A Fine Romance (11 page)

“If I win the pillow fight, would you promise to stay up all night, talking to me?”

“Sweetness, I’ll stay up all night, no problem. But we won’t be talking.” A man could only withstand so much. Sam crushed her against his chest and took her mouth. He laid claim to her, using his tongue to learn every soft and sensitive crevice. Mira moaned, a low sound that vibrated through every hair on his body. Dark, spiky lashes fanned out over her pale cheeks. His hands moved over her slender back, hugging her close. Didn’t matter—he wouldn’t be close enough until he was inside of her.

Mira moved her palms up, over his shoulders to twine around his neck. Added bonus? She rubbed her firm, tempting breasts back and forth with every breath, every movement. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on them. Literally.

Grabbing her ass with both hands, he stepped away from the tree and urged her legs around his waist. It didn’t seem to take much urging. Mira clamped on like a rodeo star. Sam looked around the garden, desperate to find something more solid than flowers. His gaze landed on a large boulder, artistically encircled with—well—something delicate and blooming. He’d follow the Garden’s rules and not pick any of the flowers. But there were a few that would be the worse for wear in a few minutes.

Dropping to his knees, Sam leaned Mira back onto the boulder. To make sure her legs stayed around him, he kept his fingers kneading her ass. “I had a whole plan. Sunset. Wine. A civilized picnic.”

Mira opened one eye to squint at the sky. “Sunset’s still at least five minutes away. A man with your considerable talent should be able to show me a very good time in five minutes.”

“Are you double dog daring me?”

“Well, since we’re work neighbors, and need to maintain some element of professionalism, let’s call it a request for services.”

Sam almost choked on his chuckle. Good to know she still managed to find ways to parade her MBA. “Looks like we’re two peas in a pod. I don’t back down from a challenge, either.”

He lowered his head to the side of her neck with all the fervor of a blood-starved Dracula. Pale skin as translucent as phyllo dough made it possible for him to watch her pulse beat faster and faster just beneath the surface. Using the flat of his tongue, Sam took a long, slow, meandering lick. Then he latched on, trying to suck that pulse even faster. Once the rhythm beating against his taste buds increased, he moved down.

With her wriggling nonstop, it was difficult to keep a hold on Mira. He angled nearer to the boulder, pinning her in place at her hips with his more-than-willing dick. It surged into the notch between her legs, almost bursting through his shorts. Sam tried with all his might not to process any of the sensations his nerves were processing. He ignored how fan-fucking-tastic she felt, how they fit together more snugly than puzzle pieces. Above all else, Sam refused to acknowledge how much he wanted this beautiful bundle, currently writhing in his hands. If he reveled in it for even a second, he’d give in to those base instincts, rip her clothes off with his teeth and plow into her.

Instead, he concentrated on pleasing Mira. She made it so easy, moaning and smiling and lifting to his touch like a flower to the sun. Licking across her collarbone, he nudged aside the open collar of her shirt. In this position her breasts strained the fabric to its limits. It was easy to pop the top button open with his teeth. Then one more, for good measure. Now her beautiful breasts were laid out for his enjoyment. They were as white and perfectly round as a cup of powdered sugar, framed by the pale blue satin of her bra. Sam absolutely loved it when women matched their underwear to their clothes. It was a little thing, but it drove him crazy in a very good way.

With absolute concentration, he licked across one creamy mound, then over to the other. Sam could’ve died a happy man doing that all day. Mira, though, apparently had other ideas. She grabbed his head with both hands and maneuvered it into position straight over her nipple.

“Want something?” he asked, his breath feathering over the satin.

“Yes. You,” she panted. “Now.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Sam lowered his head a quarter of an inch and just exhaled. Her nipple immediately reacted, poking through the fabric. Target acquired. He laved back and forth across the pronounced tip, the pale blue darkening from the trail of dampness he created. A few more passes, and then he sucked in, biting down with a gentle nip.

Mira practically jolted out of his grasp. “Sam,” she cried, “oh, wow.”

“Funny, that’s just what I was thinking.” It was harder to talk now, harder to think, hard to do anything but give in to the monstrous lust she roused in him. Sam switched to the other side, replicating the teasing with his tongue. But it wasn’t enough. In one swift motion, he picked her up and deposited her on the ground.

He straddled her, but kept his weight off. Mira threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged him up for a thorough, drugging kiss. If his eyes were open, they would’ve crossed. Still, she couldn’t distract him for long. He was a man with a purpose. No time to wrestle with the stupid back clasp. Why the hell didn’t women have front clasp bras anymore? Oh, well. Just as easy to scoop her breasts in toward the center and sweep the cups underneath.

Now, finally, he had skin-on-skin contact. Even better, he could see her pretty nipples, the same vibrant pink as his strawberry icing. Sam drew as much of her breast as he could into his mouth, lapping circles around the nipple hardening to a sharp point under his tongue. It was so good that he eased his knees to the ground. Legs caging hers, they touched from toe to chest. The pressure of her body against his offered both relief and an immediate spiral into frustrating, driving need. Giving in, he rocked his hips back and forth, and she met his pattern, thrusting upward. As soon as a guttural moan of pleasure escaped his lips, he rolled off her to the side.

Stopping wasn’t easy. Not by a long shot. But Sam forced himself to for two reasons. Mira deserved better than a literal roll in the grass. He’d screwed up enough with her already. When they had sex for the first time, it wouldn’t be in a place where they ran the risk of being caught. He could only imagine what hell she’d rain down on him—rightfully so—if they got arrested, naked, for public indecency or something.

And he’d put a lot of thought into planning this date. Sex was not on the agenda. A long, romantic picnic watching the sun set over the lake was. Smarter way to go all around. Sam wasn’t in this for a one-night hookup. That would be the stupidity all his friends warned him against. He wanted to keep peeling back the fascinating layers to Mira, not just her clothes. So they’d spend the rest of the night talking. Okay, maybe a few more kisses. And he’d start thinking about a plan for getting her into his bed sooner rather than later.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered.

Hands curled into fists, every line of her body taut with anticipation, her eyelids sprang open. “What is it? What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Look at the sky,” he ordered. The bright blue had dulled to a haze. Streaks of red and pink undulated to the west, and the sun sat almost at the horizon. “If we run, we can still make it to watch the sunset.”

Mira pulled her clothes into place and clamored to her feet. It gratified him to see her knees wobble. She leaned one hip against the boulder and inhaled deeply. “You put on one heck of a first date, Mr. Lyons.”

Sam grabbed her hand and took off for the bridge at an easy lope she’d be able to match. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Wait’ll you get a load of date number three. That’s where I really hit my stride.”

Chapter Eight

Mira made one final pass with the steamer over the deep red fabric, then set down the wand. With a groan, she shook out her arms and rolled her shoulders. It didn’t help much. Instead, it made her aware of sore muscles she’d worked quite hard at ignoring for the past few hours. The manual labor involved in getting the store into shape had already knocked five pounds off—or maybe stress was responsible? Perhaps the constant, nagging worry about making A Fine Romance a success from day one? Either way, she longed for a bubble bath at the end of the day. Which wouldn’t come for, oh, about ten more hours.

Unable to sleep—huh, maybe stress
was
getting to her—she’d gotten to the store at least an hour before dawn began to pearlize the sky. A compulsion to decorate the windows had taken root a few days before. They’d been covered with brown paper for months now. While it hid the messy chaos of the store, it did nothing to create a buzz in the neighborhood. With the opening right around the corner, Mira couldn’t ignore the potential for essentially free advertising.

Now, fabric the same rich red as the store logo hung from floor to ceiling, ending in rounded puddles that would look as elegant to shoppers inside as to window shoppers on the sidewalk. Oversized black pillows in an artistic heap were centered on each side. Balanced atop, a long-stemmed red rose. Daphne had promised to keep her in fresh roses daily. It might be a bit much. It might even look like she was about to open a bordello. But the one thing Mira didn’t doubt was that it looked sinfully romantic.

Keys clattered against the door, and a moment later Helen breezed inside. A swirl of rust-colored leaves eddied at her feet. An early autumn chill darted in, an uninvited tagalong. “Mira Parrish, you have outdone yourself,” Helen declared. “I’ve been outside for five minutes soaking in the decadent atmosphere you’ve created.”

While the aches in her arms and shoulders and the weird one shooting from her butt down the back of her thigh didn’t disappear, Mira suddenly found them much easier to ignore. “It’s not too much?”

“Of course it is. The provocative, implied sensuality is completely over the top. Which is why it works so well. Don’t change a thing.” She utilized the old-fashioned coat tree Mira snagged for five dollars at a salvage house, still talking a mile a minute. “If, God forbid, this store doesn’t pan out for you, you’d be a shoo-in as a window dresser. So simple, yet so rich, rather like a chocolate truffle.”

Great. Mira had managed to go an entire twelve minutes without thinking about Sam. Aside from sleeping, it was the longest she’d gone without thinking of him since their date. Pretty much every time she blinked, a funny memory would pop into her head, or more likely, a steamy hot one. Sam’s kisses were addicting. Damn it. She’d just zoned out for five seconds or so, licking her lips and imagining the brush of his mouth over hers. Luckily, Helen kept talking, caught up in getting settled. Clad in another timeless St. John knit suit, this one a seasonal burnt orange, the older woman looked ready for an afternoon of lunching and shopping.

“Helen, I’m always glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I’ve brought more treats for you to sample.” She set a picnic basket on the counter with a quizzical smile. “You told me to come by at lunchtime, remember?”

Oh, she remembered. What had slipped her notice was the time. Something Mira kept running out of with shocking regularity. She reset the hose and wound the cord in a figure eight on the back of the steamer.

“It’s noon already? No. It can’t be. I’ve got too much to do. Three interviews are on the schedule, which will suck up a huge portion of the afternoon. I still can’t get the computer inventory program to work right, and our ad has to be in to
Chicago
Style
magazine by end of business. Their cutoff was last week, but Ivy just arranged the publisher’s third wedding. Apparently his new bride was thrilled, and as a thank-you he gave us some extra time. Which would be enough, if the graphic designer would email me the file. It’s like he’s holding it hostage for some reason. I don’t know why. Can you tell me, what does a nineteen-year-old computer savant want from me besides the substantial check I already sent him?”

Helen deftly tucked in the end of the plug. Then she framed Mira’s face with her palms. “Honey, how much coffee have you had today?”

“None.” When you can’t keep your eyes shut for more than a few hours at a time, coffee became irrelevant.

“Alright, let’s try another angle. How much sleep have you gotten this week?”

“Almost none?” she said with a weak attempt at a grin.

With an arm around her waist, Helen steered her to the stool in the kitchen. “I’m going to push my luck and ask when you ate last.”

Too keyed up this morning, she’d skipped breakfast. Too exhausted last night, she’d gone straight to bed without dinner. Mira did distinctly remember getting a bagel yesterday morning. “Things are crazy right now. I opened my calendar on Sunday night and saw the big, red circle on September 30. Can you believe we open in less than two weeks? Two weeks!” Mira shook her head. She’d always known the date, but for some reason, seeing it hit her like a steel-toed boot to her diaphragm. “Whatever sleep and food I miss out on now won’t kill me. I can catch up once the preview and grand opening are behind us.”

“Going full tilt like this, you won’t last two weeks.” Helen filled a glass of water and held it out. “Hydrate. Water cures untold evils. From now on, you’ll keep a bottle within arm’s reach at all times.”

“Sounds easy enough. I can do that.”

“Keep that positive attitude. I’m not finished lecturing you.” Wagging a finger, Helen sat down next to her. “You can’t run yourself ragged. Ivy certainly doesn’t expect it of you. Keep in mind that as soon as you hire an assistant, your workload will be cut in half. Look at your to-do list, and prioritize what can be delegated once that happens.”

The no-nonsense tone was tempered by Helen’s firm grip on her hand. Mira had very little experience with the sensation, but she sensed she was being mothered. Funny, she found she liked it. A little bit of her stress melted away. She could tell because her shoulders literally relaxed downward a quarter inch. And Mira knew she’d gone overboard. Sometimes the fear of failure pushed her to a crazy place. “You’re right. I can’t take all the fun away from whoever I hire. I’ve got to leave them some scanning and dusting and, best of all, the inventory triple checks.”

“That’s the spirit. Now we’re going to sit here for a bit and chat. Yes, that’s another thing I’m going to insist on—you need to start taking breaks.”

Mira hooked her feet on the rungs of the stool and pretended to scowl. It probably wasn’t convincing. She was getting too big a kick out of Helen’s concern. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Interesting question.” Helen tapped on the glass until Mira raised it to her lips. “Hypothetically, let’s say that you’re in charge of, well, you. If store manager Mira discovered an employee who shall remain nameless who worked sunup to sundown without eating, without taking breaks, and had dark circles under her eyes deep enough to be potholes, what would you do?”

Ooh, the woman played dirty. She’d driven her point home with a jackhammer. “Tell them to go home and sleep for a day.”

“Exactly. But I’m well aware you wouldn’t consent to that suggestion. As a compromise, you can take ten minutes to tell me how your date went.”

Sure, she’d poured her heart out to Helen when Sam stood her up. The woman was a font of sympathy and cheesy jokes about men. But she hadn’t even seen her since the surprise date at the Botanic Garden. “How did you know I had a date?”

“We had book club last night.
Snow
Flower
and
the
Secret
Fan
. A wonderful book, but a bit of a downer.” Helen waggled her hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. “Sam made me a divine cake, green tea flavored and lychee icing, with the most beautiful Asian fan on top, half folded. Covered with intricate characters, pictures of two women in gorgeous robes and a tall mountain in the background. All edible. The girls went wild for it.”

“You pulled out all the stops. I always envisioned book clubs as a place where you sat in a quiet circle, speaking in iambic pentameter of literary things.”

“We drink copious amounts of wine and stuff ourselves like pigs. On a good month, we’ll talk about the book for ten minutes. It’s more of a chance to get together and talk about men. Often sex. Sometimes books. You should come to the next one.”

Although it sounded like oodles of fun, Mira couldn’t. “You’re my employee. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“You know all of six people in this city of eight million. Expand your horizons. Come to one, and if you don’t like it, at least you will have met ten more women.”

A solid compromise. Mira rolled the idea around like a mental butterscotch, letting the sweetness infuse her. She yearned to belong. To be a part of a group. Too many moves in childhood, and since college, left her aching to be folded into a social circle and accepted. The chance to finally sink down roots was a big reason why she’d come to Chicago. Mira resolved right then to try, at least once, every opportunity that came her way. “Count me in.”

“Wonderful! But you can’t veer me off topic so easily.”

“What do you mean?” Mira tried to play innocent. But her heart was too full of Sam to not want to rewind and dissect every second of their date. On the other hand, doing it with someone old enough to be her mother seemed odd.

“When I picked up my absurdly beautiful cake, the usually impassive Mr. Lyons looked like the cat who ate the canary. It didn’t take my vast knowledge of the opposite sex to figure out a woman put that smile on his face. I pried it out of him before he swiped my credit card. But the man barely spits out ten words at a time, so I need you to provide the details.”

“Everyone keeps saying that...” Mira let her voice trail off.

“What?”

“That Sam doesn’t talk much. Except, well, he does. When we first met, he wouldn’t stop bickering with me. Now we talk about everything. And still bicker. A little.”

“An oyster doesn’t yield to every knife. Only the true wielder will pry it open and discover the pearl.”

What on earth? How did her brand-new, oh-so-wise friend suddenly turn into a talking fortune cookie? “Are you serious?”

Helen dissolved into peals of laughter. “Sorry. We finished book club by trying to talk only in Chinese proverbs. I couldn’t help myself.”

Another layer of stress lifted off her shoulders as Mira laughed, too. “Okay. For that, I’ll tell you one thing about our romantic sunset picnic.” Helen sighed and put a hand to her heart. “Then, when you force me to take another break, I’ll dole out another detail.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

Dust motes danced in a shaft of sunlight. Could she really say this in the light of day? In the middle of her still-scented-with-fresh-paint store? Mira reminded herself Ivy and Daphne had a packed week with some evening bridal showers, and wouldn’t be available for a gossip session for days. Chances were good she’d burst like a water balloon on a sidewalk if she tried to hold it in that long.

“Sam kisses with his eyes open. He says it’s because I’m so pretty, he can’t stop looking at me.” Her cheeks were on fire as she repeated his words. It might very well be the sweetest thing any man had ever said to her. And when Sam said it, his eyes burning like blue flame, Mira’s heart tumbled straight down to her knees.

“Oh, my.” Helen whipped a handkerchief out of her sleeve and fanned herself. “Talk about hidden depths. He is certifiably dreamy.”

Mira couldn’t agree more. “Hope that will tide you over. It’s time for me to get back to work.”

“Stay right there.” Helen tapped her wristwatch. “I’ve been clocking you. Your break has six minutes to go. So tell me all about the progress you’ve made since I was here last week. Start with the obvious. The door looks new.” She pointed at the connecting door to the bakery, now covered in black and red diagonal stripes.

“It got a makeover. For security and health code reasons, we decided not to leave the door open all the time. Our compromise is a Dutch door.”

The idea came to Sam on their picnic. After the sun set and they’d snacked their way through the enormous basket, it didn’t take too much effort to divest him of his shirt. Since the first time they met, Mira couldn’t get enough of his broad chest with its sexy cover of dark hair. She could happily spend days running her fingers across his pecs and down to that even sexier line of dark hair that disappeared into his shorts. It was when he tucked his shirt back in the idea for a two-part door hit him.

“Look at how clever!” Helen popped up and ran her fingers along the seam separating the two halves of the door. “Why isn’t it open?”

“The store’s a shambles.” Mira looked around at the organized chaos of boxes and shelves, packing paper and cleaning products littering the floor. “Nobody should be forced to look at this mess.” Absolutely, one hundred percent true. More importantly, with the door closed she wouldn’t be tempted to stare at Sam with her tongue lolling out all day long. Plus, she wasn’t in any sort of a hurry to meet Sam’s mom. Usually when people started dating, they weren’t forced to meet the parents until the relationship had gelled, months down the road. The whole situation was awkward times ten.

“Nonsense. It builds excitement. People love thinking they’re getting glimpses behind the scenes.” Before she could stop her, Helen slid back the latch and opened the top half of the door. “You’re going to get a good buzz going in the neighborhood if you leave this open.”

“You’ll need to set up a tiered display in the kitchen area. It’s the first thing they’ll see when they peek in,” Mira warned.

“Consider it done. Actually, while you’re sitting here, why don’t you try some of today’s tasting menu? I brought eight different kinds of cheese.”

Now that she’d sat idle for a few minutes, the adrenaline that had kept Mira going all morning drained away. Her stomach rumbled. As Helen pulled out hunks of cheese and a container of pepperoncini stuffed with salami and provolone, her mouth watered. “I think I would crawl across broken glass for some of your cheese at this moment.”