Fortune's Just Desserts (14 page)

Afraid that his mind would betray him.

The dreams were getting sexier, more complicated and, when he woke up, usually in a puddle of sweat, all he could think of was recreating those dreams and turning them into reality.

He couldn't go on like this.

But he couldn't fire her, either, he thought. He had no basis to let her go. Dreaming about an employee was
not
a reason for terminating her. It sure as hell wasn't something that would stand up in any court.

Besides, because of Wendy, business, which had never been bad, was growing more and more phenomenal. He had no reason to let her go, no excuse he could even try to inflate and offer to his aunt or uncle. Especially after he had told his aunt, in a moment of weakness, how wonderful Wendy's desserts were.

He supposed that if anyone was to leave Red, it should be him.

But he wasn't ready to go, either. His wings weren't strong enough for him to attempt to fly solo yet. That meant that the only thing left for him was to just suck it up and somehow continue to forge on. Pretending that just having Wendy Fortune around wasn't steadily melting away his inner core.

How much could a man endure before he cracked? Or gave in?

Marcos sighed and dragged his hand impatiently through his thick, tangled black hair. He was sitting on the sofa. There was some inane classic movie
on one of the cable channels flickering on the giant flat-screen before him. If his life depended on it, he couldn't have identified the name of the movie or what the story was about.

He'd been hoping that the TV would either lull him to sleep or bore him into that state, but it just wasn't happening. His brain was too wired to check out.

Possibly ever.

Another impatient sigh escaped. There just didn't seem to be a solution to this.

And then a thought hit him like some winged angel of mercy.

Maybe he was making a mountain out of a molehill, Marcos reasoned. Maybe, if they slept together, all this heightened anticipation that was ripping through him would disintegrate like so much sawdust in the wake of his colossal disappointment.

After all, he sincerely doubted that anything or anyone could live up to the expectations he had attached to the chemistry that was snapping and crackling between Wendy and him. Intentionally or not, he'd given the thought of making love with her far too great a build-up in his mind.

And he knew where that path, where having his hopes raised, always led, whether it involved being ten and hoping for something expensive and wondrous underneath the Christmas tree, or the first time he'd made love. It had been a pleasant enough experience, but the ground hadn't moved. Fireworks hadn't gone off.

It would be the same, making love with Wendy. He'd be disappointed in the end, pure and simple.

Maybe, since she seemed to be as interested as he was in making the experience happen, he should stop over-thinking all this and just do it.

And once they had this powder keg they were sitting on finally defused, it would cease to be the elephant in the room, and they could go on with their lives.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get a decent night's sleep.

It was worth a shot.

Debating with himself for a moment, Marcos stared at the landline. Should he pick it up and call her?

Hell,
do it,
his brain urged.

Taking a breath, he tried to piece together what he was going to say once she
did
pick up the phone. Nerves danced through him with spiky cleats. Marcos offered up what could have passed for a small prayer and reached for the receiver.

He had no sooner started pressing the buttons on the keypad than his doorbell rang.

M
arcos wasn't expecting anyone at this hour. He thought of just ignoring the doorbell, but there was no point in pretending not to be home. Whoever was standing on his doorstep could see that there were lights on inside.

And if the incessant ringing was any indication, they were not about to politely take a hint and go away.

Muttering a choice curse under his breath, Marcos switched off the TV and stormed over to the front door. He yanked it open, but the less than inviting words on his lips faded the moment he saw who was leaning on his doorbell.

Wendy.

A very annoyed, angry-looking Wendy. Thoughts of bedding her and getting past the unrelenting urges that were giving him so much grief were temporarily shoved to the background.

What was she doing here at this hour? And how did she even know where he lived?

Shaking off his temporary stupor, Marcos said, “I was just thinking about you. Of course, you weren't scowling like that at the time.” He couldn't come up with an actual reason for her being here, but he took a guess. “Something wrong at the restaurant?”

All the way over from Red, Wendy had been practicing her conversation with Marcos in her head, repeating passages over and over again in order not to forget them. So when he finally opened the door and was standing in front of her, she shouted the first words that rose to her tongue. Unfortunately, she wasn't starting at the beginning.

“Why didn't you ever say anything?” she wanted to know.

Marcos stared at her, more than just a little confused. What the hell was she talking about? “I wasn't aware that I was particularly mute around you.”

Since Marcos wasn't inviting her in, she took it upon herself to move the man aside and storm into his house. His flippant answer only served to annoy her more. “You know what I mean.”

Turning, he closed the door behind Wendy. Damn, but that trite cliché really did apply here, he thought. His dessert wizard looked magnificent when she was
angry. Her eyes were flashing and her cheeks were flushed. And all he could think of was that he wanted her.

“You're giving me too much credit,” he told her. “I really haven't got the slightest idea what you mean.” And that was true at least half the time, he thought.

Wendy spun around, glaring at him, her hands fisting at her waist. “You
like
my desserts.”

Was that what this was about? He still didn't see what the problem was.

“Well, yeah,” Marcos responded. From where he was standing, that was a given. But how did that tie in with all the fury he saw in her face? He wished she'd calm down a little because the color that had come into her cheeks as she stormed in was really turning him on—as if he really needed that extra push. “They wouldn't be on the menu every day if I didn't.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, still glaring at him. “So why didn't you tell me?” she demanded.

He walked back into the living room. Wendy followed him step for step like a heat-seeking missile.

“Because I thought you were bright enough to figure that out on your own,” he told her. “You didn't strike me as the kind of needy person who had to have her ego stroked.” He'd finally come around, seeing her as something more than just a spoiled little rich girl. Had he made a mistake? Was his initial assessment of her right after all?

Wendy blew out a breath and then pressed her lips together. He just didn't understand, did he?

“It's not a matter of ego,” she finally said, throwing up her hands. “It's a matter of knowing you approve. Of one person reaching out to another and saying something nice for a change.”

So she really was insecure. That was something that would have never occurred to him. “And my approval means that much to you?” he asked incredulously.

When he said it that way, it made her sound much too needy. Wendy sighed as she dragged her hand through her hair. She shouldn't have come here. This was coming out all wrong.

“Never mind,” she said, a mixture of anger and resignation in her voice. Turning, she started heading for the front door to let herself out.

Stunned by her actions for the second time in five minutes, Marcos caught her arm before she could get past him and out the door.

Looking down at his hand, Wendy tried to pull away. He tightened his grip just enough to hold her in place. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“This is me, reaching out,” he said, his tone as mild as hers was sharp. “Isn't that what you just said you wanted?”

She pulled again. He continued holding her arm. “Now you're just making fun of me.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” he told her with a straight face. “Other thoughts, tormenting
thoughts, provocative thoughts,
they
crossed my mind, but none about making fun of you.” His eyes on hers, he released her arm. “So, you never answered me. Is my approval that important to you?”

She would have wanted to deny it, to toss her head and just keep walking, but it was too late for that. She'd already given herself away.

Hedging, she answered his question with a question. “What do you think?” The simple answer was that his approval meant a great deal to her because she cared about him—and wanted him to care about her.

Maybe he was crazy, but right now he felt that a little soul-baring truth might be in order, and might even help to clear the air.

“I think that since the day you walked into Red, my uncle and aunt on either side of you like some kind of an honor guard, I've had absolutely no peace of mind. You've tormented me every single day.”

Was he referring to something she was unwittingly doing at work? Was this the beginning of yet another complaint? One step forward, two steps back, she thought, resigned.

“No I haven't,” she protested.

A smile curved his mouth. A small, unfathomable, impossibly sexy smile. Wendy felt her gut tightening.

“You have no idea,” he said to her softly.

All the protests that were rising to her lips died and, just like that, the room became incredibly quiet.
As her pulse quickened, she swore she could literally hear her heart pounding.

Could he?

“Then show me,” she coaxed in a quiet whisper.

Very slowly, as his eyes held her prisoner, Marcos brought his hands up to her shoulders, bracketing her and ever so gently holding her in place.

“You sure you want me to?” he asked. Because once he started, there would be no turning back. They both knew that.

Excitement was wrapped around the tension, shimmering in the air.

“Yes,” she said, her voice so low it was barely audible. “Oh yes.”

A smile came to his lips and drifted into his eyes and then, the next moment, his lips touched hers. Softly, gently, and so very lethally she was surprised that she didn't burst into flame right then and there in front of him.

The kiss deepened, ignited the rest of her body, spreading heat from her toes to her fingertips and up to the roots of her hair.

Wendy's head was spinning—or was that the room? All that was clear was that nothing was clear—except that this time, this time, her soul whispered, there would be no stopping, no interruptions from the outside world wedging them apart.

No hesitation.

No place to hide.

In her heart she
knew
Marcos wouldn't be pulling
back, wouldn't be leaving her high and dry—and unfulfilled—because he wanted this as much as she did. She could taste it on his lips, feel it on his breath. Every part of him wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She felt as if there was a cry of joyous celebration echoing in her body.

And then an urgency seized her, pushing for her to step up what she was doing, just in case there
was
some sort of interruption hovering in the wings, ready to pounce, to separate them before—

Before—

She kissed him hard, transmitting her sense of urgency to him.

It was like trying to hold on to a ball of fire, Marcos thought—completely impossible without seriously singeing his hands. He'd never been in this position before, never had a woman behave like this before.

Her lips traveled along his face, his eyes, his throat, reducing him to a swirl of heat and urges. He'd never before experienced a reaction like this to a woman. Never had a woman in his arms who made him feel this wanton, this hungry. He'd had his fair share of women. More than the average man, fewer than a card-carrying womanizer. But this was all new to him.

There'd always been a decorum, even in the wildest of frenzied moments. He'd never lost control,
never lost his train of thought. Never fallen, head over heels, into an abyss.

But it was as if everything was short-circuiting now. There was only this pulsating demand beating through him, urging him to move quickly, before the moment, the opportunity, was gone. Making him feel as if he would die if that happened.

He was breathless almost from the very start though he prided himself on both his stamina and his endurance. She'd managed to steal both from him in less than a split second.

Wendy felt his hands tugging away her clothes, making urgent love to her body with each caress, as barrier after barrier disappeared.

His hands were hot. Her body was hotter.

His mouth devoured her and she returned the favor in kind. It wasn't a sense of competition that drove her on. It was need. A need to touch, to taste, to feel and to show. She wanted him to know how much she desired him. How much he was affecting her. There was no holding back for later because there might not be a later. All she had was now and
now
would have to be enough.

More than enough.

She had no idea where any of these responses were coming from. It was as if she was channeling another Wendy, who was living through her body, making things happen, using her as an instrument.

Channing Hurston, the fiancé-who-wasn't, had been her first lover. And, until this moment, he'd
been her only lover.
Adequate, but tepid
was the best phrase she could use to describe what had gone on beneath their sheets. There'd been heat, but no fire. A satisfaction, but no frenzy, and definitely no overwhelming desire.

Certainly nothing like this.

This
was something she could only pray would continue until she just went up in smoke, because in her heart she sensed that there would be nothing like this again for her, once Marcos became part of her past, her history, rather than her future. Channing had taught her that. Taught her that no matter what she felt, what she planned, she couldn't count on any man. Couldn't count on anything lasting.

So, now that they were finally at this rarefied plateau, she was going to make the most of it. She was going to allow her body to have free rein and just take over.

A cry tore from her throat without any preamble or warning that it was even there, or that anything was building within her. Marcos had made her climax so quickly, she hadn't even realized the sensation was in the offing.

It was her first. Channing, she now vaguely realized, had been neither a patient lover nor a clever one. Marcos was everything that Channing was not.

One minute, Marcos's mouth was teasing the flat of her belly, the next, it was possessing the very core of her. The resulting explosion stole her breath away so completely that for a second she couldn't pull in
enough air to sustain herself. She found herself coming perilously close to passing out.

Sheer grit propelled her onward.

And then, employing instincts she'd had no idea she possessed, she brought Marcos up to a fever pitch using her own lips and tongue.

Firebrand. Spitfire. Wildcat.

All inadequate words to describe what she was and what she was doing to him right at this moment. “Surprising him” didn't begin to cover what was going on.

Wendy was making him crazy. Utterly, fantastically, deliciously crazy.

Any second now he'd—

Catching her before the final moment, Marcos dragged her supple, damp body up over his own, exciting them both with the heated contact. He was more than primed and ready.

Then, suddenly reversing their positions, Marcos was over her.

And then in her.

The look of sheer wonder on Wendy's face tugged on his heart and whispered to him that he was on very, very perilous ground here, in imminent danger of losing the one organ he had never lost control of before.

Ever.

Sealing his mouth to hers, he began to move. To rock. Taking her on that most intimate of dances until they both ascended to the uppermost peak. A wild
peace found them and then settled over Wendy and him as their hearts pounded together in a harmony all their own.

His arms tightened around her, holding her fast. Holding her to him.

Eventually, as the euphoria receded, Marcos found his breath and then his voice.

“So,” he whispered against her ear just before he rolled off her and to her side, “spectacular desserts aren't the only thing you're capable of creating.” Be side her now, he slipped an arm beneath Wendy and gathered her close to him, unwilling to completely release her or this wondrous feeling just yet.

She felt him shake his head. “You are a complete mystery to me, Wendy Fortune.”

She could feel his smile against her cheek and it created another smile deep inside her. So this was what true contentment felt like, she thought. How had she managed to live without it before?

And how could she have settled for Channing without it?

She strove to hang on to the feeling for as long as humanly possible, realizing that, for all intents and purposes, she had just made love for the very first time, since everything that she had experienced before, with Channing, completely paled in comparison.

The desire to whisper, “I love you,” was unbelievably strong.

The desire for self-preservation proved to be just a little bit stronger.