Taste for Trouble (21 page)

“Which
is money?”

“And
security. Or escape.” She lifted her shoulders. “Validation. Admiration. Novelty.
You name it. They want it enough, they’ll screw you for it.”

“So let
me put this into my own words, just to make sure I’m getting it.” He tapped his
lips with a finger and squinted into the sunset. “You’re saying that women have
sex they don’t necessarily want or enjoy in the hopes that I won’t be an
arrogant prick who takes what I want and to hell with anybody else?”

“That’s
about it.” She tossed him a sideways glance. “You’re offended.”

“Please.
My ego is made of sterner stuff than that.”

The
urge to grin took her by surprise and blunted the leading edge of whatever was
driving her. “As I suspected.”

“It
helps that you’re totally wrong.”

“Am
I?” She slowed for the turn onto the macadam road leading to Hunt House and the
Annex.

“Maybe
not in all cases, but for sure in some.”

“You
know best, I’m sure,” she murmured.

“Damn
skippy.”

Bel
indulged in a long, skeptical silence.

He
frowned at her. “All right, let me ask you this, then, since you’re being such
a font of insight into the female psyche today. Say I kissed this girl.”

Bel’s
stomach twitched and she glanced at him, suspicious. “What girl?”

“Mouth
like sin, kissed like a startled angel.” His eyes went dreamy. “All soft and
surprised and disapproving.”

“Disapproval
generally means no, James.”

“But
does that mean I can’t try again?”

“Why
on earth would you want to?” She pulled into the Annex’s circular driveway and
parked next to the naked fountain frolickers. She switched off the ignition
with careful hands and made sure there was nothing but casual curiosity in her
face when she turned to him.

“Did
I mention her mouth?”

“You
did.”

His
eyes dropped to her lips and Bel’s heart stumbled into a confused patter. “It’s
definitely worth another shot,” he said.

“
No
isn’t
try again later
,” Bel said. “No means no.”

“She
never actually said no.”

“She...didn’t?”
Bel thought frantically. She’d said no. That night in the kitchen. She’d said
no. Emphatically. Of course she had. Hadn’t she?

He
leaned forward, as if to impart a confidentiality. Close enough that Bel could
smell him, that clean, warm scent of man mixed with melted butter and burnt
sugar. Her scent, she realized with a start. Hers and his, melded together. It
sent a liquid surge deep into her belly.

“She
didn’t,” he said. “I get the feeling she was just giving the question a depth
of consideration I hadn’t figured on.” He reached up, ran the pad of his thumb
gently over her cheekbone. The breath stopped in Bel’s lungs, hung there,
waiting. “She’s a thinker, that one. No question too casual for a deep answer.”

“She
doesn’t sound like your type,” Bel managed.

“Not
my usual, no. But I can’t get her out of my head.”

“Oh.”
She stared at him, transfixed by the patient green of his eyes. His hand
cradled her cheek now, warm and large and just a little bit rough and she
wanted with all her heart to just lean on him. Let him take the weight of her
aching head and her battered heart into those strong hands. She wanted to slide
into his lap, press herself into the circle of his arms and rest there.

“Bel.”
His voice was low and soft, more statement than question.

“Hmmm?”

“Will
you tell me about it?”

She
stiffened. “About what?”

“About
why you disappeared on me today.”

She
pulled away from his hand as if burned, yanked the keys from the ignition and
dropped them into her purse. “I did no such thing.”

“You
did.”

She
made a dismissive noise and jerked open the door. She slung her bag over her
shoulder and said, “I have a hundred minicakes in the back that say otherwise. Cakes
that need to get into the freezer if I’m planning to keep what little
employment I’ve managed to hang onto since I met you. So if you’ll excuse me?”

She
dropped out of the van and slammed the door behind her. Her feet bit into the
crushed gravel drive as she stalked to the rear doors of the van. And found him
there, already leaning against the back panel.

She
stared at him. “What, did you teleport?” He hadn’t even been unbuckled when
she’d slammed her door.

“I
can
run, Bel. I do it for a living.”

She
lifted a skeptical brow. “So you’ve said. I personally haven’t witnessed
anything above a reluctant jog.”

He
smiled. “You have now.”

“Color
me impressed.”

“I
will. I’d enjoy that, actually.”

The
heat in his eyes had her swallowing hard and reaching for a dampening tone when
she said, “Will you excuse me please? I need to get those cakes into the
freezer.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I
said no. I’m not going to excuse you.”

She
frowned at him. “You’re holding my cakes hostage?”

“Sure.”

“In
exchange for what?”

“The
truth.”

“The
truth.” She turned the words over in her mouth, really tasting them. “You think
I owe you the truth?”

“I
think you owe me something.”

“
I
owe
you
?” She shook her head in disbelief. “How do you figure that? You’ve
been trying to destroy my career since the minute we met!”

He
sighed. “You’re still sore about your wedding?”

“It
was
live TV
.”

He
shrugged. “I’d feel worse if you’d actually loved the guy.”

“Love,”
she spat. “Love? God, James, what did I just tell you? Love doesn’t exist,
okay? It’s a convenient excuse for people to do whatever they feel like so
later on they can sigh and shrug and say
I couldn’t help it
!
I was in
love
!” She pressed her hands to her heart and batted her eyelashes. “Ah,
l’amour. Any stupid, impulsive, selfish thing you feel like doing, go right
ahead. Just tell people it was for love and all’s forgiven, right?”

“Is
that what happened to you, Bel?”

She
went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Ditch your fiancée on live TV because you
suddenly discover you’re
in love
with her assistant. Or, hey, break up a
waitress’s engagement because you’re not convinced, upon half an hour’s
observation, that it’s a
love
match. And people will forgive you
because, hey, it’s
love
. God, it makes me sick.”

“I’m
sorry Ford ditched you on TV, Bel. But I’m not sorry you didn’t get married and
I’m damn sure not sorry you didn’t love him.”

“Of
course you’re not,” she said. “You don’t care about—”

“I’m
not sorry,” he broke in, “because, while it may have inconvenienced you or
embarrassed you or whatever, it didn’t
hurt
you. And he couldn’t hurt
you because you didn’t love him.”

She
gave a muffled shriek of frustration. “So
what
? Why do you care? What
difference could it possibly make to you if I loved him or not?”

“It
makes a hell of difference. Because if you’d loved him, you’d think about him
every time you looked at another man. Every time somebody else touched you,
kissed you, held you, you’d be thinking of him.” His eyes were hot now, green and
intense and predatory. “And I don’t want you thinking about anybody but me this
time.”

Bel
stared at him. “This time?”

He
smiled at her, and it was alive with purpose as he came off the van and moved
toward her.

“You
never actually said no, Bel.” He closed the distance between them with a couple
of those loose, lazy strides of his. “And I have half a mind to ask again.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Temper
snapped hot in Bel’s whiskey eyes and a delighted laugh bubbled up inside
James’ chest. Madame Self-Possessed looked like she might do him a violence if
he laid a finger—let alone his lips—on her.

At
first he’d just wanted to tweak her a little. The woman had invaded his house,
after all, with her massive army of pots and pans, her sheets, her Tupperware,
her relentless, nonstop
efficiency
. She’d moved right in, made herself
at home, and started taking shots at everything he held dear in life. He’d
expected her to disapprove of his family.  But tearing into his life-long love
affair with the opposite sex?  That was going too damn far.

Because
James liked women. All women. They were like Paris to him—foreign and strange,
but at the same time so damned inviting. They were a mystery that demanded to
be tasted and touched, savored and appreciated. And James wasn’t one to deny
his appetite. But so what? Why should he? Lucky man that he was—and he’d never
denied luck’s starring role in his current situation—women had always liked him
right back.

Or
so he’d always believed. Which was why Bel’s latest blow had been particularly
low. Implying that no woman had ever wanted him just for the pleasure of his
company? That it was just his money or status or what have you? James was
willing to admit that money was fun, but he certainly didn’t believe that all
the women who’d been willing to share his bed over the past several years had
been interested solely in his pocket book.

Not
that he’d deny the pocket book could have played into it some. But he’d lay a
big chunk of that cash on the bet that there was something more to it. Something
simple and primal and hot. An appetite Bel claimed women merely humored in men
to get what they needed.

It
was an intriguing theory. One James felt like testing out. Right now. On Bel. Because
if he was any judge of lust—and he thought he was—there was more than pure
temper crackling in her eyes. Something more earthy and interesting.

Only
one way to find out.

He
took a step closer to her, anticipation a hum along his nerve endings. Her skin
had been like warm peaches under his hands in the dark kitchen. He was itching
to find out what she’d feel like, smell like, taste like in this golden, melty
twilight.

He
eased toward her the way he would a skittish colt and slipped his fingers
around her wrist, nice and gentle. Her pulse bumped there, a wildly arousing
flutter against his palm, completely at odds with the dark menace in her eyes. He
smiled at her.

“Bel?”

“What?”
She glared down at his hand, then back up at him.

“I’m
going to kiss you now.”

Her
glare went nuclear. “I think you should.”

He
paused. “What?”

She
nodded firmly. “I do. I think you should kiss me.” She closed her eyes and
puckered up those gorgeous lips. James’ blood jumped up and headed south but he
forced himself to stop. Think. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected.

“Mind
if I ask why?”

Her
eyes opened. “What, now you want to talk? I said you could kiss me. Don’t you
want to?”

That
surprised a laugh out of him. “I do. Yeah.”

“But?”

“But
I’m a little foggy as to why you’d want me to.

“For
God’s sake, James. I don’t.”

“No?”
He rubbed his thumb over the tender skin inside her wrist. Her pulse still
jumped and skittered, giving lie to her steady voice and impatient words.

“No,”
she said. “But you clearly don’t believe a woman could possibly kiss you and
not be overcome with lust. You want me to be wrong so you can keep banging your
merry way through life. So you don’t have to think and you don’t have to change
and you don’t have to feel guilty about it. So why don’t we just get this out
of the way, okay?”

He
stared at her. “Well, that’s...unflattering.”

She
cast her eyes heavenward. “Are you going to be temperamental about this?”

He rubbed
his jaw, considered. “I might.”

“Great.”
She jerked her wrist from his fingers. Her cheeks pinked up and something
elusive and lost moved through those clear brown eyes of hers as she looked
away. “Fine.”

“Well,
geez, Bel. Can you blame me? You sucked the romance right out of it. You made
it so clinical. Like some kind of transaction. Where’s the fun in that?”

She
gave him a significant look. “It
is
a transaction. It always has been. I
just made sure you noticed for once.”

She
was wrong, of course. He knew it in his heart. But he couldn’t quite see his
way to the end of that argument so he let it go.

They
stood for a moment, a foot and a half of tense and wary space separating them. Finally,
Bel said, “Can I have my cakes now?”