Never Been Kissed (25 page)

She rang the doorbell again.

“Hold your horses,” he muttered and sprinted down the hallway, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

“Hey—”

Cora, her arms full of stacked blue tubs, stepped in. “Grab some of this, would you?” she asked and then all but dumped the blue tubs from her arms into his.

“Holy … what the hell is in it?”

“Meat,” she said and from what he could see over the tubs, she grabbed another cardboard box from the porch. And then she grinned at him, like a kid coming over to play.

She’s pretty when she smiles.

“Well?” she asked.

“What?”

“Show me to your kitchen,” she said.

“Right, right, of course.” He turned, nearly ran into a wall, and led her into the big open kitchen with the island that looked out onto the living room and the sliding glass door with the view to his tiny backyard.

“Well,” she said. And he was so aware of her looking around, taking in all the cobwebs and the bare walls. The big-screen television on the far wall, the stack of magazines—which he was always too tired to read—slumped over beside the couch seemed to scream,
bachelor, bar owner, feel free to sneer.
He imagined her house was cobweb free, and full of beautiful plants and important books.

“It’s just a house,” he snapped.

Her head jerked sideways like he’d smacked her and then she just looked at him. Since that day outside the permit office, the rules had changed between them.

“It’s cleaner than mine,” she said without any of her superior tone. “That’s why I wanted to do this here. Trust me, I’m not judging you.”

“Well, it’s hard to know with you.” The tubs were
heavy so he slid them onto the counter. “I have all the dirty dishes in my bathtub.”

Immediately he regretted saying it, he might as well just give her another reason to judge him, but part of him was so done with trying to pretend. He’d had a day full of it.

Whatever he expected from her, he didn’t get. She just tipped back her head and started laughing.

“Last time my mom came to visit, I hid mine under my bed. If she’d stayed any longer it would have stunk.”

She put the cardboard box on the counter next to the tubs and he realized she’d changed her clothes. She was wearing a light green sweater thing that was sort of sheer and drapey. He’d never seen her in anything like it and he got distracted by the skin he could see through the big holes in the stitches. She had a tank top underneath, but still, it was a lot more of Cora than he’d ever seen. Her skin … Christ, it practically glowed.

“Three years ago, we started off on the wrong foot,” she said. “And really there’s no reason for us not to work together. To be friends.”

“I don’t have friends,” he said. “I have a close group of people I alienate in turns.”

“Me too—I mean the friends thing. I don’t think I’ve alienated anyone but you.”

“I feel special.”

“As you should.”

He knew that about her and friendship—or rather, sensed it. She was part of the community and yet somehow apart. He’d thought for three years that she held herself above everyone but he was beginning to have his doubts.

People used to think Brody was a snob, which was ludicrous. Brody wouldn’t hold himself above a mouse. But he was shy, and the two things often got confused.

“You all right?”

He blinked, surprised. “Fine. Why?”

“Your frown is weird.”

For some reason that made him laugh. “I just had kind of a shitty day.”

“Do you want to cancel?” she asked. “I can leave this stuff here and—”

“No. No, really. I want to forget about the bad day, not the cooking lesson. Please, stay. Teach me the ways of meat.”

It sounded a little dirty and when she blushed and shook her head, his bad day got better.

Go figure.

It was strange having her in his kitchen. He liked it when she started taking jars out of the boxes, lining them up on his counter. Making herself at home.

That should make me crazy. But it doesn’t.

“Brody taking care of the bar tonight?” she asked.

“No.” Sean twisted the jar marked curry. “I hired Jim Gensler to work a few nights. Brody doesn’t take care of the bar.”

“It must be nice having your brother home.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. There was no way for him to describe how wonderful it was and at the same time how excruciating.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?” he asked. She was taking out cloves of garlic now, knobs of ginger, and yellow onions with their skins falling off.

“Nope. It was just me. Me and Mom. I used to want a little sister and sometimes I think about how different I would be if I’d had one.”

“I used to think about how different my life would be if I didn’t have my brother.” The confession was pulled up from someplace dark and hidden, an old place grown over with weeds and hidden by broken glass that never saw the light of day and he had no idea why he was telling her.

Blind, ashamed, he started helping her unpack the boxes.

“I didn’t realize things were so hard between you,” she said.

“It sucks loving someone who isn’t interested in you. In your life.” Ancho chili powder. Red pepper flakes. They hit the counter hard enough to rattle. “I used to think he did it on purpose, put all this distance around himself because he’d had it tough. And I thought, Christ, it would just be so much easier if he wasn’t my brother, you know? If I didn’t love him.”

“But you do.”

He nodded. “I do.”

When he looked up she was staring at him like she totally got it. And it was strange for a guy who was largely misunderstood; it felt weird. Good, but weird.

He reached into the bin and pulled out a giant slab of plastic-wrapped meat.

“That’s your practice brisket.” She patted the meat like it was a car she was trying to get him to buy.

“I … wow … Cora, I didn’t even think about you buying this stuff. What do I owe you?”

She took a deep breath and then leveled him with her eyes. “Sean, I’ve been overcharging you for coffee every day for three years.”

“What?”

“And your omelets. It’s terrible and I’m sorry.”

It was so underhanded, so oddly childish that he couldn’t help but laugh. “You are full of surprises,” he said.

“A couple, maybe.” She pulled a stack of recipe cards from her purse. Her smile was strange, or maybe his reaction to it was strange. Or maybe it was how good he felt and how pretty her skin was, but he felt something different in the room.

Something happy and unexpected.

“I’ve got a couple of different recipes for you to pick
from,” she said, flipping through her cards. “Tonight we’ll do some marinades and rubs. You have a grill, right?”

He’d been watching her hands, wondering what she would do if he touched her. What he would do. Because without that fence of animosity between them, he
liked
her. Liked her drive and her prickly nature; it was so like his own. But different in a million fascinating little ways that he’d like to take out and study one at a time.

“Earth to Sean.” She waved her hands in front of his face. “Grill?”

“Why are you doing this, really?” he asked.

There was suddenly a lot of attention focused on the cards in her hands. “I think a high tide lifts all the ships. If you succeed, it’s better for me.”

“You’ve been treating me like dirt under your shoe for three years.”

“You haven’t been a whole lot better to me, Sean.”

“I was jealous,” he admitted. “Really, really jealous. Of how easy you make it look. I’m floundering every day and you …” He shook his head. “You are amazing.”

Annnnd … I’ve said too much.
He grabbed a pair of scissors from the butcher block next to the sink and started cutting the plastic wrap away from the beef.

“You should do that in the sink,” she said. “Or you’ll get blood …” Watery red blood spilled out onto the counter.

Swearing a blue streak he grabbed the bag and the meat and all but tossed them into the sink. He washed his hands, getting rid of the blood that had splattered on his arms.

Great,
he thought.
Just fucking great.

For a second there Cora’d thought Sean was going to kiss her. Touch her. And she was all tingly and nervous
about that. Like a teenager. And some of that was exciting, to feel so totally on the edge of something, a wide beautiful chasm of possibility.

But then he got distracted by the beef.

Mama used to say only fools believed in luck or the generosity of the universe. Hard work and courage were the only way to turn possibility into reality.

And Cora had taken that to heart so hard, it was embedded there. Words nothing could dislodge.

And at this moment, Sean with his bright eyes that hid such dark sadness was risk personified. He glittered with chance and unknown outcomes.

She wanted to turn the possibility of him—of them—into a reality. So it was time to be brave.

When she kissed him, it was awkward. More force than finesse. No seduction. She was sort of a battering ram of lips. He let out a surprised oomph, his body going loose against her.

His lips were lovely, firm but soft; she licked the bottom one but it didn’t twitch. No response in any way.

She pulled back, turned away.

“That didn’t happen,” she said, staring down at the ribs and brisket. Spots swam in the corners of her vision.

“It didn’t?” His voice was soft and his breath touched her skin through the open weave of the stupid sweater she’d worn. She’d give anything right now for the armor of her chef whites.

“Cora.” His hand touched her elbow, his thumb sliding through one of the holes in her sweater to find the sensitive ticklish skin on the inside of her arm.

She swallowed her gasp only to groan when he turned her back around. His other hand cupped her cheek, his rough fingers gliding along her jawline. His thumb brushed her lower lip and she opened her mouth to breathe.

“Let’s try that again,” he whispered and kissed her. It
was as if someone had given him a list of how she liked to be kissed and he’d studied it. Slow and soft, taking his time. He savored her as if her upper lip had a different flavor than her lower one, as if there were something spicy in the corners of her mouth, sweetness hidden under her tongue, and he wanted to taste it all.

His body when she leaned against it was surprisingly hard, muscled. A gorgeous contrast to the lushness of his mouth.

She put her hand against his back, following the ridge of muscle from his neck down to the waistband of his jeans, and he groaned into her mouth. He dropped her elbow and wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her a little so they were flush, pressed together, and it was thrilling. Her body was pulled out of its languor by the sharp teeth of desire.

The kiss grew raw and deep and she pulled him as close as she could, wanting all the contact. All the heat and strength and warm, wet kisses she could have.

She was greedy. Always had been. And now she was greedy for him.

“Cora,” he moaned, pulling away from her lips long enough to press kisses to her neck and then to her chest through each of the holes in her sweater—which was no longer stupid, but the sexiest piece of clothing ever created.

His tongue touched the top of her shoulder. His lips worshipped the skin above her tank top. Little pieces of her skin were cherished and devoured and she melted against the counter like butter in a hot pan.

Her hand hit the cold brisket, fumbled, and knocked an onion to the ground. A knife.

This is getting dangerous.

Sean braced his hands on her hips and stepped away, his forehead still pressed to her chest, but not his lips.

They were both breathing hard.

“That knife didn’t hurt you, did it?” he asked.

She shook her head, staring up at the ceiling light.

He chuckled and pressed one hard kiss to her lips before stepping away. The blue of his eyes burned where they touched her and her belly clenched with excitement, with dark and dirty lust because the way Sean was staring at her left no room for doubt.

He wanted her.

As much as she wanted him.

“Cora,” he breathed and shifted toward her as if he were going to grab her, maybe take her down to the floor, or sweep her up in his arms and carry her into the bedroom.

Yes. Do that. Do all of that.

Because men didn’t do any of that. Not to her.

“Let’s slow down,” he said and a cool draft blew over her enthusiasm. This sounded like the beginning of rejection.

“You are
not
going to say let’s just be friends.”

“We’re not even friends, Cora. We skipped friends and went from fighting to this in a day. And I don’t even know what
this
is. Do you?”

“I don’t need a man in my life,” she said and then wanted to hit herself in the head.

“I can’t imagine you do.” He laughed. “You’re the most capable person I’ve ever met.”

Capable. Capable was not sexy. And she’d worn this sweater and brought over this meat and was trying, damn it, to be sexy.

“But … but I would like one. I’d like you.”

“Me.” He blinked at her, all owly. “Me?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t intimidate you and you didn’t want me to be your mom.”

“I didn’t treat you very well.”

“Maybe I liked that, in a way, too. It was honest.”

“But when I’d flirt—”

“That seemed dishonest and I didn’t like it. Not from you.”

“You want honest?” he asked. “How about this? I screw things up. My relationship with my brother. My dad. Poker night. Chili. This fucking BBQ idea. If you and I started something I’d find a way to screw it up.”

Oh, she saw right into the heart of him, the very center of his dream, which was living right next to all of his doubt. All the doors, all the windows between the two were thrown open and he was overrun with hope and fear.

She wondered if it was just his brother being in town that made him feel that way, or if he lived like that all the time and she’d just been blind to it. Trampling over him like he didn’t feel anything.