Flawlessly Broken: (Broken Series Book 2) (19 page)

I STAYED AT
the table with Spencer the majority of the evening, only stepping away a few times to speak to regulars and handle the occasional ordering snafu. When the dining room was empty and the staff was finishing up their side work, I asked if he was ready to leave.

His back was to the wall behind the booth, one leg tucked under the other as he sat sideways in the seat to watch me. “Not yet. I’d like to get the grand tour but I’d rather wait until we have the place to ourselves. Not that I’m opposed to introductions—the staff I’ve met so far have been highly entertaining—but I want to be able to check the place out uninterrupted.”

There was a mischievous look in his eye that both worried and excited me.

I agreed to the private tour and we settled in to wait out the staff.

By the time the last of the staff left—Gina lingered until I was ready to strangle her—it was after midnight. I started the tour with the small, outdoor seating area since it was closest to where we were. We stepped out into the chilly evening and made a quick revolution around the space. Despite the multiple outdoor fireplaces, the section wouldn’t see much patronage for at least another month. Too damn cold.

I walked him around the dining room, watching him graze his hand along the plush leather seatbacks and telling him about some of the custom lighting features. We made our way to my favorite part of the restaurant and I gleefully pointed out the authentic decor, gorgeous hand-tooled bar top with its high-gloss finish, and the buttery, Italian leather-covered bar stools. They were backless and square, placed just far enough apart to give customers room but close enough together to encourage conversation.

I loved the way it all gleamed in the low light.

It was my happy place.

We moved on to the kitchen, my domain no matter what Neil tried to assert, and I explained how I’d upgraded several areas and how important it was for an Italian restaurant to always, always make its own sauces, breads, soups, and pasta from scratch. Especially that last one. Dried pasta was the devil. He listened intently and asked a few questions, mostly letting me talk his head off about the little things that I loved about my job.

When he asked if I used only my own recipes, I laughed. “As much as my meddling cook will allow. Neil adds an extra pinch of something to every one of the dishes then swears it was a collaboration.” I shook my head, smiling fondly. “He does it to mess with me. But for the most part, what we serve here is either my spin on old recipes or entirely new concoctions. Recently, we’ve been doing something a little different. Until the last few months, we had been closed on Sundays. Now, we do a limited seating event every Sunday evening for couples who had an anniversary that week. It’s a dessert and wine tasting. I use their feedback on the new recipes and they get to do something special as a couple.”

He watched me for a minute, idly running his fingers over the smooth stainless steel counter in my pristinely clean kitchen. “And this is something you implemented in recent months?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe six months now. It’s going well, the slots fill up fast and everyone really enjoys it.” I chuckled thinking of some of the conversations I’d overheard during those tastings. “Usually by the time the evening is over, the couples are all chatting with each other, swapping stories, joking, offering advice. It’s always a fun experience, even for me.” My mind jumped back to the one occasion when that wasn’t true, the Sunday when I’d left there and promptly burst into tears in the car.

Spencer’s eyes were trained on my face when he asked, “What happened just now? Where did you go?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He gave me a dry look. “Don’t be evasive. Something passed across your face just now. What caused it?”

I blew out a breath and walked over to the enormous stove, idly checking the knobs as if Neil would be so careless as to leave one of the burners on. I just needed to not look at Spencer right now. I had to answer him, felt compelled as always, but that didn’t mean I had to face him to do it. My little assertion of control. Very little. “One Sunday around Christmas, there was a couple who got to talking with some of the others and the wife was advising the very pregnant woman at the next table to do anything she could to avoid stretch marks, which is not an unusual thing but this woman was so insistent that stretch marks had ruined her body and she wished so much that she could get rid of them.”

“Talia, look at me.” His tone was gentle but firm.

Shit.

My hands trembled as I made a show of checking the stove again and then I firmly clasped them in front of me and turned to face him.

He smiled reassuringly and nodded. “Continue, please.”

I tried to drop my eyes but he cleared his throat insistently. Bossy bastard.

“Talia, why did that woman upset you?”

“Because I was jealous of her stretch marks,” I blurted, cringing at the way it sounded. “I don’t have any, not one. My body is no different now than it was before Amelia, and I hate it, okay? I fucking hate that there’s not one tangible representation of her little life on my skin. I’d happily walk around with those stretch marks and I was so jealous of that woman that I couldn’t see straight. And I wanted to tell the other woman not to listen to her.” I shrugged my arms dejectedly. “I hate being told I have a perfect body. I hate hearing about my flawless skin. I know it’s irrational but that’s how I feel.” I raised my palms in front of me, unable to explain my neurosis without feeling crazy. Growing up with my mother’s constant hand gestures had rubbed off on me. When she got angry or upset, she looked like she was an air traffic controller trying to land a plane.

Spencer came over and took my hand in his, running his thumb across the backs of my fingers. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realize why at the time but I saw your smile slip the other morning when I complimented you. I’ll never phrase it that way again, I promise.” He tugged me into his arms and stroked my hair as he spoke. “You started these tastings right after Ali moved in with Clay, didn’t you?”

I nodded against his chest, surprised that he’d made the connection.

“You don’t like being at home alone, so you started opening on the one night of the week that you never had to work.”

I nodded again.

He crushed me against him one last time and quickly released me, tilting his head down to meet my eye. “We have a lot in common, you and I.” He placed a quick kiss on my lips, there and gone in a flash. “What do you say we give that fancy cappuccino machine behind the bar a whirl before we head out?” The sweet smile he gave me bolstered my spirits a bit.

When I turned to exit the kitchen he swatted me on the ass, and just like that I was smiling again. How the hell did he do that?

I made him a vanilla cappuccino and took the stool beside him to sip my cafe au lait. “So, what do you think?”

“Spectacular. Truly impressive.”

I could tell he meant it, which had me beaming despite my attempts to play it cool. There was no holding back when he was around, he wouldn’t allow it. His intensely dark gaze pulled a response out of me no matter how hard I fought it. He was so controlled. I had no idea how he managed to be so sweet and so intimidating at the same time. It was maddening.

“I mean you, sweetheart. The restaurant is great but you are what impresses me most,” he said softly, bringing me back to the moment.

“Why do you say that?”

He turned on the stool to face me, pulling my knees until I did the same. We sat with our knees touching, the soft light playing across his face as he studied me.

“Just watching you with people. You don’t see the way people light up when you talk to them, do you? Not just the staff here—who by my estimation absolutely adore you—but the customers you stopped and chatted with. They might have come here the first time for the food, but they keep coming back because of you. Something about you is sustaining them in a way that even the best meal could never supply. And from the look on your face all night, they do the same for you.”

I forced myself to look away and sip my coffee, uncomfortable with the praise. “You really did spend a lot of time with your sister the shrink, huh?” I joked thinly.

He took my chin in his hand and turned me back to face him. “No, sweetheart. No special skill needed, not for this. It was obvious from the way you flitted around the room tonight. It was the most peaceful I’ve ever seen you—Derek’s little visit notwithstanding, of course.”

My pulse picked up at the mention of my ex. I still could not believe the nerve he’d had, reaching up to touch me like that. He must have a death wish. Spencer was intimidating under normal circumstances but the way he’d looked at Derek had been downright menacing. An involuntary shudder rolled through me.

Why did I find it so damned sexy?

The part of me that wanted to shout that I didn’t need a man to protect me was promptly hog-tied and gagged by the part of me that wanted to tear his clothes off with my teeth when he’d called me his.

Talia’s libido—1

Feminism—0

Spencer’s voice startled me. “I know I said we’d have our coffee and go but that look on your face has changed my mind.” He smirked and let his eyes travel the length of my body. “Something tells me you were imagining me fucking you again. Am I right?”

Why deny it? “Yes, I was. I do that a lot these days, actually.”

“How often?” His voice was a low growl that made my thighs clench.

“Not that often. Just when I’m awake.” I gave him my best sexy smile, loving that his nostrils flared and his breath quickened every time I mentioned my fantasies of him.

He stood suddenly, shoving the bar stool back and grabbing my ankles, leaning me back until my ass was on one stool and my head rested on another. Thank goodness they were close together.

Without another word he pushed up my skirt and stripped off my panties, which he stuffed into his pocket without pausing. Then he was on his knees pulling my legs over his shoulders and, wasting no time with foreplay, he went right for my clit and sucked it hard into his mouth, making my back arch in the open space between the seats.

Holy shit this man likes to eat.

And it was my job to feed the hungry, so I let him take all he wanted.

Afterward, my legs were like rubber and my heart was about to pound out of my chest. I was spent—piggy-backed orgasms will do that—until he stood and retrieved a condom from his pocket, my feet propped on his shoulders.

Annnnd, just like that I was ready for more.

I realized as he guided himself inside me that the bar stools were the perfect height for this; his angle as he thrust was excellent. In no time at all I was flying again, body humming all over, climbing toward the precipice, and hurdling over the edge. The orgasm was so intense that I nearly bucked off the stool and onto the floor.

Luckily, Spencer’s orgasm ripped through him at the same moment and his death-grip on my thighs kept me from tumbling.

At least, tumbling from the seat... but I felt like I was falling just the same.

He pulled out slowly, grudgingly and instead of moving away, he ran his hands over my legs and positioned them so that my body was bent at a ninety degree angle, feet pointed toward the ceiling. His fingertips skimmed my outer thighs and ran all the way to my ankles before descending again and repeating the action. It was arousing and comforting at the same time, like Spencer himself.

He let my legs rest against his chest and nuzzled my ankles, my calves, the sensitive valley behind my knees. My legs bent as he lowered himself and he closed them together, hooking them lazily over his shoulder. He kissed and nipped the backs of my thigh, trailed his hand over my ass and gave gentle squeezes in time with each graze of his beard.

“I could do this all night, you know that? You have the softest skin I’ve ever felt,” he murmured, slipping his hand close to my opening, teasing me with his thumb.

His breath on my naked flesh made me shudder, a pitiful whimper escaping before I could contain it.

Apparently that pleased him, because I was rewarded with deliberate strokes from that amazing thumb... such a great little digit, the thumb. So useful, so...

“Oh, God!” How the hell did he bend his hand that way?

He chuckled against my skin, only fueling the fire. “I take that as a sign of your approval. How about when I do this?”

Holy shit!

I bucked against his ministrations, chasing his hand, chasing my orgasm.

He pulled his hand back nearly all the way and shot a stern look at me as he peeked around my leg. “Uh-uh, sweetheart. You’re forgetting who’s in charge again.” He removed his thumb and replaced it with what felt like his index finger, just the tip. He pressed in a tiny fraction and watched me. “If you want this to keep progressing, you have to sit back and let me take the lead.”

I didn’t move an inch, just watched as he took his hand away and sucked my juices from his fingers. I wanted so badly to clench my thighs together, maybe palm one of my breasts, anything to alleviate some of the building pressure but I kept still. My eyes were glued to his mouth. He made a small noise of delight in his throat as he finished cleaning my arousal from his fingers, sending a wave of heat through my body that threatened to incinerate me from the inside out.

And his eyes were on mine the whole time.

They were still on me when he plunged two fingers inside me and began thrusting in and out, curling them so that he hit that sweet spot with every pump. He held nothing back, slamming his hand roughly against me. The nipping at my thigh became purposeful bites, not enough to do real damage, just enough to distract me from the pleasure he was giving me. He was expertly dragging out the orgasm that was surging forward to overtake me.

With one of his hands on my ass and the other relentlessly fucking me, he nuzzled my outer thigh and commanded, “Come, Talia. Now.” Then the scraping of his beard was replaced by the sharp sting of his teeth on my skin.

I had no other option. I couldn’t fight it, I didn’t even want to.