21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (19 page)

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to tell you about your dinner?”

“You can tell me anything you want. I’m completely in your hands.” Apprehensive desire knotted in her belly. It was the single, most provocative thing she’d ever said to a man and the intensity flaring in his blue eyes told her he’d received the message, loud and clear.

“Completely?” he asked, setting the wine glass to the side and plucking hers from her nerveless fingers.

“Completely.”

Tingles followed the brush of his skin on hers and she held her breath. “Will you let me feed you?”

“Haven’t you been doing that already?” The one-two punch of her heart against her ribs sounded so loud in her own ears.

“Yes, but I want to give you the full experience. I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed…let me feed your soul, one bite at a time.”

Heat flamed between her thighs and her panties dampened. Not quite trusting her voice and not altogether certain it was the best idea, she nodded slowly.

He traced his fingers across the palm of her hand. “Close your eyes.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, burning an imprint in her mind of his intense expression, earnest gaze. Clenching her fingers into her napkin, she closed her eyes.

“How is your palate?” The words shivered through her, and he abandoned her palm to stroke her cheek. She hoped he never stopped.

“I don’t know. I think it’s…I think it’s okay. Everything has tasted wonderful.”

“Let’s see.” His breath whispered against her lips, the warmth of him washing over her face. Her eyelids fluttered, but a brush of his fingers kept them closed.

The first touch of his lips on hers and she forgot to breathe. His lips were soft, warm and her mouth opened in a silent O. Her thoughts fogged. Electricity raced down her spine. His tongue rubbed against hers, an invitation. She forgot to think altogether.

Her mouth opened willingly beneath Damon’s. What began as a provocative tease, escalated to explosive passion. She kissed with an almost shy, abandon that rang a chord deep inside him. He forgot about the food, teasing her palate, and the game of seduction. The earthy, rich, sweet scent of her filled him. Need raged through him and his pants tightened a notch. The desire to take it slow and explore warred with the want to strip off all their barriers and claim her right there on the table.

Her head fell back and he smiled and coaxed her tongue back against his own lips, sucking sweetly and delighting at her first tentative thrust against his teeth. Cradling her face between his hands, he drew lazy, slow circles with his thumbs against her cheeks. He wanted her boldness. He wanted her to demand. Hell, he wanted to answer those demands.

Inch by inch, her body shifted in the chair, turning in toward him until a length of her bare leg brushed against his pants and the fire he teased roared to life. A low moan seemed to roll up from her belly and then her hands were in his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp. The push-pull thrust of their kiss dropped a live grenade of lust in his belly, detonating until his cock swelled painfully.

Her shudders dragged him back from the decadence of her lips. Breaking the kiss, he glided his fingers along her arms, and tugged her fingers away from his hair until he could cradle both of her hands in his. Her eyelashes fluttered open revealing glazed passion in her eyes. No trace of nervousness remained in her expression. Her sexy, sweet swollen lips—plumped from one, sinfully delicious kiss—quirked into a grin.

“How was my palate?” The sassy comment was so at odds with her thready whisper.

“Hungry.” That was not the word he intended to use, but it fit. This was a woman who needed to be kissed and kissed often. Thank God those words didn’t fall from his lips, but too many viewings of
Gone With the Wind
at his mother’s house and Rhett’s effusive declaration to Scarlett fit.

Shyness danced in her smile and her gaze dipped to his chest; a chest he puffed out a little under her examination.

“I guess this is a night of firsts for me.”

“Me, too,” he confessed, in part to comfort and part to calm his own racing heart.

“Oh?” Her voice didn’t quite squeak, but her cheeks flushed when the higher note punched up the skepticism in the syllable.

He chuckled. “Absolutely. It’s opening night. I’ve got a restaurant full of customers who came to sample the food, friends who made their reservations when I was still knocking down walls, and a crew of devoted employees who not only helped me choose the colors, but indulged every food experiment to help me pick out a menu.” He rubbed his thumbs along the sides of her hands, seeking to soothe her rapid pulse.

Instead of responding to the intimacy of his confession, she withdrew. “I shouldn’t have pulled you away from all of that.”

Damon closed his hands around hers, keeping her turned toward him, and shook his head. “You didn’t
pull
me away from anything. I am exactly where I want to be. The other firsts are dinner with a beautiful and charming woman whose deeply expressive nature reveals exactly what she thinks and feels about my food and my company, while doing me the incredible honor of sharing her birthday with me.”

“Really?” The surprise widening her eyes couldn’t be feigned, because like her response to the kiss and her nervousness, it reflected in the lean of her body away from him, the sudden rigid lift to her spine and the inescapable clench of her fingers against his palms.

“Absolutely. You came here tonight to meet someone.” Time
for the frontal assault, no more games or misdirection
. He shifted his grip on her hands, sliding forward on his seat until his legs could brace the sides of her chair, effectively caging her in.
Just in case
.

“I know and I’m sorry he decided to miss out on the wonderful food, but I….”

“Wait. Please.” She couldn’t have slapped his conscience any harder if she’d tried. She was apologizing for being stood up and offering succor to his ego. He didn’t deserve it. “You came here to meet someone, an arranged date through the 1Night Stand service.”

Her beautiful, pouty lips whitened around the edges. He plowed forward, ready for the friendly fire.

“You weren’t stood up. I came out with your coffee to introduce myself, and you assumed I was a waiter. I should have just corrected you, but you were so nervous and tired, that I decided to play along. Then you were simply beautiful in your responsiveness and I didn’t want to make it awkward. Which is exactly what I’m doing now.” He sighed and caressed the pulse points along her wrists with his thumbs. “I’m sorry for that. Truly sorry that I misled you. But I am not sorry that you’re sitting in my restaurant, eating my food and sharing it with me, and I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive this Marine.”

“You’re my date.” She repeated the words, as though needing to say it aloud to make it real.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She wasn’t pulling away. That was a good sign. She wasn’t slapping him and calling him a jerk. That was a better sign.

A laugh escaped on a breathy exhale and her gaze lifted to the wall behind him, before darting back as she processed the information. “I’m not sure why I assumed you were a waiter. I thought you were my date just playing along and then I thought I was wrong.”

“I wasn’t sure either. Most of the staff is in white shirts and slacks, although some of the women preferred skirts.”

“You were too beautiful a man to be my date.”

He let the beautiful comment skate by, but not the too part and lifted his brows, leaning his face in and letting his nose just brush hers. “That’s an odd turn of phrase.”

“Have you looked at you? Then looked at me?” The self-deprecation littering the question wasn’t false either. She seemed to believe it.

He closed the distance between them and nipped her lower lip, pleased to see the color flood the white lines tightening the corners of her mouth. Resisting a smile, he gave her a stern frown. “First, I told you we don’t speak badly of the ladies here, and I’d much rather look at you than myself, thank you very much. Second, you must have truly been dating the wrong men to think his looks are a barometer for whether he qualified to be your arm candy.”

“Arm candy?” The sudden effusive laugh was exactly what he’d been hoping for. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, no man has ever qualified for my arm candy before….”

“So this makes me your first in that department. Very well. I accept and will do my best to live up to the title.”

A red flush raced over her skin and her eyes glittered. He squeezed her hands lightly before retrieving their wine glasses and topping them off. Pressing her glass into her fingers, he clinked them together. “To a night of many firsts.”

She hesitated and he read the quiet question in her eyes.

“Yes. I meant that exactly how you’re thinking right now.”

Her exhale was swift and she covered the little gasp of sound with a swallow of the wine while he hid a smile behind his own glass. Teasing a response from her would be the greatest pleasure of the night. He couldn’t wait to see her eyes soft and dewy, hear the sweet, explosive breaths as he peeled away the layers of everyday armor to delve into the sensuous woman hiding behind the gray top and sensible skirt. He wanted to find the woman that chose the red-bottom shoes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She took another swallow of liquid courage and he shifted toward her again, intrigued.

“Absolutely.”

“I wanted you to be my date…even when I thought you were the waiter….”

“Wish granted.” Their glasses clinked again. Her pink cheeks heightened the gleam in her eyes and he nodded toward the food. “Time to close your eyes.”

“Oh…I forgot we were eating.”

The chef in him winced—no one should forget his food, much less eating it. His masculine pride swelled. He’d made her forget the food.

She set the wine glass down and folded her hands in her lap. Her lashes lowered and he shifted his seat again, easing the ache of his too-swollen cock pressing against the cage of his pants. She was so damn responsive.

He’d begun the meal intending to feed her soul.

Now he intended to completely seduce her senses.

“The steak,” he began, “Is a filet, cut thick to allow for a slower cook and richer juices….” When her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, he forced himself to cut into the meat, but his body longed to thrust into hers, burying himself balls deep until little gasps were all she could make.

“…it’s rubbed with extremely fine grinds of dark and light roasts and cooked slowly over open flame until the juices begin to flow.”

Was it possible for the man to become even sexier? Her mouth watered at the description. Despite the meal she’d already consumed, the cheeses, the wine, the salad with its skirted steak soaked in sweet sin, and the creamy soup, her stomach still tingled in anticipation of what else he offered. The scrape of knife and fork against the plate sent awareness racing across her skin.

Her nipples ached against her normally comfortable bra, the fabric almost too much against the turgid little points. The dampness flooding her panties should embarrass the hell out of her, but all she could think about as she sat, eyes closed, waiting, was whether it was steak he’d offer, or another bliss-filled kiss.

A vague sensation of crazy danced through her mind. Things like this just didn’t happen to her. She was the practical one. Legal briefs, takeout, and episodes of Grey’s Anatomy populated her nights where the doctors spent more time on their love lives than their surgeries.

The rich scent of coffee teased her nostrils and her mouth opened. She expected the offering on the end of a fork, but his thumb caressed her lower lip as she took the bite from his fingertips. Curious, she caught his fingertip lightly with her teeth and lapped the flavor of the coffee-basted steak. The coiling tension in her middle exploded, sending languorous waves through her limbs and she sighed.

He tasted better than the food.

His chuckle sent her temperature climbing, but she didn’t regret the action, releasing him with a half awkward kiss to his thumb before biting into the steak itself. A second wave of explosions rippled across her taste buds and she groaned.

Tender and juicy didn’t do the flavor justice. The filet was warm, soft and seemed to break apart on her tongue. The rich meat flooded her senses, but riding the current above the marriage of blood, flame and smoke was the morning kiss of rich, gourmet coffee. The flavors tangled like a walkthrough between a Starbucks and a steakhouse. Her mind didn’t know what to process first, but she swallowed the piece, torn between regret and anticipation, opening her mouth to ask for more only to find a second bite waiting for her.

He teased her with the last piece and let her draw on his fingers, chuckling as she lapped at the pads of his fingertips before devouring the bite. So they repeated the dance. He never failed to touch her, stroking her cheek, and even grazing her nose with his when he cleaned the dribbles that escaped with feather light kisses.

She fisted her hands, fighting the desire to reach out and capture the scorching flame that engulfed her every time he came near. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she barely felt the first trickle of dampness on her cheeks.

“Helena,” his voice brooked no argument and her lashes lifted, tears falling freely. The trembling in her fingers seemed to vibrate through every bone until even her hair seemed to shiver from the assault on her senses. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

The words wouldn’t come. How could she explain the riots breaking out all over her body? Her breasts ached. Her wet sex clenched. Her toes curled insider her shoes. She shook with the force of the torrent racing through her blood. She tasted the food, but it was the flavor of
him
that lingered.

How could she explain how she never wanted these moments to end? How could words ever adequately describe the waves of emotion that swelled and dragged at her, tumbling over every practical objection her mind stuttered to produce?