Good Karma (44 page)

With a grin, he turned back toward his
computer. “Thank you for the coffee, Karma.”

She was dismissed. But clearly, he was
pleased with her reaction. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be wearing such a
Cheshire cat smile.

Fighting the slippery sensation between her
legs, she returned to her desk, sat down, and glanced into the
conference room. Mark’s smoldering gaze was the sexiest
I’m-going-to-fuck-you-so-hard look she had ever seen. As in
anywhere. Not even in the movies had she seen a more salacious
expression.

Yes, Mark was going to make today
unbearable…but in the most incredible, stimulating way. But two
could play at that game.

* * *

Right before leaving for lunch with Don,
Mark’s phone vibrated on the table next to his tablet. With a
nonchalant glance, he read the message.

I’m not wearing any panties.

WHAT?

His head snapped around. Karma wasn’t looking
at him, but her coquettish grin told him she knew he was watching
her. Was she serious? Just the thought that she wasn’t wearing
underwear caused his cock to bob to life.

Are you pulling my leg?
he texted
back.

No. Want me to prove it?

When he glanced back, her face was beet
red.

Don’t tempt me.
Damn, he was already
stiff.

Now we’re both worked up, aren’t we?

Woman, I get worked up just looking at you,
but now I’m worried for your safety tonight.

Tonight?

Yes, tonight. My place. 7:00. Bring an
overnight bag with enough clothes to make it to Sunday. I’m keeping
you for a while. Especially now that you’ve shown me you’re more
than ready to take the heat.

I have?

Karma, if you’ve really taken off your
panties, I think we both know the answer to that.

She smiled when he glanced at her. She looked
at her phone, thumb-typed a reply, and a moment later, his phone
vibrated.

I really have taken them off, and oh my God,
I can’t believe I did.

Does it feel sexy?

Yes.

You’re something else, you know that?

It’s your fault.

Mine?

Yes. You’ve turned me into a nympho.

He chuckled.
That could be a good thing.
With the right man, of course.

And you’re the right man?

Absolutely. But you kept your promise this
week, right? No playing?

Yes, I kept my promise. Which is probably
why I did something as foolish as take off my underwear. I’m
horny.

This time he laughed.
Karma! I can’t
believe you said that. Such a potty mouth.

He heard her giggle. A few seconds later, he
received another text.
I can’t help it. You wouldn’t let me play
with Hank this week.

You need to break up with Hank. You need a real
man.

But I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

You need to be more worried about hurting
mine. I’m a sensitive guy. Who has an ego. Remember? I refuse to
let a power tool be better than I am.

Something tells me you have nothing to worry
about in that department.

He grinned.
Well, I’ll give it my
best.

Deal.

Good. Now, quit sexing me up. I have to have
lunch with your boss in a few minutes and I don’t want him to get
the wrong idea.

LOL. Okay, I’ll stop, but only because I
don’t want Don stealing you away.

Such wit.

You don’t have to worry about that,
he
texted.
You’re a lot cuter than Don.

When he looked at her, she wore one of her
signature angelic smiles. The ones that caused his heart to beat a
little harder and his skin to warm. He hoped to see many more of
those smiles this weekend.

And in the weeks to come.

Chapter 38

The real
lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or
smiling into your eyes—or just by staring into space.

-Marilyn Monroe

Karma pulled into the garage of Mark’s condo and
parked next to his BMW. He had told her he would leave the garage
door open. That way, her car wouldn’t sit in his driveway all
weekend, just in case a coworker happened by.

As she got out and grabbed her bag from the
backseat, the garage door closed. Mark met her at the stairs
leading into the kitchen.

“Hey you.” He swept in for a kiss.

He took her bag and stepped aside. A trail of
steam rose from the spout of a pan on the stove, and the savory
scent of garlic and oregano suggested Mark could cook a mean
Italian dish.

“You can cook?” She looked over her shoulder
as he stepped behind her and wound his arms around her waist. Her
heart fluttered.

“Oh, yes, Karma. I can cook,” he said against
the side of her neck before kissing it.

Easy jazz played from somewhere in the living
room, lending a classy ambience to the atmosphere. She took a seat
on one of the barstools and watched him make his way around the
kitchen with the swift confidence of an executive chef. He lifted
the lid off a skillet, releasing a plume of steam, then dipped in a
spoon, raised it to his mouth and tasted, licked his lips
thoughtfully, then sprinkled in a dash of salt before replacing the
lid and opening the oven in one fluid motion. He pulled out a tray
of thick slabs of buttery garlic bread, barely golden brown, and
set it on the counter. It was an entertaining dance between man and
cuisine.

“You sure know your way around a
kitchen.”

“Cooking is sort of a hobby.” Using a fork,
he plucked a piece of spaghetti from the boiling water, blew on it,
then dropped it in his mouth.

“I didn’t know that.” She leaned on her
elbows and crossed her forearms on the granite countertop. Learning
these nuggets and nuances was like opening small gifts. Each one
revealed something precious, something expressly hers.

Using a kitchen towel, he lifted the pan and
carried it to the sink, where he poured the contents into a metal
colander. “I love to dabble in the kitchen. It eases my mind.” He
set the empty pan on the counter, lifted the colander, and shook
off the excess water. “When I’m stuck on some part of a project, or
when I get stressed, cooking always seems to clear my head. It’s
kind of like my doodling. It occupies my thoughts in a way that
just feels simple so my subconscious can work on other things.”

“Do you make up your own recipes or follow
others’?”

He used tongs to lift the noodles from the
colander and twisted them into a spiraled bundle on a nearby plate.
“I usually make up my own, but sometimes I see something I like,
get the recipe, and alter it my way.”

“You’re a real Gordon Ramsey.”

He twisted a second pile of pasta on another
plate. “Nah, just an amateur who has a way with food.” He carried
the plates to the stove, lifted the lid off the skillet, and ladled
a large spoonful of thick, rich sauce that smelled heavenly onto
each mound of pasta. Two giant meatballs topped them off. Then he
added a piece of garlic bread and placed one plate in front of her
and the other at the setting beside her. “Wine?” He lifted a bottle
of red.

“Please.”

Very impressive. This was the first time a
man had cooked for her. The first time one had gone through so much
trouble to seduce her. Mark didn’t have to go to such lengths. They
both knew what tonight was about…what this entire weekend was
about. He could have simply ordered takeout, fed her, and whisked
her off to bed. Instead, he took his time, easing into the moment.
Despite their steamy exchanges at the office today, Mark was in no
rush to reach the evening’s denouement.

The first bite of her meal sent an explosion
of flavor through her senses. This was Italian with an
attitude.

“Oh my God.” She turned toward him as he sat
beside her.

His modest grin did little to hide his pride.
“Good?”

She nodded then changed her mind and shook
her head. “No. Not good.” She turned back to her plate. “This is
orgasmic.”

He had just taken a drink of wine and nearly
spit it out. He coughed, dabbed his napkin on his upper lip, and
cleared his throat. “Well, I wasn’t expecting
that
.”

She grinned. “This is really good.” She
sliced her fork through the steaming meatball and slipped a chunk
into her mouth. “Mmmm, heaven.” Flavors crashed against her tongue.
“Is this your recipe? You didn’t replicate someone else’s?”

He nodded once and took a bite. “My own.”

“What’s in it?”

He winked. “It’s a secret.”

“I want this recipe,” she said.

“If you’re good, I’ll think about it.” He
nodded toward her plate and flashed a wicked grin. “Now eat. You
need your strength.”

It was his first allusion to what was in
store for her this weekend.

“I’m sure I do.” She turned to her Italian
heaven-on-a-plate and dug in. If he wanted her to eat, she would
eat. And if he wanted her to do other things later? Well, she would
just have to do those, too.

* * *

After dinner, Mark took their plates to the
sink then returned and wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Why don’t you take a bath while I clean up the kitchen?”

“Why do I get the impression you’ve already
made that decision for me?” She slid off the barstool.

He simply smiled, picked up her bag, and led
her upstairs to the loft bedroom.

The small desk lamp was the only one on in
the room, but evening light still spilled through the
western-facing windows. He set her bag on the king-sized bed, which
was dressed in burgundy satin with enormous throw pillows resting
against the leather headboard.

She followed him into the bathroom.

He turned on the water and started filling
the large, oval tub.

“Vanilla okay?” He held up a bottle of bubble
bath.

“Yes.” It was more than okay. Everything—the
whole evening, all of it—was perfect. She had hit the romantic
jackpot. Was Mark even for real?

He poured two capfuls of bubble bath into the
running water.

Mark had gone to great lengths to make
tonight special. First dinner, now a bubble bath, and not just any
old bubble bath in any old ho-hum bathroom. A vanilla bubble bath
set among a romantic oasis. Three large bouquets of pink and white
roses created ice cream colored decadence on the counter and on the
deck of the ivory tub, along with a dark red candle. A second
candle rested on the opposite end of the counter from the
flowers.

“Cinnamon?” She gestured toward the
candles.

He smiled, lit them, then moved toward her
like a cougar on the hunt. “Did you know vanilla and cinnamon are
powerful aphrodisiacs?” His gaze danced over her face, and his arms
circled her waist.

“No.”

He nuzzled her neck, leaving a trail of
kisses. “It’s believed that vanilla is arousing for both men and
women, but especially so for men.” He kissed the corner of her
mouth. “And cinnamon produces heat in the body and increases the
sexual appetite.”

She glanced around his temple of seduction.
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” He looked over his shoulder at the
bubble bath. “The only thing you have to do is relax in the tub.
I’ll bring you a glass of wine in a few minutes.” He kissed her
before departing.

Was this what it would be like if she were
really, honestly Mark’s girlfriend and not just an affair with an
expiration date?

Her gut told her that this was just how Mark
was. That he wasn’t putting on some act. He believed in romance and
the art of seduction. And with Mark, it
was
an art. Other
men could lure women into their beds with a look, a nice meal, or a
well-placed compliment, but for Mark, seducing a woman involved
evoking her senses, pleasing her, making the seduction about
her
.

She retrieved her bag from the foot of the
bed and set it on the floor by the bathroom counter. Inside was the
white baby-doll nighty and thong. A few months ago, she wouldn’t
have dreamed of wearing something so sexy, but now she couldn’t
wait.

After undressing and pinning up her hair, she
eased into the tub. The water’s temperature was perfect. Hot, but
not scalding. A bevy of vanilla bubbles enveloped her, covering her
entire body except for her head and shoulders.

Aaaahhhh. Sinking into the bubbly bed was as
decadent as pouring melted chocolate over her skin. Lifting one arm
through the vanilla-scented film, she skimmed her hand up to her
shoulder. The bubbles made her skin slick, almost as if she were
covered in oil. Only Hollywood royalty was treated better than
this.

A few minutes later, Mark knocked lightly
then entered. He held a glass of wine and a bath pillow. “Enjoying
yourself?”

“Mm, yes. Very much,” she said lazily.
Between the vanilla and cinnamon scents, she felt like she was in a
bakery, but without the calories. And what woman didn’t like the
idea of smelling like a cinnamon roll?

He set the wine beside her on the edge of the
tub, nestled the pillow behind her head, removed a pink rose from
the vase beside her, tore off the flower, and then sprinkled the
petals over the white blanket of bubbles. She lifted one
foam-covered hand and slid one of the petals into her palm. It felt
like silk-covered velvet.

“I still can’t believe you removed your
panties at work,” he said, dropping his hand into the bath. His
palm caressed her inner thigh.

She played the rose petal through her
fingers. “Me neither.”

His hand slid all the way up her thigh and
back down, making her catch her breath. Dark shadows filled his
gaze, and the lines of his face softened. For several seconds, he
continued to gently caress her leg. It felt like a hundred naughty
thoughts passed between them in the space of only a few seconds.
Finally, he smirked and pulled his hand out of the water. “I should
stop that or I won’t be able to.” He reached behind him for one of
the plush, cream-colored towels and dried his arm.