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“Stunning,“ I murmur, my eyes on her face, but I still catch the pleased little hum from Chef that says he noticed. I can’t pull my eyes away from her. Mika is pure sunshine and movement as she sets the plate carefully down on the kitchen counter. She’s no longer anxious, her nerves apparently having disappeared as she turns to help Chef with the bins and boxes that must be dinner (for six weeks).
“Don’t ruin this, Tanner. You won’t get another chance with someone as special as that,” Chef murmurs, jerking his round chin in her direction as he skillfully lays out the meal.
I hold up my hands innocently. “I’m doing my best, Chef.”
“Try harder. The way you run an empire, you should know how to make her think she’s making the decisions.”
I frown at that. “She needs to want it, want me, without manipulation.”
Chef snorts. “You can damn well show her something worth wanting.”
I gape at him. I think I’ve heard him swear twice in my life and the last time there was spurting blood. He gives me a last warning stare filled with direful threats, pauses briefly to kiss Mika on both cheeks, and then departs.
Pulling Mika closer with one arm around her waist, I plant my own kiss on her forehead, needing to stake a claim of some kind. “So do we get to eat your masterpiece, or is it only for show?”
She sighs happily. “Chef made me promise to crack it this evening. He said nothing worth having should be delayed longer than necessary.”
I can’t resist. I back her against the counter and lean down, my lips only millimeters from hers. “Is that so?”
Her eyes flare wide and then out of nowhere, she stretches up and touches her lips to mine in the most fleeting of kisses. “Yes.” And with a giggle, she ducks under my arm and snatches a plate. “Including dinner.”
She’s laughing at me and I can’t say as I blame her. Grabbing a piece of celery filled with some herby yogurt shit, I watch her dive into her food with enthusiasm.
Mika glances up. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Later,” I mutter, hungry only for that phantom kiss that didn’t happen. Her dark blue eyes twinkle and she looks almost as pleased as she did arriving with her sugar creation.
Mika
Chef was right. Sometimes you have to stop thinking and just go on instinct. Tanner’s face is impassive but the way his hands are gripping the counter, defining the muscles in his arms, is making me shiver. With delight or trepidation, I’m not entirely sure.
When I carry my plate in, he takes it from me, sets it on the opposite counter and then hoists me up without any warning. Now his hands are curled around my hips instead of the counter edge.
His gaze makes my mouth go dry, and I can’t look away. “I’m going to finish that kiss you started. Any objections?” he growls. My eyelids flutter as my hands land on his broad shoulders.
“No?” I quaver, not at all sure what he’s intending if he feels the need to warn me.
Ever so briefly his lips curve at the corners, but then they’re on mine and I lose all sense of time. He doesn’t move fast, but he goes deep. There’s nothing tentative about Tanner’s kiss. It’s commanding and encouraging at the same time. He waits for me to catch up, stroking his tongue over the seam of my lips until they part out of necessity. Then he teases my tongue with his, gently letting me know he’s in control. Meanwhile, one of his hands has migrated from my hip to the back of my head, holding me firmly in place for his delicious onslaught.
When he finally pulls back, I sag against his broad chest and he rests his chin on the top of my head. “There, that will hold me for an hour or so,” he growls again. I squeak in alarm. I’m not sure I can survive too many repetitions of that. I feel the laughter rumble through his ribcage. “Relax, Mika. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall.”
I raise my head and squint at him, my skepticism palpable. “I thought I was the one doing the seducing?”
He nods, then his lips quirk to one side. “It’s working.”
And that is the extent of our conversation. Still perched on the counter, I smash my spire of sugar with a spoon. It has the same spike of excitement as knocking over an immense tower of blocks as a kid. At least Chef let me take a picture of it before we left the kitchen, so I have some proof of my new powers.
Then, as if by instinct, Tanner and I feed each other small filaments of spun sugar dipped in the raspberry chocolate sauce in the bottom of the plate. When a single drop of chocolate lands on my chest, just above the neckline of my blouse, Tanner stares at it for a full minute while I sit frozen and rather breathless. Then his head lowers, and he licks it off.
But he doesn’t end there. He sucks sharply on the spot until I feel a bolt of electricity shoot straight down to my toes. I jerk in shock, and he lifts his head. His eyes are hooded, but his expression remains fierce. “You’re mine, Mika. Take all the time you need to come to my bed, but stop having doubts that’s where you belong.”
I stare at him in surprise and, oddly, relief. I can’t imagine anyone of my acquaintance saying that. But the complete certainty of his tone, the lack of a question mark anywhere, makes me quit worrying about misreading the situation.
I almost blurt out that I’m ready right now. But oblivious to my inner voice, Tanner lifts me off the counter and pushes me gently towards the stairs. “Get some sleep. You may need it tomorrow.”
And on that cryptic note, he turns back to the kitchen and starts putting containers back in the fridge, munching on a few bits and pieces as he goes. I stand there watching him for a minute before deciding that regrouping and maybe a long soaking bath might be a good idea.
7
