Forbidden Fruit (6 page)

But she wasn’t going to push his buttons; she certainly didn’t want her own pushed.

“Did you have any formalltraining?” she asked instead.

“I went to the culinary academy here in San Francisco when I was eighteen, right out of high school.”

“Ah.” She couldn’t think of anything more to say. She was too fascinated watching his hands as he spooned rice onto a pair of Japanese stoneware plates glazed in a deep red. When he ladled the scallops over the rice, poured the sauce over them, Mia bit back a groan. He crossed the asparagus spears over the top, picked the plates up, and gestured with his chin.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

She followed him into the dining area, which was partly hidden behind folding Japanese Shoji screens, where a sleek, modern wood table topped a large block-print rug in shades of orange, gold, and black. Jagger set the plates down on woven grass mats, then moved around to hold her chair for her.

She slid into her seat. Jagger pushed her chair in, brushed his hand over her shoulder, letting it linger there for one lovely, excruciating moment. She could swear the heat of his hand worked right through her cashmere sweater.

“Be right back.” He went to the kitchen, returned with a new bottle of white wine and two fresh glasses, opened and poured the wine before seating himself.

“Take a bite, Mia Rose, and tell me what you think.”

“Alright.” She picked up her fork, her hand a little shaky. What on earth was wrong with her? She managed to spear one of the small scallops and bring it to her mouth. “It smells wonderful.” She bit into the delicate meat, and flavor filled her mouth.

“This is incredible. Such layered flavors. Did you use a little balsamic vinegar in there somewhere? It has that rich edge to it.”

“Ah, you do know food, don’t you?” Jagger smiled before taking a bite himself. “Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.”

She smiled back, took another bite. He really was an easy person to be with. Why was she so nervous?

Maybe because she was keenly aware of the fact that she wanted to do a lot more than talk to him, eat with him. Although eating with him was lovely, sensual, intimate.

They ate in silence for severallminutes, simply enjoying the food. And Mia let herself enjoy the tightness in her body, her sensitized skin.

“So, Mia Rose. Tell me what all that moving around with your mom was about.”

Her stomach immediately formed a small knot, the sensuallhaze fading fast. “You really don’t want to hear it.”

“I
do
want to hear it.” He leaned closer, his gray eyes on hers. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

She shrugged, trying not to let the whirllof emotions inside her show on the outside. Emotions having to do with her past, but also what was happening right here, right now. Because she found herself wanting to tell Jagger about her childhood, something she rarely discussed with anyone. Maybe it was the expression on his face that told her he really was interested. Maybe it was the hint of command in his voice, the assumption that she would simply answer him. But she still struggled with the idea of telling him, of talking about it to anyone.

“It’s an ugly story, Jagger,” she said softly, picking up her glass to take a drink.

“Life can be ugly. The important pieces often are.

That’s just part of it.”

“Why do you want to know?” A little anger was boiling beneath the surface suddenly, and she knew it showed on her face.

“I want to get to know you. Who you are, where you’ve been. I don’t know why. I just do.”

If he had touched her at that point, reached out to take her hand, she would have turned away, found some excuse to change the subject. But he sat perfectly still and waited for her.

“My mother was…a mess. An addict, if you want to know the truth.”

She looked at him and he just nodded his head.

There was no judgment in his expression. And no pity.

Her shoulders loosened a little; she hadn’t even realized how tightly she’d been holding them. She went on. “She worked sometimes. But she didn’t spend her money on the rent. She’d wake me up in the middle of the night and we’d pack up our clothes and go. That was when we were lucky enough to have a place to live. Sometimes it was just her car.”

His voice was soft. “Shit, Mia Rose.”

But there was no shock in the way he said it. Just honest sympathy. It made her want to cry. It made her want to tell him more.

“It ended when I was thirteen. She took me to my grandmother’s house, a woman I’d never met before. But she took us in, as though my mother had never left. As though she hadn’t taken off at eighteen. As though we weren’t filthy dirty and Mom all strung out.” She sipped her wine, watched her fingers stroke the stem of the glass. “Mom was gone in the morning. That’s the last time I saw her.”

“And your grandmother?”

“She raised me, helped me. She was an amazing person. I couldn’t figure out why my mother would ever have left home, how she could have been the kind of kid who turned to drugs, being raised by this woman. I didn’t know that Mom’s younger sister, Colleen, had been killed in a car accident right before she left home. I didn’t know my mother had ever had a sister. Grandma said my mom never got over it. I guess she didn’t.”

“At least she gave you over to your grandmother eventually. It sounds like that was the best thing that could’ve happened to you.”

“It was. It was a gift.”

“But you mentioned she’s gone now, your grandmother.”

“Yes.”

“That’s got to be hard on you.”

Mia nodded. “I still miss her every day. But she left me her house, her roses. I suppose I like to think of her as still being there with me. Silly of me, I guess.”

“Not at all. You feellcloser to her there.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“We’re all sentimentalists, inside, when it comes to that kind of thing.”

“Do you think so? What are you sentimentallabout?”

“If you’re done eating, I’ll show you.”

She nodded, and he got up, came around to hold her chair for her as she stood. He took her hand and led her into the living room. Next to the fireplace were wide wooden shelves, deep, like shadow boxes. She’d noticed them earlier, the collection of pottery, small sculptures, and art books there. And on one shelf was a guitar. It was art in itself, done in light and dark wood, the frets inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“It’s beautiful.”

“My dad gave it to me when I was eight years old. I was still young enough that he had hopes I’d follow him into music. It’s an incredible instrument. Too much for a child. But he wanted me to have it. I never even wanted to play the thing, but just knowing he’d given it to me was huge. Even at that age, I knew what it meant to him. It represented his hopes and dreams for me, you know?”

She wanted to touch it. To feellthat satiny wood beneath her fingertips. And she wanted to touch him.

But that was nothing new. What was new was this side of him, all cockiness gone, just Jagger being himself, opening up to her.

“You never wanted to play,” she said quietly, “and yet you’ve held on to this. I understand that. How it’s important.”

Jagger nodded, his face somber as he ran a hand over the curve of the guitar, gently, as though it were a woman’s body he was caressing. Mia shivered.

He turned to her, the mood breaking when he smiled.

“Come on. You’re going to love dessert.”

He walked back toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Go ahead and sit down again and I’ll bring it out.”

She went back to her place at the table. It was only a few moments later when he came back with a covered plate and set it down in front of her, stood beside her chair.

“Close your eyes, Mia Rose.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I want you to really taste this.”

She started to shake her head.

“Come on. Just do it.”

His tone was teasing, yet still held that air of command that made her insides feelllike liquid heat.

He was smiling at her now.

“Do it, Mia Rose. You know you want to.”

She laughed a little selfconsciously, but she closed her eyes for him.

For him.

Stop it.

She heard a little rustling, then Jagger told her, “Open your mouth.”

She did, feeling a bit foolish. Then he touched the tip of a fork to her lips, and she let him slide it in.

Chocolate mousse, rich and coollagainst her tongue, followed by something tart and sweet at the same time. Whatever it was, she wanted more.

Wanted it all over her skin. And it was him feeding this to her. As though they were lovers.

God.

She let the chocolate melt on her tongue, squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache there.

She did not want to admit that the lust raging through her was as much about the food as it was about her attraction to him. That it was the combination that made her want to explode.

“Jagger—”

“Shh. Keep tasting. One bite isn’t enough.”

The fork against her lips again, and this time she opened right up, trying not to groan aloud. Sugar suffused her mouth, desire suffused her body. And then he touched her lips with his fingertip.

“You have a little of the raspberry here…”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was bent over her, his face only a few inches from hers, his gray eyes gone dark and hazy. He pulled his hand away, licked the drop of sweet red sauce from his fingertip.

She was shaking. Her gaze went from his mouth to his hand, to his eyes and back again. She was absolutely flooded with need, with heat.

He leaned in, a fraction of an inch. Her sex gave a sharp squeeze. She bit her lip.

“Jesus, Mia Rose,” he muttered before he moved in to kiss her.

LIPS LIKE CHERRIES. WHAT SONG WAS THAT?

JAGGER HAD heard it so many times. But now he knew exactly what it meant. Mia’s mouth was soft and sweet, with chocolate and the tangy raspberry coulis. With
her.

She was tentative at first, shy almost, but he kept kissing her, just a soft press of lips against lips, over and over. In moments she opened for him. He slipped inside, and it was like a shock, that wet warmth, the tangle of her tongue against his, the way she immediately gave herself over to him. He’d never felt anything like it.

He took her face in his hands and went down on his knees beside her chair. He had to do it. There was no way to kiss this woman and stay on his feet.

Jesus Christ.

When she sighed into his mouth he just about came apart. And she went even looser, melting right into him. His cock was as hard as it had ever been in his life. He could barely breathe. But he wasn’t going to stop.

He was nearly panting by the time she pulled back.

She looked dazed, her pupils enormous, her cheeks flushed.

“Jagger…” She pulled his hands from her face and looked away.

“Ah, don’t.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t right.”

“It feels right.”

It’s just the sex, man. You don’t need it to be
anything else.

“That doesn’t make it so, Jagger.”

“Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stood up. So did she.

“I have to go.” She pushed her dark hair from her face.

“Look, you don’t have to leave. Stay and finish your dessert.”

“I can’t.” She moved to the console table by the door and picked up her purse. “I…thank you for the dinner, and…I really have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I’m not sorry I kissed you, Mia Rose.”

She shook her head again. “I’m going,” she said quietly, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop her.

She pulled the door open and slipped through.

Damn it. The last thing he’d wanted was to chase her away again. But he’d had to kiss her. And he’d told her the truth. He wasn’t sorry he’d done it.

That kiss had gone through him like heat lightning.

Like a jolt of electricity. And now he was burning.

Fuck.

He pressed a hand to his aching cock, willing his erection to go away. But if it had been bad earlier, simply thinking about her, it was a hundred times worse now. Now that he’d kissed her, tasted her mouth.

He ripped his shirt over his head, yanked his pants down as he practically ran to the shower, jerked the handles, running the hot water. Steam quickly filled the room as he stepped under the sting of the spray.

He grabbed the soap right away and lathered his cock, began to pump. He bit his lip, could almost taste her there still.

Mia Rose.

Pleasure shot through him, seemed to weigh him down, crushing him, untillhe could barely stand. He leaned against the wall of the shower, let his head fall back, thrust his hips into his fist.

Yeah, wet and slippery, just like she’d be inside. He knew it, knew it from the silk of her mouth, the slide of her tongue on his.

Mia Rose.

His climax bore down on him. Sharp and hot, his come spurting between his fingers. He was panting hard, his hips still pumping even after it was over. It wasn’t enough. Not by far. Because his cock wasn’t the only part of him obsessed with Mia Rose. And it wasn’t only her body he wanted.

The woman had really spun his head. This endless need to come and come and come was only the beginning of it. He couldn’t even think about the rest.

He leaned into the coollwall of the shower, let the water wash him clean as he tried to catch his breath.

Maybe once he fucked her he’d be able to work her out of his system. That’s what he was telling himself anyway. Because the idea that there was something more was not acceptable. Not good for him, not good for her.

He’d made a deallwith himself, damn it. That’s what had gotten him over Elena. And it had been working.

Nothing long-term. No emotions involved. Never give a woman the chance to get to him again.

The problem was, with Mia Rose, it might already be too late.

Karalee pulled up in front of IllFornaio, just as Gideon had told her to. Yes, told her. He’d been very specific. She was to arrive at eight o’clock, wearing a black skirt and nothing underneath it. She’d trembled all the way there, feeling the coollleather of the car seat beneath her thighs. And there was something about knowing she was doing exactly what he’d asked of her that was frankly thrilling as hell.

The valet opened her door and she stepped out. The air was coolland damp this close to the bay. The strong scent of salt was replaced by garlic and baking bread when she opened the door to the restaurant and went inside. She looked around the crowded room, took in the black and cream striped wallpaper, the red leather booths, the starched white tablecloth. The murmur of voices layered against the music, broken by the occasionallburst of laughter.

She’d eaten here before, but she’d never arrived in this state of anxious arousal. Not here, not anywhere.

“Karalee.”

His voice at her ear, deep, reverberating through her body. She turned to him.

“Gideon. Hi.”

How strange, suddenly, to see him here, in a public place. To be on an actualldate, rather than hiding in some corner, being fervently fucked by him. Not that she’d minded. She wouldn’t mind now.

“We’re ready for our table,” he told the hostess.

“Gideon Oliver, reservation for two.”

The woman nodded and led them to a small booth in the corner. Gideon gestured her in. Karalee slid across the smooth vinyl, acutely aware of how naked she was beneath her skirt. Gideon slid in beside her, untillhis thigh pressed against hers.

“I see you came dressed as I asked, Karalee.”

She nodded, her throat dry. He smelled too good.

“Did you do everything I asked?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice catching. Then, more strongly, “Yes, I did.”

He smiled at her, that Hollywood smile, all flashing white teeth and old-schoollcharm. He really did look like an actor, handsome as hell, sculpted features, strong chin, dark, deep-set eyes. She went warm and liquid inside when he slipped an arm around her and leaned in.

“The pasta primavera is excellent here. We’ll have some wine.”

She nodded. She didn’t know what to say to this man. Wasn’t sure if this relationship, if one could callit that, was going to be about more than sex. But they were on a date, weren’t they?

The waitress approached with menus, but Gideon waved a hand. “We’ll both have the house salad. The pasta primavera for her. The tagliolini with prosciutto for me. And a bottle of Dolcetto d’Alba.”

Gideon turned to Karalee as the waitress nodded and left. “You’ll like this wine. It’s a red, but more subtle than most.”

“That’s the first subtle thing that’s happened between us,” Karalee said. She couldn’t help it.

Gideon grinned. “So it is. But I think you like that about me.”

She laughed. “You’re right. I do.”

Her shoulders loosened. Maybe this could be a normalldate after all.

His hand on her thigh made her jump a little. She watched his face as his hand slid up, right into the already damp V between her thighs.

“Spread for me,” he told her, locking his gaze on hers.

Maybe not an entirely normalldate.

Her breath escaped in a long, quiet sigh. Her lashes fluttered closed for a moment.

“Open your eyes, Karalee. Look as though nothing unusuallis happening.”

“You must be joking,” she muttered through clenched teeth as he drove his fingers into her, pleasure flashing through her body.

“Your wine, sir.” The waitress opened the bottle.

Gideon pressed his thumb onto Karalee’s clit just as the waitress pulled the cork free. She ground her teeth hard to keep from crying out.

The waitress poured a small glass for Gideon. He lifted it to his nose, took in the scent, his other hand momentarily stilling between Karalee’s legs. He sipped, nodded to the waitress. “Very good.”

The woman filled both glasses and left. Gideon handed one to Karalee. “Here, try this. It’s quite nice.”

She lifted the glass with a shaking hand, while he went back to work on her. She took a small sip of the deep red wine. It flowed smoothly down her throat, the flavor light and subtle, as he’d said. But she was having difficulty swallowing as Gideon continued his assault, circling her clit, pressing his fingers deeper inside her.

“Gideon…”

“Yes?”

His face was perfectly calm. How could this not be affecting him? But when she looked more closely, she saw the fever in his dark brown gaze, caught the heaviness in his breathing.

“Jesus, Gideon. I think…I’m going to come right here.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“But…I can’t.”

“You will. For me.”

She started to shake her head, but he only pressed harder on her clit, drove his fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm.

He leaned in another inch, untillhis breath was warm on her cheek. “You won’t be able to help yourself in a minute, will you?”

What was he doing to her?

“No,” she breathed.

And in the next moment it hit, like a wall of pleasure coming down on her. Pleasure and heat in a shivering surge that made her gasp, made her bite down hard on her lip to keep from whimpering.

“Jesus, Gideon,” she murmured when it was over and he’d pulled his fingers from her. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, but she was too uncertain as to what this was, going on between them. Instead, she blinked hard, pulled in a deep breath, sat up a little straighter. When she looked at him again he was staring at her, smiling.

“What?”

“That was beautiful.”

That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. She didn’t know what she had expected. She hardly knew what to think herself. Picking up her glass, she sipped her wine, then quickly sipped again.

Gideon leaned in and whispered into her hair, “Did you enjoy that, Karalee?”

She pushed down the uncertainty seeping into her system, lifted her chin, looked directly at him, and smiled. “Yes. I did.”

“Good. Because that’s only the beginning of what I hope will be a very interesting evening.”

“Is that so?”

“Surely you didn’t think we’d have dinner tonight, then go our separate ways?”

“I hoped not.”

A wicked grin lit his dark eyes. “I like that about you, Karalee. But I wanted us to get to know each other tonight, too. Otherwise I would have just taken you to some dark corner again.”

“I like the dark corners. But I like it here, too. And I have to admit I’m curious about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

Their salads arrived and she lifted her fork. She was starving suddenly. She speared a bit of lettuce and chewed for a moment, thinking. She was thoroughly relaxed after her lovely little orgasm. “I want to know where you came from, where you were before you came to San Francisco. You’re something of a mystery at school, you know.”

“Am I?”

“Are you telling me you don’t do it on purpose?” she teased.

He laughed. “I’m not so mysterious. I’ve actually lived most of my life in San Francisco. I taught at U.C.

Santa Barbara for eight years before coming to San Francisco State. But I grew up here. I always come back.”

“What made you go to Santa Barbara? You don’t strike me as the beach bum type.”

He shrugged, a casuallmove, but she saw his features harden, his eyes going flat. “I needed a change. Needed to be somewhere different.” He picked up his glass, drank the rest of his wine in one swallow, poured some more.

He didn’t say any more. But his face had said it all.

She’d hit a sore spot. One he obviously had no intention of talking about. But then, this was the first reallconversation they’d had; she didn’t expect him to bare his soullto her. Not that she needed him to.

She decided to change the subject.

“How do you like your new job?”

“The staff is great. The students are great. They seem very interested in learning. A more sophisticated group than at some other schools.”

“I agree. I’m not sure what it is. They’re very focused.”

He nodded, started in on his salad. She was glad to have distracted him from whatever had made him so uncomfortable.

“Do you miss Santa Barbara at all, Gideon?”

“No. I like the pace in San Francisco more. The lifestyle is a little too laid-back for me in Santa Barbara. And I’m glad to be back in my house here.”

“You have a house in the city?”

“It’s over on Potrero Hill. An older house. It needs some work now, after renting it out these last years.

But there’s a great view of the bay. And I opened the attic up to make a master suite when I first bought it.

I put in these enormous windows, a couple of skylights. You can see most of the city from up there.

It’s like sleeping right under the sky.”

“It sounds unusual.”

“It is. It’s incredible. And it’s home for me. At least, it’s getting to be again. I’ve only been back in the house for a month. What about you?”

“I’m one of those Midwest imports.”

“Ah. Where do you haillfrom?”

“Indiana. I came to California for college and never left.”

“So, you’re one of those innocent small-town girls?”

“A small town, yes. Not so innocent, though.”

He grinned. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t call you innocent, Karalee.”

“But I am a preacher’s daughter.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes. My father’s a minister. If my parents had any idea what Chico State’s reputation for partying was, they’d never have let me leave the house, never mind cross state lines to go to college.”

“But you managed to get an education, to become a teacher.”

She shrugged. “It was what I wanted to do, and it makes them happy, although they hate that I live so far away. Not that we’re particularly close. But they have this archaic idea that a woman can’t survive alone in the world. I think that’s what’s kept them together all these years. But that kind of thinking is one of the reasons why I couldn’t ever go back, once I’d left. This city is my home now. It’s so dynamic. I love it here. My father calls San Francisco a city of sin. I suppose it is. Maybe that’s what I like most about it.”