cleaned up after him too. She’d
taken care of him. Like she always did—for everyone. “You’ve been
cooking and cleaning.”

She nodded. “You know me. It keeps me
calm. I know you’re fine, but I figured you could use some food in
the freezer.” She shrugged. “You know, something that isn’t
takeout. And I just wanted, you know—”

“Ricca,” he interrupted. “I’d like to
kiss you now, if you’d shut up for a minute.” Of all the times to
have no plan. All he knew was he wanted to taste her. To feel her
soft lips under his again. Feel her breath as she sighed and opened
for him.

He angled his head and realized how
small she was when she wasn’t wearing those towering heels of hers.
He brushed her lips softly with his, before wrapping his right arm
around her waist and hauling her up against him, then settling her
on the island.

Her eyes went wide. “Beckett, your
arm. You have to be careful not to reinjure yourself.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. I
just want to—” He lost all rational thought when she wiggled
against him. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “I’ve been dying to
do this again since last week.”

She parted her lips, and he was
lost.

Unprepared didn’t even cut it. Ricca
had kissed Beckett exactly three times and not one compared to
this. His kiss was gentle and undemanding. He stroked her cheekbone
with his thumb as he held her in place. The man knew how to kiss.
His tongue was a gentle explorer testing the waters. Trying to coax
hers to come and play. Beckett stepped between her parted thighs
and dragged her body closer to his.

Wanting to be careful of his arm, she
returned his kisses tentatively, only softly meeting his tongue
with hers. He took it slow as if they had all the time in the world
to get this one kiss right. He paused and leaned his forehead to
hers. “Ricca.” His voice was a pitch lower than usual. “I want you
to kiss me back. I need you to. His breath was warm and tickled her
lips.

“I am,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I’m not backing
off. I’m not going anywhere. Just kiss me back. Even if it’s just
for tonight.“

His words caressed her. The blood
rushing in her head made it hard to think. She wanted him—had
always wanted him. Even if this was a fluke and she had no idea
where it was going, for once she was going to live in the
moment.

Angling her head back, she met his
eyes. All she saw was desire, some concern, and impatience. He was
waiting for her answer. He wouldn’t kiss her again unless she
initiated. Gathering all the moxy she had, she did what she’d
wanted to do for years.

When their lips fused, she wound her
hands in his hair and held him in place. His responding rumble
filled her with feminine power. Her whole body melted into him as
he yanked her closer. His body radiated heat like a hellish
inferno, and all she wanted to do was bring him closer to
her.

Beckett abruptly took a step away, and
a low whimper escaped her lips before she could imprison it. His
lips quirked into a smile. “Relax. I just want to remove this thing
so I can touch you.” He quickly removed the snaps of the sling and
tossed it with his good arm. “There, that’s better.”

He stepped back between her legs, and
Ricca could have cried with the relief of having him close again.
He smelled like rain and leather.

His next kiss wasn’t gentle. He cupped
one hand behind her head and devoured her. As his other hand snaked
under her top, tracing a line over the exposed skin, her core
heated, and all she wanted to do was wrap her legs around him and
not let go.

Never pausing the assault on her lips,
his fingers wove into her hair and massaged her scalp. It instantly
relaxed her and at the same time sent electric shocks to her
center. He traced several circles over her belly button before
teasing a path to her breast.

When he stroked a thumb over her
breast, Ricca cried out. Her hips rotated against the bulging
hardness in his sweats. They moved in a persistent rhythm she
couldn’t control. All she knew was she wanted to feel that length
of him sliding into her, helping her overheat from the
inside.

Beckett fisted his hands into her hair
and tugged gently. The mild sting sent shudders down her
spine.

Harsh breaths tore out of his chest,
and he muttered a low “Fuuuck!” As his breathing grew more ragged.
“Damn it, Ricca, you’re going to have to stop doing that. I don’t
want this to end before we even get—”

This time it was Ricca who shut him up
by dragging his lips back to hers. She didn’t stop moving her hips.
If this was some insane fantasy, she wanted to get as much of him
as she could before she came back to her senses.

They matched each other in intensity.
She scratched his back; he bit her lip. She tugged his T-shirt over
his head; he nearly popped the buttons on her shirt trying to get
it off. When he encountered her tank top, he growled. When he
slipped a hand between them and stroked her aching core through her
leggings, she moaned.

His good hand fumbled with her bra
clasp, and she had to giggle. “I thought you were supposed to be
good with your hands.”

His low chuckle as he nuzzled her
throat made her tingle from head to toe. “You’ll have to forgive
me. I seem to have lost all the blood in my fingertips. It’s all
traveled south. I can’t think straight. And I certainly can’t
figure out this complicated thing.”

“Here, let me.” Ricca
reached around her back and unhooked the strap. “It’s a bra and
tank combination.” Removing her hands through the straps, she held
the tank in place above her breasts. Was she really going to do
this? Have sex with Beckett in the middle of his kitchen?
Hell yes
. And if she was
lucky, in the living room, in his bed, and maybe the shower
too.

He caught her hands and shook his
head. “No, don’t cover up. God, Ricca, I’ve been dreaming about you
for so long. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since
the Westhorpe Gala. I just want to see you. All I care about is
making you feel good.”

Ricca’s breath caught. He’d been
thinking about her? Hell, if she’d known that, she’d have cooked
for him years ago. But could she do this? Open herself up to him
literally and figuratively? She searched his gaze as he cupped her
cheek again.