Waking Up to You: Overexposed (23 page)

Fierce. He liked it.

“Don’t sweat it, Iz. I’ll help you out.”

Blinking, she replied, “Huh?”

“I’ll help you make the deliveries.” Hopping off the bench, he walked over to a tall cart, laden with cardboard boxes labeled with the names of several local restaurants. “After all,” he said, offering her a boyish smile over his shoulder, “what are friends for?”

* * *

F
RIENDS
WERE
FOR
going to the movies with. Sharing bad date stories with. Getting through boring reunions with. Crying over breakups with. Dieting with. Drinking with. Clubbing with.

Friends were
not
for having sex with. Or lusting over. Or inspiring lust simply by the way they handled a few heavy boxes and filled out their soft, broken-in jeans.

Nick Santori was no friend of hers. Because oh, God, she had already broken every “friend” rule in the book and she’d only agreed to his terms a few hours ago.

When they’d talked in the kitchen, he’d been friendly and warm. That boyish smile he’d flashed her when he’d offered to help her with the deliveries had made him seem so charming and endearing. Completely the
opposite
of the brooding, simmering hunk of male heat she’d watched through covetous eyes at the club last weekend. It was like he was two people in one body.

And she wanted both of them desperately.

She couldn’t believe she’d thought she could handle being merely his friend. Now, having been closed up in a delivery van with him for the past couple of hours, she was definitely having second thoughts.

He was being so damned
wonderful.
Not just offering to help her, he had refused to let her lift a single box. They’d gone to a dozen shops and restaurants, delivering cakes, pies and pastries to some places for their dinner customers tonight, and muffins and coffee cake to others for their breakfast crowds tomorrow. He’d charmed her customers, and
her.
He’d even driven, since Izzie hated dealing with the traffic. She’d sat in the passenger seat of the bakery van, reading off the list of stops, trying not to notice how big he was and how small the van felt with him in it.

She also tried not to notice how wonderful he smelled. How the sound of his low laughter rolled over her, more warm and sultry than a summer breeze. How his short hair curled a little behind his ear. How strong his lightly stubbled jaw was and how thick his body was beneath his tight T-shirt. How he warmed her from two feet away.

And how very, very much she wanted him.

Especially after the cannoli. It was the damn cannoli that put the nail in her coffin...and the wetness in her panties.

They had an extra box. Izzie had been so wiped out from working so many hours, both at the bakery Tuesday through Saturday, and at the club Saturday and Sunday nights, that she’d miscounted. She’d boxed up an extra two dozen of the decadent ricotta-and-cream filled treats. Once they’d finished all the deliveries, thanks mostly to Nick’s strong back—oh, heavens, that strong back—she’d noticed the extra box and realized her mistake.

So, when they’d gotten back to the bakery and parked in the small private lot behind it, she’d offered him one. He’d immediately taken her up on it, not even getting out of the van before digging in. And seeing him eat it with such visceral, sensual appreciation, was making her a quivering, shaking mess.

“God, these are amazing. No wonder they sell out every day at Santori’s,” he said as he licked at the creamy center of the tube-shaped pastry.

Izzie shifted in the seat. Licking. It was not a good thing to watch a man do if you wanted to have sex with him but couldn’t.

He nibbled some of the flaky crust.

Nibbling. Also bad. She added it to her mental list of no-nos to watch.

Then he bit in and closed his eyes in rapturous delight. Oh, Lord. Biting—anything that put that look of intense pleasure on his face—was absolutely out of the question.

Thankfully, he finished the thing so quickly—devouring it in three bites—that she didn’t have time to do something foolish, like, say, offering him her tongue to lick and her breast to nibble and her inner thigh to bite.

“You are going to let me have another one, aren’t you?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he got out of the driver’s seat and bent over to step into the back of the van. Metal racks were attached to each side of it, with an aisle down the middle. Opening the lone box remaining on one shelf, he held it toward her. “Come on, have one.”

She hadn’t voluntarily eaten a cannoli since tenth grade, the day after she’d split her pants while trying to do a sit-up in gym class. They’d torn with a resounding flatulent sound and she’d almost dropped out of school then and there. “Uh-uh.”

He smiled, his eyes glittering in the near darkness. Dusk had fallen while they were out making the rounds, and it was now after eight o’clock. The book shop next door was also closed, their private parking spots empty, and the small lot was entirely quiet and deserted. Very private.

She really should hop out of the vehicle and go inside. Being out here, in the near-dark, alone with Nick, was not a very good idea. Of course, being inside the closed shop, in the light, alone with Nick, probably wouldn’t be much safer.

“One little taste. How can you tell how good you are at doing it if you never give it a try?”

Nearly choking, she repeated, “How good I am at
doing
it?”

“You know. Making them.”

Yeah. Sure. That’s what she’d thought he meant.

A small smile continued to play on those incredible lips of his as he watched her, as if he knew what she’d been thinking. And had intentionally put those thoughts into her head.

Get out. Now.

But she didn’t reach for the door handle. Instead, like a kid lured by the ice-cream man, she ducked into the back of the van with him. There wasn’t room to stand, but Nick had already sat down on the carpeted floor. One leg was sprawled out in front of him, the other bent and upraised. He was carefully picking his way through the open box of pastries, as if searching for just the right one to satisfy his craving.

Izzie sat down across from him, cross-legged, wondering whether the temperature in the van had just gone up forty degrees or if it was her imagination. Considering it was a breezy summer evening and the front windows were open, she somehow doubted the air had gotten hotter...only
she
had. In fact, being this close to Nick was setting her on fire.

“You going to let me tempt you with one?” he asked, still looking down at the box, not at her.

They did look good.
So
good. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Just a taste,” he whispered. Not waiting for her to answer, he lifted one out, then put the box back on the shelf. He scooted forward...close, so close she felt his heat wash over her and his warm, masculine scent fill her lungs. He lifted one of his legs over her crossed ones, until her right knee brushed his hot, jean-covered butt.

She didn’t move. Not one inch.

“Won’t you have one little lick?” he murmured, lifting the cannoli to her lips.

Staring at it in his hands—the flesh-colored cookie, the pale creamy cheese oozing from the end—she suddenly realized just how phallic the thing looked. Her mouth flooded with hunger—she wanted to lick, to taste, to devour.

Not the pastry.
Him.

Almost whimpering, she lowered her mouth to it, scraping her tongue along the flaky crust, brushing his finger as she did. He shifted a little in response, as if no longer comfortable sitting the way he had been. The way they were sitting, she quickly realized why.

He was rock hard, his erection thick and long against her leg. She almost drew her legs together, the pressure in her sex demanding relief.

Izzie could hardly think or breathe. Unable to resist, she moved her leg a little, rubbing it against him, and got a low groan in response.

“Taste, Izzie.”

She tasted. Imagining it was him she was sampling, she nibbled at the filling, brushing her lips against it.

She didn’t need to invite Nick to share it. He was already there, kissing the corner of her mouth, his tongue flicking out to clean some of the sweetness off her lips. “Good,” he whispered.

Oh,
very
good.

She licked again, dipping her tongue inside the cookie shell for a deeper taste. Nick tasted deeper, too. He covered her lips with his, stealing some of the cream right out of her mouth, their tongues tangling over it for a long, delicious moment.

“Get your own,” she whispered with a soft laugh when he pulled away to offer her another lick.

“I’d rather have yours,” he murmured, moving his mouth to her cheek, then lower. He nibbled her jaw, scraping his lips along it until he could nuzzle the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Actually, I’d rather have
you.
”

His words washed over her, echoing in her head. With his warm breath on her neck, his mouth on her skin, his hard body radiating heat just inches from her own, she couldn’t remember a single reason why she shouldn’t have him.

“I noticed.” She shifted back far enough to uncross her legs. Without thinking or considering, she draped them over his thighs, scooting close—so close—that that thick ridge in his jeans pressed against the damp seam of hers.

He arched forward reflexively, grinding against her, and Izzie gasped. Moisture flooded her and her sex swelled almost painfully against her clothes. Her clit felt as if it had doubled in size and she bucked into him, needing to come so badly she could almost taste it.

“More?” he asked.

She arched harder. She definitely wanted more.

He lifted the cannoli. She shook her head, then let it fall back. She wanted to
be
the dessert now. Right or wrong, stupid or not, she wanted Nick Santori too much to resist him again.

When they stepped out of the van, the real world would return. He’d still be the great neighborhood guy she couldn’t publicly date. But for now—oh, for now—she wanted him desperately, with a longing that had built in her for more than a decade. “Have me, Nick,” she whispered, saying yes to the question he hadn’t quite asked.

He made a low sound that might have been unrestrained—want or might have been triumph. Honestly, Izzie didn’t care. Especially when he nibbled her earlobe, then worked his way down her neck. “Mmm, you taste like sugar and almonds.” He kissed his way down to her collarbone, lightly biting her nape, and she shivered.

Never taking his mouth off her, he reached up and pulled her ponytail holder off. Her thick hair fell around his hand and he twined it through his fingers. Cupping her head and supporting her, he pushed her back a little so he could have better access to her neck.

When she felt the cool wetness touch the hollow of her throat, she gasped. The ricotta filling felt good against her heated skin. When Nick licked it off, it felt amazing.

Dropping back to support herself on her elbows, she watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Nick began slipping open the buttons of her sleeveless blouse. After every button was freed and another bit of skin revealed, he dabbed filling on her. Soon there was a trail of dots from her throat, down her chest, in the middle of her cleavage and all the way down to her belly.

He wasn’t tasting them. Not yet. She twisted and arched up, desperate for him to, but he ignored her silent plea.

Once he tugged the top free of her jeans, it gaped open. Shrugging, she let it fall off her shoulders, then watched him devour her with his eyes. His breath grew audibly choppy as he saw the way her breasts overflowed her skimpy bra. Bent back as she was, she could barely keep the thing in place, and one nipple was actually peeping freely above the lace.

“Beautiful,” he muttered hoarsely. He lifted the pastry and dabbed some of the filling on her nipple.

This time he didn’t move on. He stopped for a taste.

“Oh, God,” she groaned as Nick bent over and covered her nipple with his mouth, licking and sucking at the cheesy filling. He lapped up every bit, pushing her bra all the way down so he’d have complete access to her breast.

“You are glorious,” he said as he lifted a hand to cup her. His fingers were dark and strong against her pale skin, and she literally overflowed his hand. “You hide a lot behind that apron you usually wear.”

She hid a lot more behind the mask she sometimes wore.
The thought flashed through her head, but she thrust it aside. This was not the time to be thinking about her alter-ego...or what Nick might do if he ever found out they were one and the same.

Now was for savoring. Indulging.

Reaching for the clasp of her bra, he unfastened it and pulled it off, catching her other breast as it spilled free. Scooping out a large fingerful of filling, complete with tiny chocolate chips, he smeared it all over the taut tip, then devoured it as completely as he had the other side.

Her legs clenched, heat shooting from her wet nipples down her body, straight between her legs. She jerked up, dying to be freed of her jeans. “I need...”

“I know,” he whispered. He dropped his mouth to hers for a deep kiss that shut her up and zapped her brain. He tasted sweet and hot and decadent.

Izzie worked at Nick’s shirt as they kissed, pulling away so she could tug it up and off him. Then she sagged back, staring in disbelief at the perfection that was his body.

In his clothes, he was an incredibly well-built man.

Out of them he almost defied description.

He was rock hard, not an ounce of excess on him, with a massive chest and thickly muscled shoulders. His huge arms rippled as he moved, highlighting a sizable tattoo—a Marine Corps logo. Just the perfect amount of dark curly hair emphasized the breadth of him before narrowing down to his waist and hips, where he was incredibly lean.

“I’m not finished my dessert yet,” he muttered when she reached for his waistband.

He tossed the tiny bit of cannoli away and grabbed another one out of the box. Taking her hand, he pushed her arm over her head until she had to lie flat on the floor. Then he worked his way down her body, kissing, nibbling and licking off all those spots of cream he’d deposited on her earlier.