Just One Taste

She appeared at the end of the hall moments later, bundled in his robe, but a wary expression was set on her face.

Perhaps seduction should wait.

“Wine?” he asked her, holding up the bottle.

“Sure.” She sat at the bar and glanced down at the plate of food. “Empty fridge, huh? I was expecting stale chips and old Chinese food.”

“I was referring to my lack of chocolate. I’ll have to fix that if I want to keep you around, I expect.”

She selected a fat green grape. “This is great.”

Noting she didn’t respond to his invitation to stick around, he made the decision to keep things light, not to probe too obviously for details about her life. It would only take a simple phone call to find out the identity of the lovely blond country-club caterer.

As he slid onto the bar stool next to her, he handed her a wineglass. “Considering your exceptional skills in the kitchen, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She sipped the wine, nodding with approval. “How do you like Atlanta so far?”

“It’s fast. The traffic is murder.”

“A bit different from New Orleans, I bet.”

His hand clenched around the stem of his glass. “What makes you think I’m from New Orleans?”

She shrugged. “Earlier you called Mia chère. Then me, in the hall. I just figured you were from there.”

He hadn’t even been conscious of the endearment. A troubling thought. It made him realize how much Vanessa had affected him, distracted him. As he searched for the right answer, he took a drink. “I practiced in New Orleans, but I’m not originally from there.”

“Oh, well, the accent is nice. Don’t get rid of it.”

“You mean like those diction classes?”

“Yeah. Pretty ridiculous.”

He’d spent much of his life hating his accent, and he’d modified his speech a great deal. Only a trace remained, just enough to be identified as Southern. Just enough to appeal to a sympathetic jury. How would Vanessa feel knowing that?

Not complimentary, he was sure.

“How old are you?” she asked, choosing another grape.

“Thirty. You?”

“Twenty-seven. Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

I wanted to survive. “No. I sort of fell into it.” I got arrested.

She held up her hand, indicating the posh apartment. “But obviously you found a niche. You’re a big success. Are your parents proud?”

“My father died when I was young. My mother’s proud, though.” At least when she’s coherent.

She laid her hand over his. “I’m sorry about your dad. My father and I don’t always get along, but I can’t imagine being without him.”

The half-truths he was telling bothered him. He wanted to be honest with her. He wanted to share his pain, his struggles. But he suspected her background was far more upstanding than his, and he wanted her too much to risk her rejection. “Did you always want to be a caterer?”

She grinned. “Not specifically. I wanted to cause trouble.”

He raised his glass to her. A kindred spirit. Maybe that was part of her appeal. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” When she angled her head in question, he elaborated, “Let the good times roll.”

“Exactly. My family has…” She glanced down at her glass, then back up to him. “They have a traditional idea of how a proper Southern lady should live her life,” she continued, rolling her shoulders back. “I’m not traditional.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It is in my family.” She sipped her wine. “Anyway, I don’t mind being covered in flour, sweaty and wearing jeans. I was drawn to the fast pace of restaurants, then I got sucked in by the instant gratification—”

When he leered, she nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Gratification of cooking. Feed people, and for the most part, they’re happy. I turned out to be a good chef.” She angled her head. “I’m a great pastry chef, to tell you the truth.”

“I know. I got a taste, remember?”

She licked her lips. “I remember.” Her hand danced toward the plate, then she drew back. Her gaze locked with his. “I’m sometimes impulsive to my own detriment.”

“Like tonight?”

“No. Yes. I don’t normally go this…far. Something about you just got to me.”

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “I know the feeling. I was at the party to network, not find a woman who’d knock me on my ass.” He cupped her jaw. “There are no rules here, Vanessa. I won’t put you down for being nontraditional.”

“Thanks.” She squeezed his wrist. “Really. Just thanks.”

He sampled a wedge of cheese and let her have a moment to recover. He also didn’t want her to see how much he wanted to violently shake sense into her family. “So what happened after you caused trouble?”

“I moved out. I got a job. I went to culinary school. I got the tattoo, and my mother was humiliated and furious, but she realized I was serious about—” Her eyes popped wide. “I never saw your tattoo!”

During the heat of their connection, he’d forgotten about it. “How could you have missed it?”

One hand lying on the back of his bar stool and the other gripping his thigh, she leaned close. “Where?”

“Before, you wanted to know what.”

“So where?”

He grinned. “I’m available for show and tell anytime you are.”

She jiggled his thigh. “Come on, Lucas. Tell.”

“I’ll show instead.”

He rose from his stool and unbuttoned his jeans. Loving the eagerness and desire in her eyes, he turned his back and flipped the waistband over, knowing what she’d see on the back of his left hip. He was fairly certain he’d surprised her again.

“It’s a rose,” she said after a moment, the excitement in her tone draining.

“Mmm.”

“I was thinking it would be…”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“Something else.”

“A dragon?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“A snake.”

“No way.”

“Maybe an anchor?”

“Definitely not.”

“You’ve got a problem with roses?”

“Well…no.”

“You’re allergic?”

“No.”

She grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face her. Of course, he took the opportunity to get closer. He wedged himself between her thighs and braced his hands on her hips. The scent of his soap rose from her skin. Desire and possession surrounded him, and he breathed deeply, praying he could hold himself in check. A least for a little while longer.

“A rose?” she asked, still confused.

“I lost a bet.”

She waggled her fingers in a come-on gesture. “You’ve got to do better than that.” When he hesitated, she added, “I’ll tell you my story.”

“Ladies first.”

“Mia and I got them on graduation night from culinary school. We’d celebrated with a little champagne.” At his skeptical look, she added, “Well, a lot of champagne, and the next thing we knew we were at the tattoo parlor getting decorated. Mia got a chameleon on her hip, and I got the butterfly.”

“Why the butterfly?”

“Because I finally felt free, and alive, for the first time.”

“It suits you.”

“I think so. Now, your turn.”

“I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“A deal’s a deal.”

“So it is. I got mine in high school. I bet another guy I could, ah…get a certain girl into bed before he did.”

She angled her head. The expression in her eyes wasn’t complimentary. “Men are pigs.”

“Definitely. I was young, chère. Forgive me? I lost, after all.”

“One, I can’t imagine you losing. Two—” she slid her hand across his shoulder and cupped the back of his head “—I really like when you call me that.”

“I’ll keep doing it then.” In Cajun French, he whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear. “Now you know all my secrets.”

“I do?”

He smiled. “No.”

“We don’t know each other at all.”

Leaning forward, he tongued her earlobe. “I can fix that.”

She let her head fall back on a deep sigh, exposing her throat, which he took full advantage of. He laid his lips against her warm, pine-scented skin, dragging his mouth along her jaw, then down her neck, pushing his hands beneath the robe, then pushing it off her shoulders.

His heart hammered in his chest as more of her beautiful body was revealed, and his own body throbbed in response. Was she part of his path to redeem himself from past sins? Or would she be a new sin he’d be compelled to atone for?

He wished like hell he could turn off his conscience and embrace hedonism as he once had, but his inner sense of duty—from wherever it had sprung—had been given a voice, and it wasn’t likely to be silenced again.

Though the sound of Vanessa’s ragged, need-filled breathing could no doubt drown out any sensible thought he managed to form.

Placing slow, lingering kisses along her neck and shoulders, he untied the robe, sliding his hands up her bare sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed the peaks, which hardened like pebbles.

She moaned again, her eyes still closed, while he, on the other hand, kept his wide open. Seeing the flush of desire creep over her skin was a sight he didn’t intend to miss.

He continued moving his thumbs back and forth across her nipples. She moved sinuously, pushing herself more firmly into his touch. Heat surged through his body. Watching her give herself over to pleasure so shamelessly made him as hard as a rock.

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