Take a Chance on Me (13 page)

I reached for his boxers and tugged at the waistband. “I want to take these off of you,” I said, easing them down slowly to the tops of his muscular thighs. Then I added, “Now, lie down and hold still.”

Admiring the exposed skin, the impressive erection, the control that kept him on his back, trusting me with whatever I planned to do, I slid the thin boxers off all the way and began exploring him with my mouth. With a series of licks and kisses that had him gripping the bed sheet and breathing unevenly, I’d miraculously managed to pin him down without a single arm or leg restraint. Just my instructions.

This power and freedom he’d given me came with a deep desire to justify his trust. I wanted to be worthy of it. To pleasure him intensely.

“Slower?” I asked. “Or faster?”

“Nia,” he ground out. “I’m already yours. You can set the pace.”

I remembered laughing at that and hearing his hoarse chuckle in return.

“I just want you so much,” I admitted, kissing more of his body, all of the skin I’d never seen until tonight. He squirmed a little. He moaned a lot. But, mostly, he just let me torment him with my lips until I couldn’t take not having him touch me, too.

“Do you have a condom I can put on you?” I asked.

“Oh, God. Yes.”

He reached behind him, opened a drawer on his nightstand, and handed me a foil packet. I made quick work of rolling the rubber on him. Then I paused, wondering how best to articulate what I most desired. “All I want is for you to touch me,” I whispered. “And to be fully with me.”

“You’re going to let me move now, right?” he asked.

“Right.”

The wildcat sprang into action. Somehow in the space of under five seconds he’d unlatched my bra, flipped me to my back, and begun suckling on my breasts. I felt the tugging deep inside my body and arched up to be closer to his mouth. For ages I’d longed to be with a man who was really
attentive
to me. No doubt about it—I’d found him.

I couldn’t even remember when he’d gotten rid of my panties, just that it happened fairly soon. But I was so wet from wanting him that when his fingers stroked me, I cried out, “Oh, c’mon, Chance!”

“Say what you need,” he whispered in my ear.

“I need you to be inside me.”

I felt his smile against my cheek as he thrust into me the first time. And then the second. And then the third. I came within moments. And almost immediately I wanted him again.

I’d been waiting an eternity to be made love to like that. I couldn’t imagine living without this kind of passion and—

“Nia, wake up,” Dimitri said, snapping his fingers a few inches from my nose.

“What?” I said to my brother. He was trying to pull away from the table the finished pan of
moussaka
that I’d been working on. I’d apparently been gripping the edges of the metal pan too tightly.

“We need to bake this,” he said in that “my sister is as dumb as a rock” tone, which I knew so well from years of siblinghood.

“Fine. Take it.” I released my hold on the pan and turned my fingers over to some other cooking task. Anything to keep myself busy.

“Your head is somewhere else today, Nia. What are you daydreaming about?” Dimitri paused. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

He and I were alone in the kitchen, while Mama and Papa were out front dealing with the customers. The restaurant wouldn’t be serving until lunch time, but the bakery was always open early.

I appreciated not having the scrutiny of my parents on me this morning, but it wasn’t as though my brother was making my life easy or anything.

I got up and began to walk around the table, breathing deeply and stretching my back, just the way Chance had shown me at the gym. All that muscle strengthening and preventative care was beginning to work. I’d noticed that, around Chance, I’d become much more aware of my body. More knowledgeable of its needs—and not just in a sexual sense. I was remembering to take more breaks, keep a better posture, notice an uncomfortable motion before it created a painful ache. And I’d only completed half of the workout sessions so far. What would I learn in the second half?

Out in the bakery, I could hear the chattering of voices and loud greetings for the regulars. It was the usual weekend chaos. Scores of people came in on Saturday morning to pick up treats for afternoon or evening events.

“We’re running low on baklava,” my mother informed me, popping into the kitchen for a few minutes to grab some extra
souvlaki
skewers.

So, next up: Make more baklava.

The food prep kept me occupied during the lunch hours and beyond. I no longer had to waitress—my parents had an easier time hiring out for that than for the other tasks. They needed me to help primarily with the cooking. Although The Gala had a relatively small menu, consisting almost entirely of Greek specialties, every item had to be made just right. The Grecian way. It was authenticity that kept customers coming back.

I’d just finished taking another quick stretching break that late afternoon, once the worst of the Saturday rush had calmed, when my father poked his head into the kitchen.

“Your boyfriend is here,” he said. Then Papa disappeared back into the bakery.

In my addled mind, exhausted from hours of work and running only on caffeine and less than four hours of sleep last night, the only thought that propelled me from my kitchen workstation out into the public was, “How did my dad already know Chance was my boyfriend?”

Because, honestly, it didn’t even occur to me—until I saw Grant Jordan standing there—that I might see him today. That Grant would just show up unannounced at my family’s restaurant. Not even once had we gotten together without an advanced plan. Never two days in a row.

But there he was. Looking dashing in his designer “casual” clothes. And holding a bouquet of flowers.

I stared at him. “Grant?”

“Hi, Nia,” he said brightly. Then he handed the flowers to my mother. “These are for you,” he said to her. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better today.”

Oh, busted!

Mama shot me a puzzled look, but I must have looked panicky enough that she decided to take pity on me and play along. “Why, um…thank you, Grant. Let me just put this beautiful bouquet in some water.” And she turned her back on him before sending me another confused look.

I cleared my throat. “It’s such a…uh, big surprise to see you here, Grant. How are you doing today?”

He walked over to where I was standing, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and said, “Better now. You had to leave so early last night. I missed you.”

To this, my brother raised one dark bushy eyebrow. Thankfully, he said nothing.

“Likewise,” I murmured.

Then, turning to my father, Grant said, “I don’t know if you can spare Nia for the evening, but I have two tickets to a Parkside Pavilion concert tonight. It’s a classical ensemble, led by New York conductor Jeremiah Wilhelm, featuring Russian pianist Alexi Broturakov and a Chinese string quartet led by violinist Li Li Ming.” He grinned and waved the tickets at me.

“Wow,” I said. I’d never heard of any of these musicians. And I was so tired, I’d probably snooze through their performances.

“They’re box seats,” Grant continued, “but I thought we could have dinner at a cute Italian place nearby and drink some wine before the concert starts.”

“That sounds lovely, Grant, but—” I waved at my family members. “It’s still really busy here, so…”

“She would love to,” Papa said for me, nodding at Grant.

My mouth dropped open.

“She has been working very hard today,” Mama agreed. “This sounds like a very nice thing, wouldn’t you say so, Antonia?”

“Well, yes,” I said, “but I—”

“All settled then!” my father exclaimed. “Now, Grant, before you two go, let me show you something. When you were here last week, we were talking about the ouzo made in Athens, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” Grant said. “That distillery you really liked, right?”

“We got in a fresh shipment on Wednesday,” Papa said. “You come and try some. Just a tiny bit. Back here.” He motioned for Grant to go into the storage room with him.

The Chicago CEO said, “Opa!” much to my parents’ delight and, with a quick wink in my direction, followed my dad into the backroom.

Dimitri crossed his arms and gazed at me. “What’s the story, Nia?” he whispered.

I just shook my head and rubbed my temples with my fingertips.

Mama was making some weird
tsking
sound and staring at me strangely. “The thing I don’t understand—” she began.

The door jingled as a new customer came in.

“Hello, Nia,” the male voice I’d been hearing in my head all day long said to me.

“Chance,” I whispered. “H-Hi, there.”

“I was just…walking by,” he said. “And thought I’d see how you were doing.” He smiled at me and gave Dimitri and Mama a very polite nod each.

It was immediate, I realized. The pull of the attraction I’d felt for him was so strong, even in this awkward situation. I hadn’t been hallucinating it. It wasn’t even twelve hours later, and I still wanted him so much. A look of recognition—and pure white heat—passed between us.

“Oh, uh,” I finally said. “Chance, this is my brother Dimitri and my mother Sophia. Everyone, I’d like you to meet Chance Michaelsen. He’s Sharlene’s brother and also my personal trainer. At the gym.”

Dimitri and my mom both said a warm hello, but I knew them. They were watching Chance like a pair of hawks. Taking in his mannerisms and all of his nonverbal signals.

He looked weirdly out of place and uncomfortable in our family bakery. Like someone unfamiliar with drugs might look when faced with shelves filled with pharmaceuticals.

My brother narrowed his eyes and glanced between us.

Mama squinted at our new customer for a long, long moment and then sent me a look that assured me she was no fool. That the puzzle pieces that had perplexed her before had finally fallen into place.

She said to Chance, “We have samples of baklava right here. My daughter just made it. Come! You try a piece.”

Chance swallowed and took a step back from the bakery counter. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I—I just ate.”

Oh, my God. His first meeting with my Greek mother and he refused a food offering. This did not bode well.

“Just a
little
piece then?” she asked.

“Again, thank you,” he said. “But I’m really full.”

Mama didn’t understand this mystifying concept of ‘not having room for dessert.’ She stared at Chance as if he were a lime-green, two-headed alien from somewhere just to the left of the Andromeda Galaxy.

And he, poor guy, didn’t realize how unintentionally insulting he’d just been. How this would not be an easy bridge to repair now. I hadn’t had the opportunity to warn him or coach him, like I would have if I’d been ready for him to visit us here. Ready to introduce him to my family as my boyfriend.

It was, of course, in that moment that Grant and Papa emerged from the backroom, laughing like schoolboys and smelling of licorice-flavored alcohol.

“So, Nia, you and your boyfriend must go have fun now!” my father said, slapping Grant on the back and laughing some more. “He will take good care of you tonight.”

Grant, who was carrying a small brown-paper bag, most likely filled with a gift bottle of ouzo from my father, caught sight of Chance standing by the counter. And Chance returned the gaze, unblinkingly. From the look on both of their faces, neither had forgotten their tense introduction at the Thai place last Friday night.

I certainly hadn’t.

Grant, not surprisingly, spoke first. “Personal trainer guy, right?” he said, pointing at Chance.

Chance opened his mouth, closed it again, and then smiled tightly. “Chicago business guy, right?” he replied, mimicking Grant’s intonation and body language, right down to the finger pointing.

Holy moly. Men and their caveman games of alpha dogging.

Grant’s laugh was pure fakery. He sounded like an asshat at a cocktail party when he said, “You really get around in this town. Visiting all the hotspots, huh?”

And Chance was no better when he widened his stance and shot back, “Yeah, we Michaelsens are known to be omnipresent here in Mirabelle Harbor.”

Mama nudged me hard and said, “Well, kids! You should get going. You don’t want to miss the concert, do you?”

“No, we don’t, ma’am,” Grant said, walking toward me and touching my arm with an unmistakable gesture of possessiveness.

Chance stared at me from a few yards away, taking in the situation, and silently willing me to say
anything
that would in some way justify why I was going out on a date with another man…after I’d spent all of last night in bed with
him
.

Explanations needed to be made, I knew. But here and now, in the middle of my parents’ bakery, wasn’t the time or the place.

“I—” I began. “I just need to gather my things, Grant. How about I meet you in the car in a few moments, okay?”

Grant Jordan was an extremely successful businessman. I knew he recognized this as a relationship chess match of some sort. I also knew he was the type who played everything to win. Since I was leaving the bakery with him, and with my parents’ blessing at that, the logical conclusion was that he must be the victor. That was how most games were played.