French Roast (23 page)

Chapter 30

J
ill and Brian fell into a pattern over the next few days. She took a nap when she got home so she could stay up late with him, and as soon as he got home from his shift, they tore each other’s clothes off. Their hours were totally lop-sided, but their schedules didn’t seem to matter.

She was sore and sated, sleep deprived and serene. Who could ask for more?

Yet the friction with Meredith still grated. And her call with her mother had gone about as well as expected. Even though she loved Brian like a son, all the rumors and revelations had made her question Jill’s judgment. Plus, didn’t she care about her reputation? The whole town was talking about them shacking up right after the French woman’s arrival. She’d tried to defend herself and Brian, but her mother had been on a tear.

Her grandpa didn’t swing by, but he called to ask if she needed anything. When she asked if he was going to give her the what-for, he said he expected Meredith and her mom had pretty much outlined his concerns. Yeah. They had.

She knew they’d done it out of love, but it still grated. And hurt.

Things with Mac clicked like clock-work. Lunches, dinners, even coffees. They were making progress, gaining more votes. The man was a genius at reading people, knowing what to say. Jill liked him more and more and thought she could easily work for him full-time.

Her mind spun out future scenarios, but none of them stuck.

Fragrant aromas of onion, garlic, and spiced meat surprised her when she swung into the door after another long day. Mutt greeted her with a drooling smile. She was glad he was back from Pete’s house. Being obligated to Pete was less welcome than shower mildew when she was too lazy to clean.

“Hey, why aren’t you at work?” she called out.

Hands on her hips, she waited for her favorite moment of the day—Greeting Time, as she called it. Brian appeared with a dish towel tucked in his snug, worn denims. The navy blue fleece only made his eyes brighter when they met hers. He leaned against the wall, all male nonchalance.

“I switched shifts with someone,” he responded, gazing from her chocolate brown boots up to her caramel-colored wool skirt to her burgundy sweater wrap, lingering on her breasts. “I told you, we’re like the Broncos.”

“Who agreed? They can have free coffee for a year.”

Was he going to pounce on her or draw things out? She never quite knew what he had in mind, but since they always ended up making love, she couldn’t complain.

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

She toyed with her smoky quartz necklace, which had seemed an appropriate choice. She
felt
smoky lately—and pretty damn happy over how easily they shared the house together. They’d become a unit faster than she would have imagined. Flicking that to the back of her mind, she sauntered forward, but Mutt ruined it when she had to step over his fat brown and white folds. The right corner of Brian’s mouth tipped up, but he didn’t move.

“I was wondering when you were going to get over here,” he murmured as she twined her arms around his neck.

She smoothed her fingers through the maple-colored hair at his nape and simply stared at him. “How was your day?” she asked as he pulled her against his hips. She gave a throaty moan. God, she was easy.

“Shut up.” He fitted his mouth to hers, taking her on a steamy, erotic ride.

Clothes flew. Being taken in the hallway against the wall was another notch in her Position Belt. When they sank to the floor, she listened to his pounding heart. Panting, she cracked her eyes open. Mutt was breathing heavily too, his saggy eyes staring right at her.

“I’m never going to get used to having your dog watch us.” She reached for her wrap, squirming.

“He’s just jealous,” Brian commented, tracing her back. “Besides, since you can’t keep your hands off me, it’s not like I can lock him away all the time. He hasn’t done anything to deserve a stint in bulldog prison.”

She snorted. “Did we burn the meal?”

He crossed his arms behind his head, naked and at ease on her floor. “After the other night, I always turn the burners down.”

“Yeah, having the fire alarm turn on as we were getting off is not something I’d care to repeat.”

He chuckled. “Thank God you don’t have a security system.”

The image made her grin, something she’d been doing a lot of lately. “Yeah, I can see it now. The firemen will come in brandishing their hoses, and I’ll say, ‘Fellas, this girl’s already got all the hose she needs.’”

His shoulders shook as he sat up. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“Me too,” she said, pulling on the rest of her clothes alongside him and following him into the kitchen.

When he served the food, she jumped up and gave him a smacker. “You made Indian food!”

“Well, I know you love it, so I figured I’d give it a try.” He pushed her back into her chair.

His thoughtfulness made her heart squeeze in a good way. “You’re the best.”

She dove into the butter chicken and squealed at the steaming naan bread. The sticky rice released a coconut fragrance, calling to mind exotic beaches.

“If you moan any more, I won’t be able to keep these pants on,” he finally remarked when she served herself a second helping.

“Take them off then,” she ordered, waving the spoon with rice stuck to it. “This meal deserves a few good moans.”

He edged the naan closer. “You’ve given off more than a few. It’s like a chorus.”

She smirked. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a few good moans later.”

He ripped a sliver of bread. “Can’t wait. So, tell me about your day.”

Talking about her day wasn’t the mundane recanting she’d feared. The stories could be as dull as dirt, and he would still smile. Ask questions. Laugh when she mentioned something funny. Then she would do the same for him. It was like comedy hour.

He produced a chocolate mousse for dessert—something non-Indian since they both agreed sweets with rice didn’t work. She moaned some more as the hazelnuts and bittersweet chocolate hit her mouth.

After they finished eating and cleaned up the dishes, she took his hand and led him into the family room.

“Now I’m going to do something nice for you,” she said, unable to contain her smile. This was going to be so much fun.

His lashes lowered, and he ran his nose along the length of her neck. “I can’t wait.”

She shoved him back playfully. “Not that—yet.” Walking over to her stereo, she hit the play button.

Abba’s classic song, “Dancing Queen,” rolled out. Her hips wiggled to the beat.

He sunk back onto the couch, groaning. “Please tell me you’re at least going to give me a strip tease or a lap dance.”

Snorting, she grabbed his hands and tried to pull him up. Thankfully, he didn’t resist, but he groaned again.

“Seriously, Jill. Abba?”

“You know how much I love them. Plus, this is how I’m going to help you.”

He stared at her patiently. “By ruining my taste for music?”

Her hand punched him in the chest. “Hey, you don’t like me making fun of Julia Child, so don’t make fun of Abba.” She looped her arms around his neck. “I got to thinking about the past.”

His gorgeous eyes narrowed. “Okay…”

“Every time we went to a school dance together, you put on a horrible exhibition of White Man’s No-Rhythm Syndrome. I’m here to help you overcome it.”

His breath sucked in. “Are you saying I can’t dance?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Yes.”

“Hey, I’ve got moves.” He pulled her to his hips and moved against her slowly.

“Yes, in the bedroom,” she replied, taking a deep breath and putting more space between them. “Now we’re going to translate them to the dance floor.”

“No way,” he said and reached for the TV remote.

Was that a red flush spreading up his neck? “Come on. Show me what you can do.”

He paused. “Like now? Come on, Jill.
Please.
”

Oh heavens. He was begging? “Bri, I love to dance, and you need serious help. I didn’t feel it was right about intervening back then, but don’t you remember Jemma trying to show you a few things?” Her smile dimmed for a moment at the thought. God, she missed her friend.

His mouth twisted. “I
thought
she was being sweet. She was trying to stop me from embarrassing myself?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said half-heartedly. Not if you called jerky hand motions and hip gyrations smooth.

“Great,” he said, falling back on the couch. “If I agree you were always the better dancer, and I felt like a moron next to you, can we stop this?”

“No.” She pulled him back up. “Come on, this will be fun. Plus, you get to put your hands all over me like you always wanted to at those school dances we attended. Why did you always ask me anyway? You could have gone with other girls.” Hadn’t she always wondered?

He lifted a shoulder. “We were a foursome, you, Jemma, Pete, and me, remember? The Four Musketeers. I wasn’t going to mess with that on one of the biggest nights of the year. Plus, I liked buying you a corsage and picking you up. Seeing you all dressed up. You were always beautiful—even in that purple satin dress that I kept tripping over junior year. I guess it was my way of going out with you without changing how things were between us.”

A soft glow encased her heart. “I loved that dress. Those are great memories.”

His mouth tipped up. “The best.”

“Okay, let’s get started,” she said, re-playing “Dancing Queen.”

“You’re going to make me listen to it again?” he asked.

“Stop whining. It’s my favorite song, so you’ll be hearing lots of it. Now, I want you to watch me.” She closed her eyes and let her body sway to the music. Her hips wove a perfect figure eight. Her arms floated as if suspended on clouds.

“I could watch you all night,” he murmured.

Her eyes flickered open. Sure enough, he was watching her with a heavily lidded expression. She knew what that look meant. Her heart rate increased. She held out her hands. “Dance with me.”

He rose as smoothly as a tiger. His palms slid slowly over hers before she took his hands and settled them around her waist. She rested her own hands on the defined muscles of his shoulders. Heat poured off him. She took another step closer, so that there was barely a hairsbreadth between them.

“Move with me,” she said.

“Oh, I plan to,” he responded, his tone wicked.

And yet, even as she tried to fall under the spell of the music, she could feel the uncertainty in him.

“Stop fighting it,” she counseled.

“Stop leading,” he fired back, jerking his hips against hers.

She angled her head back and cupped his face. His stubble shot fire through her fingertips and up her arms. “Close your eyes.”

He rolled his.

“Hey!” she said, wanting this for them, another connection, another thing for them to enjoy together. “I said close your eyes.”

This time he did, but his mouth tipped up like he was fighting off a laugh. She pulled away. “Keep them closed.”

Dimming the lights, she lit some sandalwood incense and the candles on the coffee table.

Her second favorite Abba song started to play, “Knowing Me, Knowing You.” He’d stopped moving, but his eyes were still shut.

“Are you planning on inviting some hippies over later?” he quipped.

“Shut up,” she whispered as she returned to him, pulling him close. “Now, keep your eyes closed and feel me.”

Her body brushed his in perfect time to the beat. His hands remained firmly on her hips where she’d planted them. She slid across his torso, breaking his hold, and then flowed to the spot directly behind him. His breathing changed.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice husky.

Instead of responding, she kept dancing around him, sliding her hand across his body—his chest, his back, even cruising down to his spectacularly tight ass.

His hands finally brushed tentatively against her. The incense rose in her nostrils, its scent exotic and tantalizing. When she went to make another pass around his body, his strong arms pulled her close. His body seemed to know her, moving against her with the perfection they found when they were making love. Her eyes closed. “Mama Mia” started to play, and the heat rose between them as her head lolled from side to side with the music.

Brian’s fingers trailed up her back. His erection pressed into her hip, but he continued to brush gently against her, finding the beat. She surrendered to the rhythm, to him. Her hands twined around his neck, his hot skin enticing her.

When his hands settled on her butt, she sputtered out a laugh. “You certainly learn fast.”

“I couldn’t dance with you like this when we were in high school, but you can be sure I thought about it. Why do you think guys always let girls walk ahead of them?”

Their bodies continued to sway, but she knew his eyes were open. His eyes were like hot coals when she looked into them.

“Not out of being a gentleman?” she asked, her own voice breathy from arousal.

“No, it’s to watch a girl’s ass,” he said in a hushed tone. “I’m glad you thought of this, Jill.”

Her smile was easy. “Me too. Dance with me, Bri.”

They continued to move against each other, their bodies brushing together.

When she could resist no more, she pulled his head down for a hot, wet kiss. They continued to move to the music. But soon, her body could take no more. She had to have him. Right now.

Pushing him lightly on the chest, he danced backwards with her to the couch until he fell back. She undressed slowly in front of him, letting her body sway to the music as he watched. It was unbearably arousing.

He seemed to know she wanted to be in charge, and testing her new confidence, she undressed him as slowly as she’d undressed herself. Sinking to her knees in front of him, she met his heated gaze.

“Now it’s my turn to try something new,” she whispered, and even though a moment of nerves entered, she took his arousal in her hand.

His mouth broke out into a smile. “Don’t fight it,” he joked, using her words.

Right. Good idea. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and then lowered her mouth onto him. As she’d done for him, he guided her through the movements until she got the hang of it. An inner knowing took over—as it had when they’d made love the first time—and with his hands guiding her head, she brought him to a heated release.