Perfect for You (15 page)

It was her sister, but he wasn't going to mention that. The kid had been feeding him "tips" all week. He ignored most of them, but some of them seemed like no-brainers.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Absolutely nothing." If Freya found out her sister had sold her out, even for such a good cause, shit would hit the fan—and it wouldn't be good for either Anna or him.

She narrowed her eyes as though she didn't believe him, but then she shook her head and turned to her food. She nibbled on a cracker mounded with caviar. She set it down and pushed around a thin slice of fois gras.

In all the meals they had shared together, he'd never seen her play with her food. Usually, she attacked it with great enthusiasm. "Don't you like it?"

She looked up, meeting his gaze boldly in that direct way he loved. "I do. It's delicious. It's just that it's not what I'm craving."

"What are you craving?"

An impish gleam lit her eyes. "Dessert."

"What kind of dessert were you hoping for?"

She tapped a finger against her lips, her mouth turned up at the corners coyly.

Smiling, anticipating, he leaned back in his chair and waited.

"Something creamy and rich. I might be able to do cakey if it's really moist."

How could an ordinary word like "moist" sound so carnal coming from her mouth? It brought all kinds of images to his mind—mostly of velvety pink flesh laved by his tongue till it was swollen and juicy. "I think we can arrange that."

His hand wasn't raised halfway before the maitre d' was at their table. The man's eyes took in their untouched food. "Is the first course not satisfactory?"

"The food is great, but we would like to skip ahead to dessert."

"Very well, Mr. Cavanaugh. And the other courses?"

"Hold them until further notice."

"Yes, sir."

Greg wondered how they did it, but it seemed like two seconds later there was a server at their table wheeling in an array of desserts that must have taken an architectural genius to put together.

Freya pursed her lips, examining the selections carefully, a slight frown marring her brow. "I can't decide which one to have. They all look fabulous."

Turning to the server, he said, "We'll have one of each. To share."

"Very good, sir."

Greg and Freya watched him place a large portion of each one on a platter. Before he set it on the table between them, he cleared all the plates and silverware except for one dessert fork and a teaspoon for each of them. After making sure that their champagne and water glasses were filled, he wheeled the dessert cart out again.

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Cavanaugh?" their host asked.

"We'd like some privacy. We'll call for you if we need anything." Greg lifted his eyebrow, silently communicating that he expected no interruptions.

Which the maitre d' understood. After all, that was what he was being paid for. "Excellent, sir." He left as unobtrusively as he arrived.

"I've died and gone to heaven," Freya murmured, eyeing the plate of decadence with excitement.

He smiled at how she was smacking her lips together in anticipation of the first bite. "Have at it."

She pulled the plate a couple inches closer to her, throwing him a quick glance as if she were making sure he wouldn't pull it back. Then she slowly rotated it, clockwise and then counterclockwise, sniffing each concoction before moving on to the next one.

Amused, he sipped at the champagne and watched. He was content to sit there all night and watch her eat the entire plate if that made her happy.

When she was back where she started, she dipped her fork into the first piece, taking a miniscule tidbit and delicately tasting it. Once she cleared her palate with some water, she moved on to the next piece.

Greg wasn't sure how long her little ritual took before she finished sampling each dessert. Her attention was so completely captured by the sweets he wasn't sure she remembered he was in the vault with her. Not that he minded. How could he when she was eating with such rapture?

She looked up, blinking at him in surprise. "What? Aren't you eating?"

"I wasn't sure that you'd share." He grinned. "Do you like it?"

"It's divine." She tilted her chin to the side, considering him with the glint in her eyes that didn't fail to get his blood pumping. "Want to try?"

"What man could resist that invitation?" He leaned forward and waited.

As she stretched to meet him, the neckline of her dress pouted open, exposing not enough of her left breast for his tastes. He almost didn't notice that she was holding out a forkful of dessert to him.

"It's a ginger crme brulŽe," she explained as he ate the mouthful she fed him. "All the desserts have ginger as the main ingredient. Amazing, isn't it? Since ginger is my favorite. The staff you hired must be clairvoyant, or else there was a huge clearance sale on crystallized ginger."

He simply hummed innocently.

"It's very sweet. You ordering ginger desserts for me, not the desserts themselves." She scooped another bite onto the fork. "This one is a napoleon layered with cream and ginger."

He dutifully ate what she offered. "You know, while I'm enjoying this immensely, there's a better way to go about it."

"Really." The wry tilt of her mouth suggested that she could guess which direction he was heading toward.

"Yes, but are you daring enough?"

"Are you challenging me?"

"Are you up for a challenge?"

"I think this is a challenge I can sink my teeth into."

"God, I hope so," he mumbled fervently, and he moved his seat around the table so it was situated right next to hers. He took off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. Pointing to the dessert that looked chocolaty, he asked, "What is this one?"

"I think that one could appropriately be called ÔDeath by Chocolate, Ginger as Accomplice.'"

Her husky voice grabbed him low. He pointed to the towering piece of cake that had more layers than the Empire State Building had floors. "And this one?"

Her eyes fell to his lips before looking to see what he was indicating. Her gaze focused again on his mouth when she turned back to him. He didn't have to wonder if she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. "Ginger cake," she said. "It's my favorite."

He rolled his sleeves up, taking his time. He understood the appeal of delayed gratification. When Freya shifted impatiently in her seat, he stifled his grin. At least he wasn't the only one dying here.

Dragging two fingers through the cake, he held them out to her. She hesitated for one heartbeat before she met them with her tongue, meticulously lapping every last bit of frosting though she barely touched his skin.

He offered her another morsel. With the first swipe of her tongue, she swallowed most of the cake; the second was a more careful cleaning of his fingers. She drew her tongue lightly over the tips before licking away the sweet residue left by the frosting.

He felt it down to his very core.

With the next bite he offered, she wrapped her mouth around his fingers and sucked.

God
damn.

She sucked lightly, occasionally flicking her tongue. He knew his jaw must have gone slack, but he was powerless to do anything.

She knew she'd effectively turned the tables because her lips curved as she worked on his hand.

"I like this a lot too," she said. Dunking her finger in the crme brulŽe, she drew a line of custard on his lips and promptly licked them clean.

He cleared his throat. "I don't know. If you like the cake, maybe you should stick with that."

"Maybe you're right." Spreading enough whipped cream around his mouth to last for a good while, she began to feast. There was so much that soon she was covered in it as well, and he couldn't tell who was eating who clean.

Not that it mattered. He was hard pressed to have any coherent thoughts as the taste of sugar and ginger and Freya melted on his tongue.

She broke away from him, pushing on his shoulder lightly with her forearm. "You haven't tried the chocolate one yet. That one seemed like the one you'd prefer."

He almost groaned at her clear invitation to tease her as she was teasing him. He didn't need to be told twice. "Chocolate
is
one of my favorite things," he said as he reached to scoop up what looked like mousse.

He knew she waited for him to return to her mouth, but because he wanted her as completely off-balance as he was, he smeared it down the side of her neck and followed the creamy trail with his mouth.

He felt her low moan deep inside. She tipped her head back, allowing him better access. He could taste her underneath the chocolate, and it was by far more irresistible than anything he had ever sampled.

She sighed. "Maybe I could grow to love chocolate."

"I'm willing to help you expand your horizons," he murmured against her neck. He lifted his head and nipped her lower lip, which was enticingly swollen from their kisses. "Your lips are somewhere near the top of my list of favorite things about you."

"Just somewhere near the top?"

"Right behind your laugh, your wit, and your anklet."

She pulled back from him, grinning. "My anklet? Do you have some sort of fetish I should know about?"

"I never did before, but I think I'm quickly developing one."

Her laugh was cut off when he kissed her. Needing to feel her closer, he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping one arm around her waist. He groaned as she wiggled against him. Her arms reached around, and the feel of her hands in his hair and on his skin was delectable.

She pulled his head back by his hair so her lips were just out of reach. With darkly glowing orange eyes, she said, "I want more cake."

"You know what?" He speared his fingers into her hair. "I have just what you need."

Greg reached for the dessert plate and offered it to her.

Without taking her eyes from his, she unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from his slacks. Then she scooped a bit of cake and spread it from his neck down to his chest.

Groaning, he threw his head back and tightened his grip on her. His blood roared through him as her hands touched him, as her teeth nibbled the cake from his skin. He rocked his pelvis into her, needing relief from the building pressure. "Freya, you're killing me."

"You'll die happy," she promised, licking frosting from him.

"You know what would make me happy?" Without waiting for a reply, he reached up and unclasped the hooks at her neck. The dress slid down her chest to her waist, leaving her torso completely nude.

She sat up, surprise written on her face. "You figured that out quickly."

"I'm very educated." He just stared at her, taking her in. Her graceful neck gave way to sculpted shoulders and slim elegant arms. Her skin was pale, smooth, and silky. Her breasts were small but round and high.

Her nipples caused his mouth to go dry.

He'd entertained many fantasies about them since he'd met her. They were always tauntingly prominent through her clothes.

Reality was more arousing than anything he had dreamed.

They'd taste sweet to his tongue.

Looking up into her eyes so he could gauge her reaction, he ran a finger over one.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, she let out a shuddery breath as her head fell back. "Greg."

He wrapped his arms around her and lapped at her breast, touching it so softly with his tongue to drive her crazy.

Her hands pulling his head closer, she fed herself to him with more force. She cried out incoherently as he feasted on the tip. To his ears it sounded desperate, which was exactly how he wanted her.

He plied her other breast with the same treatment until she was writhing on his lap. Knowing they both needed more, he stood up, holding on to her until her legs supported her. Her dress pooled at their feet, and as his gaze swept down her body he couldn't help growling in hunger at the perfect sight of her standing there in nothing but silvery shoes.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. "Yes," she whispered, digging her hands into his biceps before running them down his chest, stopping at the waist of his pants and lightly rubbing her fingers back and forth across his abdomen.

He groaned. Then he reached beyond her and shoved aside all the plates on the table.

She laughed as the china crashes to the floor. "I don't think our maitre d' is going to be pleas—
Greg
."

He lifted her, set her on the cleared table top, and dragged his tongue from one nipple to the other. He lowered his head, down to nip the skin around her belly button. "It's not the maitre d' I'm worried about pleasing," he murmured against her stomach.

"Then I don't think you have much to worry about." She exhaled a low moan as he placed open-mouthed kisses along the edge of her hipbone.

"You're not wearing panties."

"You're so observant," she said with a breathless laugh.

He enveloped her ass with his hands and lifted her up to his mouth. He wanted to plunge into her—his body strained with the effort to keep under control. "The first time we make love, I'm going to take my time. It's going to be frenzied, explosive, and shattering, but it's going to take forever. I'm going to spread you on my bed and keep you there for hours. Forever. But until thenÉ"

He raised her a bit more and kissed her feminine lips.

Her arms flailed and a few more dishes fell off the edge of the table as she pushed up to meet his mouth. He nuzzled the crease between her legs with his nose, inhaling her scent deeply before dipping his tongue in and stroking up in one long move.

She hissed, her hips jerking. He did it again, and again, until she was writhing on the table, crying out incoherently.

Knowing she needed more, he wrapped his mouth around her clit and sucked, increasing pressure gently until she thrashed against him.

She screamed, her body spasming wildly. Her thighs closed around his head as she rode out the wave of pleasure. He kept it up until the ripples were subsiding into gentle shudders, and then he slowly increased the pressure again.