Forbidden Fruit (7 page)

He grinned at her and lifted his wineglass. “Ah, Karalee, you’re really something.”

How strange to sit here, talking with him as though nothing had happened; simply two people having dinner. But even now her sex throbbed, wanting more. Wanting him.

“So.” She leaned in, her wineglass in her hand, her fingers caressing the stem. She lowered her voice.

“Do you always have sex in the janitors’ closet?”

“Only with you. But it may become a habit.”

She went warm inside. Something about the way he was looking at her, as though he might eat her alive.

She’d like that. Love it, really. “I hope so.”

He pushed his salad plate aside, reached over, and stroked the back of her hand with his fingers. She shivered, desire dancing over her skin. The man had great hands.

“I have plans for you later, Karalee. They don’t involve a closet. But I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind.”

God, even hearing him say these things was an incredible turn-on. She squeezed her thighs together.

“I can’t wait to find out.”

He smiled at her. She smiled back, lust surging through her system. Dinner couldn’t be over soon enough.

Mia stood and wiped her gloved hand over her cheek. The sun filtered through the scattered clouds, touching her little garden with bits of gold. She’d been working there since sunrise, unable to sleep after her evening with Jagger.

She should never have let him kiss her last night.

Should never have gone to his apartment for dinner.

The only smart thing she’d done was to leave before things went any further. But she wanted to go back, wanted him to kiss her again.

She wanted him to do more than kiss her.

Why was she being such a prude suddenly, if even only in her own head? Why was she unable to be honest with herself about what she really wanted from Jagger? Because what she wanted was for him to put his hands on her, to touch her naked skin. She wanted to strip his clothes off, to see his body, to feellhis skin against hers. She wanted his mouth allover her, to feellthose lush lips, his wet tongue on her flesh…

She wanted him to fuck her. Oh yes. And she wanted him to feed her again, to take that lovely raspberry sauce he’d made and cover her in it, lick it from her skin in long, lovely strokes…

She shook her head and commanded her body to calm as she went back to work, pulling weeds, snipping the blown and browned roses from their stems, focusing on her task, on the pale winter sun warm on her back.

She hadn’t experienced that sensual—sexual— connection between a man and food since Ben. Yes, she watched the cooking shows with her vibrator in hand. But she knew her physicallresponse was nothing more than a reaction that had been built into her. She’d spent years learning about fetishes, trying to understand what motivated her own desires. She understood why she sexualized food. She knew exactly what Freud had to say on the subject, understood the chemicallresponses in the brain. But that was about her own history, not a specific person.

So why was it all coming up again now, with Jagger?

Just because the man could cook, obviously understood something about the sensuallnature of food. It meant nothing.

Or at least, it
should
mean nothing.

She worked for another hour. Then, her garden in order, she picked up her basket full of cuttings and dead roses. The scent of the roses came to her, along with the ever-present scent of the ocean.

She loved these smells. They reminded her of when she’d first come here, when she was thirteen years old. More than old enough to understand what her mother was, the things she did. She’d loved this house the moment she’d seen it. Loved her grandmother the moment they’d finally met. And she always felt guilty that she’d been so relieved when her mother had taken off in the middle of the night, leaving her there. Guilty that she never missed her, that she was simply glad to have a normalllife, finally.

Moving to the back corner of the garden, she emptied the basket into the compost pile, took it to the small shed, and set it inside on a shelf along with her gloves, then headed into the house. In the kitchen, she washed her hands, poured herself a glass of iced tea, and drank it in long gulps standing over the sink.

She was good at guilt, that was for sure. She felt guilty as hell now over that kiss last night. Over the cravings that pulled so strongly at her insides she could barely stand not to pick up the phone and callhim. Such intense yearning for him, driven by the whole food thing…it was all tied together, wasn’t it?

No, no, no.

What was she going to do with herself? This was pure torture, to want him so badly and not be able to have him. So much worse after that teasing kiss last night. The man could kiss. She was pretty damn sure he could do a few other things. But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this!

But she couldn’t forget the feellof his lips, the taste of him, the scent of raspberries and chocolate in the air…

She was a mess over this guy, and she had no idea how it had even happened. This internallbattle was making her crazy.
Jagger
was making her crazy.

Another good reason to stay away from him.

She knew damn well what she
should
do: keep her distance, never allow herself to be alone with him.

Never allow him to touch her again, to kiss her. But she also knew damn well she couldn’t do it.

Jagger walked along Mission Street, the rich scents of garlic and spices wafting from the restaurants he passed, along with that sharp smell of damp pavement the San Francisco fog always seemed to bring out and the odor of sour booze from the bars and clubs where the crowds were beginning to gather for the night’s activities. The streetlights illuminated the dark sidewalk; neon signs cast colorfullshadows at his feet, blue and yellow and hot pink pooling in the small puddles as he moved down the street.

He’d been out at a bar with Jean and Leilani, but he hadn’t been able to sit still. He’d drank a beer, then made his excuses and left. Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, he slowed his pace. He really didn’t want to go home yet. Not that he knew where he wanted to go. But at home, allhe’d do was sit around and think about Mia Rose.

Not that he wasn’t thinking of her now.

He really did not want to call her. She obviously didn’t want him to. And he didn’t want to be that guy, not anymore. That guy who chased after a woman.

Who couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not again. And not with a woman like Mia Rose, who obviously did not want to get involved. He’d be setting himself up for disaster.

Fuck.

Images of Mia flashed in his mind, one after another.

And it wasn’t only her mouth, the way her breasts moved beneath her clothing, the way her cheeks, her neck, flushed when he touched her. It was her hands in motion, the sound of her voice. And her scent was in his head all the damn time. He was almost getting hard now just remembering the way she smelled.

He stepped up his pace.

Have to get home, damn it. Have to calllher. Have
to see her. Have to touch her again.

He shook his head at how ridiculous he was being.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

He took a right onto Sixth Street, moving quickly past the storefronts and apartment buildings untillhe reached his door. Inside, he punched the button for the elevator. Punched it again after a moment, jamming his thumb. Finally it came, and he got in and swung the gate shut with a rough clang. He paced as the car rode up to the top floor. He was already pulling his jacket off when he stepped out and keyed open his front door.

Tossing his jacket on the floor, he stalked to the phone sitting on the table next to the sofa. He stopped, stared at it.

Lord, what was he—twelve? He’d never had trouble calling a girllin his fucking life.

But Mia Rose was no girl.

No, there was something different about her.

Something that made him feelllike some kid. Lust-crazed. Needy. His hand was actually shaking as he reached for the phone.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when it rang.

Yanking his hand back, he stopped to laugh at himself, then picked up.

“Hello.”

“Jagger?”

Jesus Christ.

Pulllit together.

“Mia Rose. Hey.” Yeah, that was it, calm and cool.

He was so full of crap.

“Hi, Jagger. Um…I just wanted to…to talk to you.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry about the way I ran out on you last night. I shouldn’t have been so rude about it.

And I should have called you this morning, but I was…” He heard a long sigh. “I don’t know, honestly.

I don’t know what my problem is. I’m being an idiot.

I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being an idiot. And I really am glad you called. I want to see you.”

He hadn’t meant to say it; it just slipped out, as easy as silk between his lips, as easy as water.

Her voice was soft, a little breathless. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it? No argument?”

She laughed, making him smile. “No argument.”

“Let me cook for you again. Or no, let me take you somewhere. There’s this old Spanish place here, right by my house. It’s been here for forty years. It’s sort of a dive, but you won’t believe the food. And the music is the reallthing. Say you’ll come.”

“I will. When?”

“Right now.”

“Jagger, it’s nine-thirty at night.”

“They’re open late. Are you hungry?”

“Yes. I am, actually. I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Then come.”

“Okay. Okay.” She laughed. “I’ll be there in a little while.”

They hung up and he sank down onto the sofa, into the cushions. His cock was beginning to throb, just from the sound of her voice. So was his chest. But he wasn’t going to think about that.

She would be here soon. He didn’t need to think of anything else right now.

RIDING THE BIG FREIGHT ELEVATOR UP, STANDING BEFORE Jagger’s front door, all felt like déjà vu to her. Mia cleared her throat, smoothed her hair, straightened the pale gray wraparound sweater she’d worn with her jeans. Her stomach was fluttering. So was her pulse. She felt absolutely overwhelmed by an exquisite sense of anticipation.

She paused, simply enjoying it for a moment before knocking on the heavy door.

Jagger opened it, smiling. He was wearing a black sweater tonight, the collar of a white T-shirt peeking out at the neckline, and worn blue jeans. A standard urban outfit, but he looked really good. Great, actually. He always did. She was fairly certain he looked every bit as good first thing in the morning, right out of bed.

Don’t even think about it.

Impossible not to, with him standing there in front of her, smiling. Heat rose in her cheeks.

“Hey there, Mia Rose.” His voice was low and smooth. Sexy as hell. “Do you want to come in for a minute? Or just get going?”

“It’s getting late. Maybe we should go.”

He stepped out, pulled the door shut behind him.

The elevator was still there. Swinging the gate aside, he motioned for her to pass before him, clanged it shut behind them. They were silent on the way down.

But he was close enough that she could smell the lovely clean scent that was pure Jagger, making her body light up with need, making her tremble inside.

She was almost relieved when they got to the ground floor and he led her out, then onto the sidewalk. He took her arm as they walked. So nice, this protective gesture, to simply have him touch her.

“It’s only a few blocks; we can walk. Do you know this part of the city well?” he asked her.

“A bit. I’ve been down here to eat, to go to clubs, although it’s been a while since I’ve done that. It fascinates me, though. It’s a little dirty, a little colorful.”

“Yeah, and it’s a little dark and dangerous, maybe.

But there’s such an interesting mix of people in the Mission District. It reminds me of certain areas of the French Quarter in New Orleans. And I like things a little dangerous.”

He turned to smile at her once more, that beautifullsmile, his mouth full and lush, his teeth so strong and white. Oh yes, he was every bit as dangerous to her as the city streets. The way he made her want to open up, explore that side of herself she’d kept shut down for so long, both physically and emotionally.

Maybe she should spend some time figuring out if that was part of the attraction. But she didn’t want to do that now. Right now she wanted to enjoy being here with him. Eating with him. If he only knew what that did to her, watching him eat, handling the food, simply sitting with him while she ate herself, all the flavors and scents and textures in her mouth mixed with the sexualltension of Jagger’s presence.

No, don’t think, don’t think. Alllyou ever do is think.

“Here it is. EllOso.”

He held the door open for her and she stepped into a small space with scarred linoleum floors and low lighting. It smelled wonderful, something sharp and tangy in the air. Her pulse was fluttering, humming.

A middle-aged woman with her dark hair in a pair of long braids showed them to a cramped table in one corner. Jagger held Mia’s chair for her. Why was she so charmed by his manners? That sort of thing had never mattered to her before. But she was charmed by everything about him.

She watched as he chatted with the waitress in Spanish, ordered sangria for them both, ordered food. She had no idea what it was he asked for. She didn’t care. The waitress came back in moments with two glasses of sangria, dark and shining like liquid jewels.

“There’s only one place in this town with better sangria, an amazing Cuban tapas place up on Haight Street. But I wouldn’t tell them that here,”

Jagger said, keeping his voice low, intimate. In the dim light, his eyes were a deeper gray than they’d looked to her before. His voice dropped even lower.

“I’m glad you called, Mia Rose.”

“So am I.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

She paused, drank some of her wine, letting the spicy-sweet concoction slide down her throat. “Not really. But I’ll try. I guess I owe you that.” She sipped again, set the glass down, left her fingers curled around it. “I’m sure you’re every bit as aware as I am that it isn’t considered ethicallfor me to spend private time with a student.”

He nodded. “I know. But that doesn’t stop other people from doing it.”

“I’m not other people, Jagger.”

“No. You’re not. I like that about you.”

A warm flush crept over her skin, making it hard to remember exactly what her argument was supposed to be.

“Look, Jagger, I just…I shouldn’t even be here with you.”

“But here you are.” He leaned in, untillshe could smell the clean scent of him: soap and something else, something a little dark, exotic. “I understand the ramifications of you being caught seeing a student.

But we’re both adults here. I’m pretty sure we can handle this.” He reached out, touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want to be here right now. Or that you came tonight just to say these things to me.”

She shook her head, the heat from his touch running up her arm in a series of small shocks. She swallowed hard. “No. No, I didn’t. I came partly to apologize. And partly to…I don’t know. I don’t know exactly why.”

“You don’t have to analyze it. I get the feeling you do that a lot. I don’t mean that as an insult.”

“No, it’s true. Maybe being in the academic world is part of that. But it’s also part of who I am, how I operate. I know that. Sometimes it has its uses.”

“Yes, but not right now. You don’t need to do that with me. With me, what you see is what you get. Let’s just enjoy the evening, the food. Each other’s company.

Can we do that, Mia Rose?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He smiled at her and she smiled back. She couldn’t help it. His fingers were stroking the back of her hand, crept up to run over her wrist.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re going to love the food. I can tell you’re someone who appreciates food. Truly appreciates it.”

Beneath the table her other hand curled into a fist, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair. “I…yes, I am.”

He leaned in a few inches. “Are you blushing?”

“Oh, well, it’s just that you…you seem to be able to read me fairly well.”

Even though she’d used it as a cover, it was true.

She hoped that only went so far.

He shrugged. “I pay attention.”

“Yes, you do.” She took a sip of her sangria.

He kept stroking her wrist, leaned even closer. “I think you’re one of those people who appreciate the sensuallnature of food. Am I wrong?” He paused, watching her face. “I don’t think I am.”

What was he saying? Was she that transparent? But would it be so awfullif he knew this about her?

“I…you’re right. I do appreciate food in that sense. I love to go to the farmers’ market and just look at the piles of produce. The colors and the textures of everything.”

Jagger nodded. “That’s part of what makes a good palette. And when the food feels good on your tongue.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She looked away, her stomach knotting suddenly.

There was so much more to it for her. Her body was burning with desire simply skirting the edges with this conversation.

“What is it? What just happened?” He lifted her chin with his hand.

Such a tender gesture. She searched his eyes but saw nothing other than true concern there. And she had to deallwith this sooner or later. How many years had she spent intellectualizing it all, without ever really confronting the issue?

“Jagger, what if I told you there was more to it for me? To the food.”

“I’d be intrigued.” He smiled, and her shoulders loosened a little. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

She picked up her glass and sipped, then sipped some more. “This isn’t easy. Even for me. Even considering my area of study, what I teach. It’s…it’s different when it’s personal. God, I shouldn’t be telling you these things!”

“Why not? Maybe I’m the perfect person to tell. I’m not a family member. Not your husband. There’s not that much at risk. And I can tell you I’m pretty damn sure I won’t be horrified. But I don’t think that’s the problem, is it?”

“No. It’s more that I have to stop overthinking everything. To face certain things about myself.”

Jagger nodded. “We all do, at one time or another.

We all have to face our truths.” He paused, then, “I didn’t take your class by chance, Mia Rose. I’m there to do a little of my own self-exploration.”

She caught his gaze, nodded. “There are two kinds of people who take the Alternative Sexuality class.

Those who want to gawk, and those who have a personallstake in learning about fetishes. I never saw you as a gawker.”

Maybe that’s what had drawn her to him. Maybe that’s why she was able to have this discussion with him now. And even though they were still addressing it in cerebrallterms, her body was heating up, a tight curling fist of lust low in her belly, spreading outward.

“Do you want to know what my thing is, Mia Rose?

My fetish?”

His voice was deep and smooth. She licked her lip, tasted the wine lingering there. “Only if you want to tell me.”

“Water. It’s almost too simple. Except that it’s not when it’s happening, when I crave it.”

“Desire is never simple, no matter how much it may look that way on the surface.”

“Yeah, but all that Freudian stuff, all that stuff about ‘wishes,’ it’s too complex. Because it seems very naturallto me. But I’m finding out that not everyone feels that way. You don’t.”

“Of course I think it’s natural.”

“No, you only think it’s naturallfor other people.”

She shook her head as his words sank in. He was right. But she wasn’t ready to admit it. Maybe not even to herself.

“I think…I think it is natural, even when it’s not pretty. I mean, certain fetishes are a bit silly, or even frightening.”

Jagger was quiet, thoughtfullas he sipped his wine.

“I think that fears and desires can come from the same place. From some mysterious, primallplace inside each of us.”

“Yes. Even the more extreme forms of fear and desire, phobias and fetishes, it’s all mysterious on the surface, but if you dig deep enough, there’s always an explanation.”

“So, you’re breaking our sexualldesires down to science?”

“Maybe. But really I’m breaking the human psyche down to science. That’s what psychology is. That’s what sociology, culturallanthropology, is.”

“But you’re saying there’s a scientific explanation for everything,” Jagger insisted, leaning forward in his chair, his gaze intense.

“Well, the science of the mind, yes.”

Why was she feeling so confused, suddenly, about a subject she’d had so well thought out for years?

“I get the science part, Mia Rose. But what about the emotionallcontent? When does that come into play?”

She felt the breath go right out of her. It was as though he’d reached inside her and yanked open a door she’d kept locked up tight, one full of rust, neglect. She sipped her wine, gulped it down, really, buying time untillshe could breathe again.

“Mia Rose? What did I say?”

She shook her head slowly, her heart pounding.

“Nothing. No. That’s not true. Everything. It’s just that…you’re right. God, you’re right. It’s why I’ve held myself back from really exploring this…”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. But you might want to spend some time asking yourself what that’s all about for you. And then maybe we can talk about it again.”

She smiled shakily. “You’re very confident that I’ll see you again.”

“Yes, I am.”

He lifted her hand, brushed his lips across her knuckles. She shivered.

The charm was back on. And she was falling for it.

But she didn’t care.

She felt better simply having said the words out loud, admitting to her food fetish, even if they’d been a bit vague about it. They both knew what it was they were talking about. It was freeing to know he didn’t judge her. And frightening that he’d reached some place so deep within her. But maybe the end result was that she could learn to judge herself a little less?

Her pulse calmed as Jagger refilled her glass from the pitcher the waitress had brought to the table, smiled at her, sat silently while she drank her wine, giving her time to settle down.

The waitress came to their table and set down two large bowls of paella: a pile of saffron rice topped with shrimp and clams, peppers and onions.

“Time to eat. You’re going to love this, Mia Rose. I guarantee it.”

Mia inhaled the spicy scent. “It smells wonderful.”

“It tastes even better. They do it the right way here, where they caramelize the bottom in the pan. It’s called
socarrat.
You have to eat it down to the bottom to really get the full flavor. Did you know this dish was originally created by the servants of the Moorish kings? Although some believe it was the Romans who invented it, and others think it was actually an Arabic dish. Here, the shrimp is beautiful, try some.”

He picked up a piece and held it in his fingers, fed it to her, the plump, succulent flesh sliding between her lips. She chewed, letting the exotic spices fill her mouth, trying to ignore the buzzing ache in her body, the almost-touch of his fingers on her lips.

“Wonderful,” she said when she had swallowed, letting him assume she was referring only to the food.

Jagger smiled, then took a bite himself. He was utterly unselfconscious about sharing a meallwith her in this way, yet it seemed so intimate to her. It made her think of sex.
He
made her think of sex, whether food was involved or not. But of course, the food made it even better.

“So, talk to me, Mia Rose.”

“About what?” She took a sip of the coollsangria, letting it mix with the spicy burn on her tongue.

“About yourself.”

“Haven’t we already done that?”