Cooking Up A Seduction Page 8

  “How do you know?” The rhythmic pounding grew more insistent.

  Her hands stilled and she hung her head, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I don’t know if they’ll stop, but I really, really want them to.”

  Her wants went unheeded by whoever beat on the door. Reality began to seep through the hormones, making Cameron wonder if he hadn’t been saved by the bell, or the knock as it were.

  Lauren stomped her foot against the floor and uttered a string of curses he never would have suspected she knew. Twisting her arms behind her back, she fixed her bra and pouted as she looked at him. “You’re not the hide in the bedroom type, are you?”

  “Afraid not.” Cameron tried to smile as he buttoned his shirt and stuffed his tie into his pocket.

  “Lauren, don’t make me get my key!” the door barely muffled the insistent female voice.

  “Who’s that?” Cameron asked, tucking his shirt back into his pants and begging his erection to disappear. Knowing the odds of that miracle occurring weren’t good, he stepped behind a chair and hoped for the best.

  “That is a dead woman.”

  “Trying to break down your door?” The knocking continued, no signs of relenting.

  “I’m going to kill her, simple as that.”

  “So you know who’s knocking.” Lauren nodded, her hands smoothing her disheveled hair. “How long will she do that?”

  “I’m not sure. Until I open the door, I’m guessing.” Lauren stomped to the door and opened it a crack. “Go away.”

  “You’re not getting married to someone we’ve never met.”

  Lauren stumbled back as the door pushed open, two small women stepping into the room. The tiny blonde with the heart shaped face looked embarrassed, but the brunette leading the charge seemed anything but.

  “I’m not getting married.” Lauren followed them into the room. The brunette turned to the blonde.

  “You said she was.” The brunette turned to the blonde.

  “No, I said she was dating someone and they should have red roses at the reception.” The blonde shrugged her shoulders and offered him a smile.

  “Enough!” Lauren’s jaw clenched and she stood between Cameron and her friends. “Christa, Nyla, you need to go back across the hall and mind your own damned business.”

  “Not a chance.” The brunette sidestepped Lauren, quickly crossing the room so she stood next to him. “Are you playing some kind of game with my friend?”

  Cameron shook his head and drew in a slow breath. How best to escape this soap opera unscathed?

  “Christa! That is enough.” Lauren charged across the room, leaving the blonde, Nyla, wide-eyed in the entryway.

  “What kind of man proposes to someone he just met?” Christa narrowed her dark eyes, the challenge evident. But Cameron knew well how to deal with a challenge.

  “We’re definitely not engaged. But we met over a year ago. I’ve been living in New York, which is why I haven’t met Lauren’s friends. I’m Cameron, and you are?”

  “Christabel Kenney.” She turned her narrow gaze on Lauren. “Is he why you haven’t dated in a year?”

  Cameron fought to keep his composure. She came on to him so strong, with such confidence, he thought for sure she played this game often. What did it mean that she didn’t, that he didn’t, and yet here they were?

  Lauren reached for her friend’s arm, puckering the blouse beneath her clenched hand. “Can we please discuss this later? You’ve met Cameron, and now you can go.”

  She shrugged off Lauren’s grasp. “I’m glad to hear you are just dating, but that means we should all get to know each other. Has your mother met him yet?”

  “I left New York on the red eye Friday night.” Cameron grasped the back of the chair, squeezing the upholstery in his hands. “There hasn’t been much time for a meet and greet.”

  “Just enough time to start hooking up with my hopelessly romantic friend.”

  “Since when did you become a gossip troll?” Lauren moved to stand beside him, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Since when did you start keeping secrets? You’re the most honest person I know, or thought I knew, until Ny came home with a story about dozens of red roses and planning your wedding.”

  He laid a hand on Lauren’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, the muscles tense beneath his fingers. She looked like a cat about to pounce. “Ladies, really, there is nothing to fight over. Lauren and I are seeing where this goes now that we are on the same side of the country.”

  “So we have time to plan an engagement party?” Nyla asked, her expression hopeful as she stepped closer, joining the conversation.

  “We’re not rushing into anything.” He offered up his best smile.

  “Except a relationship.” Christa’s stare laid heavy on them both.

  He had to laugh; it was the only way he knew to break the tension. It worked, forcing even the firing squad to smile.

  “So Cameron, tell me, what do you like best about my friend?” Christa opened her eyes wide enough so he could see they were blue, but gave him no more. As difficult as she was, Cameron appreciated Lauren inspired such loyalty in others.

  “I like the way she talks.” True, and safer than mentioning her wild eyes or amazing figure, or even his unexpected need for a girlfriend.

  “Me too.” Christa smiled and dropped her aggressive stance.

  “What do you mean, the way I talk?” Lauren’s puzzled expression made him smile wider. “You’re New Yorker accent comes out when you talk fast, you know. The Harvard polish wears right off when you’re feeling festive. I don’t have an accent.”

  “Feeling festive?”

  “Drinking.”

  “Ah.” He looked to her friends for empathy, and was rewarded by their knowing smiles. “I have an early meeting, so I think I’ll leave you ladies to talk this out.”

  Lauren caught his hand. “You don’t have to go. They’re leaving.”

  Nothing could keep him in that apartment, with a battle about to break out, and Lauren affecting him in ways he could not allow. “I’ll see you later.”

  He squeezed her hands, then released them, grabbing his coat. He walked out the door without looking back, not stopping to breathe until safely inside the elevator when he trusted himself not to run back into her apartment and take her up on everything she had to offer.

  “You two are officially the worst best friends in the history of history.” Lauren stood in front of her door and glared at the two women feigning innocent expressions.

  “I like him. He needs a little help with his hair, but I’ll fix that.” Christa grinned. Actually grinned.

  “There is nothing wrong with his hair.” He might keep his hair a tad too short for her liking, but she didn’t want Christa to add him to her list of clients.

  “Except he looks like a stockbroker.”

  “He’s a venture capitalist. Not the spikes and highlights type, so hands off his head.”

  “I’ll leave his head to you babe.” Christa leaned against the chair and crossed her bare ankles. She hadn’t even put on shoes to make this stampede. “But, I do want to know exactly what is going on. How is it you can be so serious about someone I’ve never met?”

  “It just happened.”

  “That you met him, or that you decided to be his blushing bride?”

  No way could she admit to both, so she went for the lesser of the two evils. “We’re not getting married anywhere but in Nyla’s head.”

  “So that’s why you don’t have a ring.” Nyla slid onto the crimson chaise. “I know a jewelry artist who could design something.”

  “Cameron will handle that when the time is right.” Another line she’d have to draw. No fake weddings, and no fake engagement rings. Some things had to stay sacred.

  “It seems so out of the blue. Kind of like a natural disaster.”

  Part of Lauren knew Christa’s worry had merit, but the part that had her hopes pinned on fun tonight d
idn’t care to have her motivations analyzed. Especially when they were so transparent. She wanted a friend with benefits. She wanted to be the naughty girl, the kind Christa could be without thinking, but Lauren needed safety and stability to manage.

  She liked him, probably too much to keep visions of coupledom from dancing in her head. But she knew what she’d signed on for. She just didn’t know how to make him offer up his assets again.

  “Listen Christa, I have my emergency preparedness kit. I know he seems like a flash flood in my dating desert, but everything will work out. No worries.”

  “Don’t let him push you into anything.”

  She’d been the one pushing. Not that he didn’t match her move for move, but she’d love for him to shove her in the right direction.

  “He’s not. First thing tomorrow we’ll fill out all the forms, stand in line and get our couple card so you won’t worry. Honestly, I don’t interrogate you when you bring someone home.”

  “That’s because I bring a guy home to get my rocks off. You’re a good girl. You hold out until you get a promise of a rock.”

  Not this time. This time she’d get what she needed without the mess. Maybe it wasn’t all she wanted it to be, but it was all she could figure her way into having.

  Lauren drew a deep breath, the scent of Cameron’s cologne still in the air. “It’s late, let’s all get some rest and pretend you both didn’t just ruin my night like a recess monitor blowing the whistle in the middle of a pick-up game.”

  “In the middle?” Nyla frowned. Finally some sympathy from someone.

  “No,” Lauren smiled, remembering the glint in his blue eyes. “Just second base.”

  Hot water sluiced across Lauren’s body, rivulets coursing across her bare breasts, over her taut belly, down her long legs. With one last rinse to her hair, darkened to a warm red by the water, she shut off the shower and stepped out onto the mat. Reaching for a fluffy white towel, she wrapped it around her body, tucking the ends across her breasts. With another towel she wrapped her hair, twisting it on top of her head.

  A bottle of lotion sat on the counter and she pumped a creamy pink mound into her open palm. She propped one leg on the countertop and began working the lotion into her foot, ankle, and calf.

  Placing her foot back on the ground she reached for the lotion again. With a gasp she froze, fixated on the image in the foggy mirror. She turned slowly to face him, a smile spreading across her face.

  He lifted her onto the countertop, reaching for the lotion himself. Warming the cool mixture in his hands, the warm smell of pear wafting to his nose.

  He knelt before her, giving the same attention to her foot, ankle, calf that she had. Then he spread her knees slightly, catching the scent of her arousal in the heavy air. Pumping more lotion into his hand he applied it first to one knee, and then the other. His fingertips on the back of her knees made her gasp, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. He continued his ministrations until her legs relaxed more, opening her to him.

  Scooting her foreword on the counter he applied lotion to the tops of her thighs, the outsides, lingering on her hips, the backs, and then the insides inching closer and closer to the heat of her.

  Pumping more lotion into his hand he lifted one of her hands from the counter and began making long strokes from her wrists to her shoulder. She shook her head, but said nothing when he arched and eyebrow. She’d asked him to make her wait, and he intended to.

  His palms glided across her smooth skin, working the lotion into her other arm until it was soft as silk. With more lotion he went to work on her shoulders, massaging out the tension until her head drooped against her chest.

  With one finger, he lifted her chin. Fire flashed in her green gaze as he pulled back the sides of the towel, letting it fall to the counter.

  She straightened her posture, presenting herself to him. It was his turn to shake his head as he stepped between her legs, reaching around to work lotion into the muscles of her back. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her peaked nipples rubbed against his. In the mirror his darker hands against her creamy skin made his mind thrum with possibility, need. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait, let alone make her wait.

  He rubbed the smooth planes of her muscles to calm himself, not nearing the curve of her bottom until he regained control. She wiggled beneath his hands, writhing and pressing, and wrapping her ankles around his back, locking him into place.

  He looked into her eyes, ravenous with lust. The world had melted so only Lauren, wet and willing, existed. Predatory feelings consumed his every thought so that nothing mattered, but having her, now.

  Stroking the silken skin of her arms, he lifted them up and draped them across his shoulders so he could have free access to her pert breasts. He took a deep breath to steady himself, his lungs filling with the steam from her shower, the pear from the lotion, and her arousal. He ran a hand across her toned stomach, running his palms up until he cupped the weight of both breasts. In front of his eyes her nipples tightened even more, ripening into tight raspberries.

  He drew circles with his thumbs, making the circles tighter with each pass until her fingers dug into his shoulders. The unhurried, purposeful exploration pushed him over the edge. He dipped his head, laving one ripened peak with his tongue. She arched against him and he pulled the beaded tip into his mouth.

  Her moans echoed through the small room, making his cock grow impossibly hard. But he’d waited so long, he didn’t want to rush over anything. Learning, teasing, licking, and sucking until he couldn’t wait any longer.

  Releasing her breasts he trailed one hand down her stomach and the other over her shoulder to her neck, threading his fingers in her still damp hair and plundering her mouth with a kiss. His free hand dipped down, down into nothing.

  “Cloudy with increasing rain as the day goes on; heaviest from Seattle north through mid-evening, then widespread rain throughout the Puget Sound area later tonight. Lows tonight in the upper thirties to low forties.”

  Cameron sat up straight in bed, blinking in the darkness. His fist came down hard on the alarm clock stating four fifteen in bright red numbers. He pulled cool dry air into his lungs, searching for the steam and pears, and Lauren.

  Of course none of it existed. And it would have to end where his knowledge of her body ended. He shook his head hard, trying to knock some sense into his brain.

  Throwing back the comforter, he stumbled to the bathroom and flicked on the bright florescent lights. Setting the dial for cold, he looked down at his cock, straining hopefully against his belly.

  He’d been hoping only his dick was fascinated with Lauren, physical attraction could be ignored. Resisting her would be easy, if he didn’t have to see her, smell her, wrap his arm around her at every opportunity. But dreaming about her, wishing to live the dream, meant an emotional, mental connection he could not risk. Ever. But did he still have a choice?

  Seven

  Potted chrysanthemums stood cheerful guard on either side of the front door, their defiant blossoms issuing bright pink bursts of hope into the drizzly afternoon. Lauren held her key in her hand and wondered about knocking. Politeness lost the battle, and she unlocked the door, stepping into the warm foyer.

  “Mom?” She called through the vast house. Looking from side to side she caught the rooms frozen in time. Not a photograph had been moved since the accident, but life changed anyway. The house once so busy and bustling, now served as a shrine to what once was, and a warning of what Lauren could never let herself become.

  “I’m in the den.” Emma Brody called back.

  Of course she’d be in the den. That’s where the big screen television, always tuned to the At Home Mall network, sat across from the computer where she did her Internet shopping. Four steps from the kitchen, and just a doorway away from the guest bedroom her mother slept in. A woman who once hosted lavish parties and chaired community organizations had shrunk her world to an area smaller
than most apartments.

  Lauren walked across the mahogany hardwood floors, past the formal dining room table perpetually set for guests Emma never invited, and through the kitchen to the den.

  “Hello baby, I was hoping you’d stop by.” Emma said without looking away from the scrapbooking demonstration on the shopping channel. She wore the same purple velour warm up suit as the woman hosting the show.

  “I need to rummage through your closet.” Lauren leaned against the Spanish tiled countertop and pulled off her black ankle boots. “Care to play dress up?”

  “What are you looking for?” Emma reached for a pen on the side table and jotted down the number of the item on the screen.

  “Cocktail dresses and an evening gown or two.”

  That got Emma’s attention, her smiling face turning towards her daughter for the first time. “Why?”

  “I’m dating a man who lives above my pay grade.” Lauren smiled, thinking of all the events she’d need to dress up for. Her closet barely contained anything formal enough for the occasions. Especially since so many of the other women would be in the latest designs. Thankfully, she and her mother were similar builds, and vintage was all the rage.

  Emma stood, shaking out her chin length gray curls with one hand. “You mean Cameron Price? From what I hear he can definitely afford to keep you outfitted.”

  Lauren’s heart thudded in her ears. She’d come to tell her mother about Cameron, but should have expected the gossip trolls to break the news first. Her mother might never leave the house, but she was still as connected to the gossip grapevine as ever.

  “Mom, things with Cameron are complicated.”

  “Complicated as in you’ve been involved in a serious relationship with a man I’ve never even heard you mention, or complicated as in you don’t want to be another hand in his pocket?”

  “Both, actually.” Lauren tucked her hair behind her ears and met her mother’s grassy green stare with all the indignation of a disgruntled fifteen-year-old.