The Right Choice(32)
Author: Carly Phillips

“You’re a hazard in the kitchen,” she said in a husky voice.

“Look who’s talking. Dress like that and expect results.” He laughed and she joined him. For the first time she didn’t pull back or appear to mentally berate herself for her desire. Progress? A start? Or just an aberration? he wondered.

She pointed to the large metal pot. “You have lobsters to cook,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“Then get going… before I get distracted again.”

Carly didn’t miss the desire in his gaze and opted to bolt for the deck. She kept herself busy setting the table, opening a bottle of wine and contemplating the wisdom of inviting Mike for dinner. She’d convinced herself she could get to know him without any complications. He’d been in the kitchen all of thirty seconds and common sense had deserted her.

The last time in her apartment, she’d been devastated by the fact that when she should have been seeking comfort, she’d only felt desire. Now while seeking to prove to herself that she could exert self-control, it all but deserted her.

What would happen if she gave in? a little voice in her head asked. Gave herself over to Mike, to passion, to all the emotions she’d taught herself to fear? The answer came easily and without thought. She’d fall in love… if she hadn’t already. And then what?

The man had a penchant for travel and danger. He wasn’t the type to settle down, and even if she could get past the fear of their explosive chemistry, she wanted someone who would put her first. How could she love a man who might never make it home? How could she have the safe family she wanted, or subject children to his kind of unstable life? No, she thought sadly, their future just didn’t exist.

She deliberately ignored the shaft of pain the thought caused, attributing it to hunger. “How long does it take to boil the damn lobsters anyway?” she muttered aloud.

* * *

Carly picked up the nutcracker and attempted to tackle a large lobster claw. The shell cracked. Mike’s startled laugh surprised her, and she looked up to find him wiping water from his face with a paper napkin.

“You squirted me.” He grinned.

“Sorry.” She licked freshly drawn butter off her fingers and stared at the large claw on her plate. “I forgot lobster’s like spaghetti. It’s a no-no on the first date.”

“So is corn on the cob.” With a grin, he took a large bite. “So it’s a good thing this isn’t a first date.” He waved the corn in the air as he spoke. “We’re way beyond first impressions, remember?”

She leaned back in her chair and swirled the wine in her goblet. “What were your first impressions, anyway?”

He rested on one elbow and turned to study her. “I thought you were sexy as hell and I wanted you,” he said in a low, steady voice.

“Oh.” She felt her lips move, heard her response, but her brain had ceased to function. Her body, on the other hand, leapt to life. Every nerve ending tingled in delicious anticipation of his touch. Even her br**sts felt unnaturally heavy. She waited for him to reach for her.

Instead he asked, “What were your first impressions?” The gold flecks in his eyes danced with delight, in obvious anticipation of her response.

“I thought the police ought to do a better job of patrolling the city streets,” she said, treating him to one of her sweetest smiles. After all, his rugged charm had nearly sent her running in the opposite direction.

Before she could gloat over her comeback, his arm reached out and his hand grasped her wrist, pulling her close. The warmth of his touch seared her skin. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you what happens to women with smart mouths?” His face was inches from hers.

“No. Why don’t you show me?” The wine had dulled her more rational self and replaced it with a courage she didn’t ordinarily possess. Nothing else explained such bold, wanton behavior, especially in light of her self-revelations earlier. But those revelations had served another purpose besides shedding light on the future. They’d made her realize she couldn’t give up the present. It was all they had.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and he slanted his mouth across hers. He kissed her softly, gently. She had expected the hot intensity of their past encounters. His tenderness caught her off guard.

Nothing could have surprised her more than the reverent way he caressed her mouth. He wet her lips with his tongue, then rubbed his own against hers, soaking up the moisture. He created a damp path down the side of her neck and up to her ear, where he paused and nibbled the lobe with his teeth. As if from a distance, she heard her own satisfied moan.

The cool ocean air hit wet areas of skin and she shivered. His thumb traveled the same path as his lips, drying the moisture and warming her at the same time. The gentleness of the gesture shocked her, causing a lump to form deep in her throat.

She drew a deep breath and waited for the sensual onslaught to continue. His fingers merely traced the outline of her mouth. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into his. Her body felt alive with need. She ached for him, yet a part of her knew she should call a halt to this now. It wasn’t too late.

Nervously she ran her tongue over her lips, coming into contact with the rough pad of his thumb. His skin tasted salty and warm, making her wonder what other tastes and textures awaited her. She wanted Mike with a depth of feeling that surpassed mere passion. As she contemplated those rampant emotions, she feared she had been wrong. Perhaps it was too late. For a lot of things.

Slowly, he removed his hand from her soft lips. “When you said feast, you weren’t kidding.” He pointed to the table. With difficulty, Mike changed the topic to more mundane issues. Like food.

Her forehead creased in confusion and she fingered her bangs in the nervous gesture he’d come to anticipate and enjoy at the same time. Mike stilled her hand with his and groaned. He’d had no choice but to stop. Every time he kissed her, her honest, open response startled him. When they made love—and he didn’t kid himself that it might not happen—he wanted her acceptance to be made knowingly. Not in the throes of passion. After his glimpse into her innermost fears, he owed her at least that.

“You liked the dinner?” she finally asked, regaining her composure.

“Loved it. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me.”

“As it turned out, you did the cooking.”

“Yeah, but only because their screams of pain didn’t bother me.”