Deliciously Sinful (4 page)

A
rhythmic beat slowly drew Phoebe out of sleep. “What the…?” she muttered, opening her eyes. It was music. The unmistakable fast pulse of a drum coming through her open window. Or what should have been a drum. This sounded like some sort of electronic version of the instrument.

She glanced at the clock. “It’s one o’clock in the effing morning,” she said to herself.

Nick Avalon.
Only one person would be blasting that annoying techno music in the early hours of the morning. “Inconsiderate jerk!” She threw off the vintage quilts that she slept under, then tiptoed out her bedroom door and down the old wooden stairs, being careful to skip the creaky one. If Jesse and Steve hadn’t woken up yet, she didn’t want to disturb them. Admittedly, Phoebe was a light sleeper, but anyone would agree that Nick Avalon was showing total disregard for his neighbors.

Still in her long nightgown and socks, she slid on the boots near the front door and stalked out into the night.

She tromped through the trees to the guesthouse, the music becoming louder as she made her way to the cabin.
How dare he? Does he think he’s in an L.A. nightclub?
“Insensitive, conceited, stuck-up jerk!”

She didn’t bother knocking on his door; he wouldn’t hear her anyway, not over all that racket. Instead she barged inside, slamming the door behind her. The loud bang produced no response from Nick, so she called his name. Still, nothing. She went to the stereo and turned the music off. And even then, Nick didn’t appear.

Then she paused as a waft of something sweet reached her nose. He must be in the kitchen. She followed the unmistakable scent of chocolate, her traitorous mouth already beginning to water.

She found him mixing what appeared to be batter. Dan and Sally had renovated the cabin not long ago, and the space was modern although it appeared rustic. Knotty-pine cabinetry lined one wall, and a faux-antique stove took up a large portion of the space. Despite the humble appearance, the kitchen was equipped for a chef.

And there happened to be one at the butcher-block island, mixing a bowl of something that looked creamy, chocolaty, and delicious.

Nick was staring into the bowl as he stirred. His expression was intent on what he was doing, and she realized he hadn’t even noticed that the music had been shut off. She paused. She’d never seen this expression on his face. Normally he was so aloof, so standoffish. So intense he seemed wired to explode. But now, here alone in his own kitchen, his own element, she saw something different. He looked serene. Why didn’t he ever look that way in the café?

Also, he never went without a shirt in the café, which, she had to admit, was a crying shame. Because just look at him.

She bit her lip. He was wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His torso was lean but solid-looking, his arms defined. And then her gaze landed on the upper part of his chest. He had a large tattoo spanning the area just above his nipples. It was a word, decorating his skin in scrolling, dark script.

“Oh my God,” she said.

Obviously startled, he dropped the spoon in his hand. “What the fuck? Phoebe?”

She stepped into the kitchen and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Do you have your last name tattooed on yourself? You really are the most narcissistic, conceited man I have ever met.”

So why was there something about that particular facet of his personality that intrigued her? That shouldn’t happen. But then, none of the things she’d been experiencing since she’d met Nick Avalon should be happening. For example, she was in her nightgown, staring at his naked chest as he mixed some sort of chocolate concoction. In the middle of the night. This entire scenario really shouldn’t be happening.

But it was.

He picked up the spoon. “Yeah, well, no doubt I am the most narcissistic man you’ve ever met. So sue me.” He looked her in the eye. “How many men do you know out here in hippie country anyway, Phoebe?”

She raised her chin. “Enough.” But she had to admit, she didn’t know a man who was anything like Nick. For better or worse, every time she watched his easy, proficient way around the kitchen her pulse raced with excitement, and it didn’t seem to be a thing she could control.

He smirked. “I’m sure you know plenty of men. I bet just last night you had a hot stud in your bedroom.”

“How do you know that’s not true?” Last night she’d spent the evening reading
The Honey Trail: In Pursuit of Liquid Gold and Vanishing Bees
. And even though she thought lessons on how to avoid the varroa mite fascinating, she couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept drifting to Nick.

“Anyway,” she said, “I know plenty of men.” They were all her brother-in-law’s friends or men she’d known since she was in kindergarten, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Been with a lot of guys, have you, love?” he asked, and his accent seemed stronger than ever.

She shoved her hands on her hips, arms akimbo. “It doesn’t matter how many men I’ve known. The fact is, I don’t need a man, and I don’t have time for a relationship.” She waved the spoon at him. “Why am I defending my love life to you?”

“I have no idea. But it’s truly fascinating. Please, continue.”

His sarcasm made her fingers curl to keep from punching his shoulder. For some reason he made her feel competitive, as if they were going for the same prize. Which was ridiculous. She was the boss. The only prize was continuing the success of the café. And they both wanted that. So why was he always taunting her?

Furthermore, why did she respond to his heckling?

“And,” she added, “I’m glad to say none of them have ever been vain enough to get their own names permanently marked onto their skin. Or did you do it in case you forget who you are?”

“Actually, you’re not far off.”

She narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I legally took my mother’s name when I turned eighteen. This was my way of making it official.”

“Making what official?”

She couldn’t help it.
No, no. Don’t go there; don’t get personal.
But the night was already so strange, and whenever she was around Nick, her entire center seemed off-balance. And damn it, he was right. He really was totally unlike any of the men she knew.

Which was a good thing. The men she knew may seem boring by Nick’s standards, but they were good, down-to-earth people. Trustworthy. Unlike Nick.

Spinning the bowl in a slow circle on the counter, he stared into the depths of what he’d been mixing. “I didn’t want any ties to my father. The last time I spoke with him was twenty years ago. He was a bloody bastard, and I hated seeing his name every time I signed my name on something.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged. “Was getting this tattoo an immature thing to do? Probably. But it’s done now, and I’m not having it removed.”

Phoebe wondered what his father had done to make him so angry. Nick was confident, strong, and independent. It was difficult to imagine anyone making him feel bad.

At her farm, she often worked with abused kids. Every summer, a group would visit and learn about growing produce. She’d learned to distance herself somewhat from their situations so she could help them without becoming overly protective. But the thought of someone harming Nick…

It shouldn’t make her feel a bit ill inside. But it did.

Shaking the thought aside, she stepped into the kitchen and peered into the bowl of chocolate. She’d found food was always a nice distraction from stress, and Nick’s food was especially nice. “I came over because your annoying music woke me up. I mean, it’s the middle of the night. Do you really need to be blasting what you claim to be music?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did my loud tunes disrupt your beauty sleep?”

“It’s rude. You had your stereo up loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood.”

He purposely looked through the kitchen window and into the darkness of the forest. When he turned back to her and spoke, his sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. “And the neighbors would be…who?”

“Me! And Jesse and Steve.”

He shrugged. “I only see you, bumpkin.”

She stepped forward. “Listen. You can’t blast music all night long.”

He threw up his hands. “Fine. Won’t happen again. Promise. I’d hate to be the cause of anyone in the town being awake past midnight.”

“Why do you have to be such a—such a…
prick
?” Immediately she put her hand over her mouth. Had she really just called her employee a prick?

Yes, Phoebe, you did. You’re standing in your nightgown, in the middle of the night, calling your chef bad things.

He actually looked shocked. “Did you call me a prick?”

She moved her hand aside. “Um. I guess that was a bit…unprofessional.” Had she actually hurt his feelings?

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s unprofessional. I’m just shocked to hear such a bad word come out of your mouth.”

“I can say bad words.”

“Obviously.”

Okay, it was time to get some control over the situation here. She sucked in a deep, calming breath. But then her senses were filled with the sweet scent of chocolate. She glanced to the bowl on the table. “That looks good. What is it?”

“Melted chocolate, butter, and cream. Very bad for you.”

“Looks yummy.” She dipped her finger into the velvety mixture.

But then his hand was wrapped around her wrist, firm and unyielding. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Tasting.” And wondering whether she was trying to irritate him or satisfy herself.

“Stop helping yourself to whatever I’m cooking.”

She tried to yank her hand back, but he held her tightly. For such a lean man, he was incredibly strong. “Stop being so uptight,” she said. God, it was
this
. This bickering that made something in her veins quicken. And it was bad. So, so very bad.

But she liked it. What was wrong with her?

“Phoebe. Stop trying to steal my food.”

“No.” Man, it was like an addiction. A dangerous addiction. She knew everything about this was wicked, that she should walk away and be an adult. The boss.

Sadly, she couldn’t. Something in him called to her. He was like a big plate of pasta, and she was on a low-carb diet. He was bad for her; he was forbidden. And the more she tried to deny what she wanted, the more her mouth watered. The more she wanted to dig in and devour him.

This was going to end badly. She knew if she really wanted to do so, she could walk away. And yet there she was, holding his gaze. Her blood was rushing like a springwater brook.

Silently, the seconds stretched between them. Her heart went haywire. Then he said, “You really want a taste?” His gaze was direct and steadfast. Slowly, she nodded.

Oh yeah, she wanted a taste all right. A big fat forkful, smothered in sexy sauce.

Sexy sauce? Really?

And yet she nodded, because her mouth was actually watering.

For the pudding. Not for him.

For the food. Food only.

“Me first.” His stare still holding hers, he raised her hand to his lips. Then he placed her finger, dripping chocolate, to his lips.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice sounded high, shrill. Scared. But she wasn’t scared. What could she possibly be scared of?

“This.” He slid her finger into his mouth and licked, swirling his tongue around her skin, sucking off every last drop.

“S-stop.” But her breathing was fast, and her nipples were pebbling beneath her nightgown.

Oh no, no, no…

He released her wrist, and she realized her hand was shaking. What was he doing to her? “I—I’m going to go now.” She turned to move, but he reached out and grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.

“I thought you wanted a taste.”

Looking away, she closed her eyes. Every nerve in her body was thrumming with desire. For her smug chef. For this man with his own name tattooed on his chest.

She was losing her mind.

Because she did want a taste. Of more than just chocolate.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I changed my mind.”

He slanted her a wicked grin. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” But even she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.

He dipped his finger into the chocolate and brought it to her lips. “Are you sure?”

“Stop it.”

He raised a single black eyebrow. “Stop what? I’m just giving you what you want.”

“I don’t want this.”

“What?” His eyes twinkled with evil pleasure, and his voice lowered. “You don’t want this?”

She shook her head, even as her entire body was screaming something totally different.

“I don’t believe you.” And then, as light as a whisper, he brought his chocolate-covered fingertip to her mouth.

Her breath hitched, and her entire body started to tremble. Her mind was telling her to walk away. But he was so close that she could feel the heat from his body. He looked as luscious as the dessert on his fingertips, and she wanted some. She licked her lips.

“That’s it, baby. You can’t resist, can you?”

She grabbed his hand. If he could tease, so could she. Maybe she couldn’t resist this bizarre midnight tryst, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take some control of the situation. So she held his hand steady as her tongue darted out to taste the sweet tip of his finger. She saw his eyes darken, and a surge of power washed over her. So she worked it. Holding his hand, she licked him, drawing his finger into her mouth. She captured his stare with her own and sucked him deep, using her tongue to glean every last drop of chocolate off his skin.

Only when she was done did she release him.

“Oh, is that how it is, Phoebe?”

Shit.
Why did she feel as if she’d just unleashed a beast? And like a stunned animal, she didn’t—
couldn’t
—move.

Grabbing both her shoulders, he pulled her toward him. And then he kissed her.

She expected harsh, but he was shockingly gentle. He held his lips quietly against hers, not moving until she breathed. Then his mouth covered hers, his chocolate-flavored tongue softly licking her. He kissed her until her eyes drifted shut, until she felt as gooey inside as the pudding on the table.