Party of Three (Sunday Night Dinner Club #1 (3 page)

She quirked a brow at him. “Even it out how?”

“Well, it’ll be unfair if I run behind you the whole way.”

“You are incorrigible.” If she was forced to run knowing Levi was checking out her ass the entire time, she’d trip over her own two feet.

“Yeah. That’s what Olivia wants me to believe too.”

“Believe it.”

“Hey, I’d only run behind you to admire your…technique. You know that, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Still, let’s plan on running side by side tomorrow.”

“If I can keep up.”

Please.
Chelsea suspected he wouldn’t even break a sweat. “You might wanna head back to your table now. You’re getting curious looks from everyone there.” She waved over his shoulder.

With a long-suffering sigh, he nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning. Running shoes and all, oh, and Chels?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Wear something sexy.”

She snorted. “To run in?”

He leaned in close. “Underneath your running clothes. It’ll give me something to fantasize about while I’m gasping for breath.”

Levi had not seen the inside of seven o’clock in a very long time. As a general rule, he didn’t do early mornings. His day never required it. Because brain activity only seemed to kick in somewhere around ten or eleven a.m., Levi’s routine consisted of a late start, a late afternoon kayak and a late night. For some reason, he got his best word count accomplished between midnight and three in the morning.

Standing on the corner in the glaring sun, stifling a yawn, was veritable torture. Add in the idea of a couple of laps around the park, and he was well and truly buggered. But one look at the woman crossing the road to meet him had enough adrenaline pumping through his body to shake the weariness from his limbs and the scratchiness from his eyes.

She was worth getting up for.

Chelsea wore tight black running pants that ended just below the knee and a snug maroon exercise singlet that ended mid-waist. Which left a good few centimeters of exposed female flesh.

If her eveningwear got his blood pumping, her exercise gear almost sent him into cardiac arrest. It left nothing to the imagination, outlining every inch of her long, toned legs, flat stomach, rounded hips and firm breasts. The top was small enough and tight enough that Levi knew she wore no bra.

Which suited him just fine. He’d told her to wear something sexy, and truly, was there anything sexier than braless breasts?

“You made it.” Her ponytail bobbed behind her as she crouched down to tie her lace.

“Told you I would.”

“I confess to not being a hundred percent sure.” She stood again and held out her hand. “Here you go. A bottle of water for the road.”

“Thanks. I have one in the car. Thought I’d drink it after.”

She shook her head. “You’re going to need it while we run. It’s hot today, and we have to stay hydrated.”

He gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ll thank me later. Ready to go?”

As ready as a cat was to dive into a swimming pool. “Absolutely.”

“Slow jog to warm up before we pick up the pace?”

Uh, shoot. He’d pretty much hoped for a slow jog the entire way. “I’ll follow your lead.”

She shot him a pointed look. “You’ll run beside me.”

Levi shot her a cocky grin. “I meant I’ll pick up the pace when you do.” Although he fully intended to follow a bit of the way. After the first three minutes of running, he’d need the incentive to keep going.

She gave him a saucy grin right back. “Ah, right, How silly of me to misinterpret your words. C’mon, let’s go.”

They set off at an easy pace, slipping into the steady stream of early morning exercisers on the jogging path. To Levi’s surprise, he found that not only could he keep up, he could even speak while he jogged. “You do this every morning?”

“Five days a week.”

“Explains why you’re in such good shape.”

“If you kept your eyes on the track instead of my hips, you’d have less chance of tripping.”

“Yeah, but the path doesn’t look half as good.”

“Incorrigible,” she muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes, but amusement tugged up the corners of her lips. “Tell me about your writing. How’s it going?”

“It has its ups and downs.”

“Are you in an up or down phase?”

“Up. For now. But that could change any minute.” Levi never knew when inspiration might hit. The last two months had been dry as a desert. But the last few days had more than made up for it. Even now, at this obscene hour of the morning, his fingers itched to hit the keyboard.

“When can we expect our next installment of
Willful
?”

“We?”

“I need to know if Will loses his job.”

“You’ve read my books?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am surprised.” Levi’s main character, Will Chester, was a Sydney cop whose controversial tactics skirted the edge of legal detective work. The cases Levi gave Will were gritty and hardcore. Often, while immersed in a particularly violent or gory scene, Levi questioned where the depravity that lurked deep in his mind came from—because portions of his books were incredibly depraved. “Most of my readers are men,” he explained. Demographics his publisher had shared with him.

“I confess, I’d never have bought the first book if I didn’t know you’d written it. But once you celebrated your second release at Chelsea’s, my curiosity got the better of me. I bought
Willful Intentions
.”

“And what did you think?”

“I hated every page.”

He snorted. “At least you’re honest.”

“It was way too gruesome. But…that didn’t stop me finishing it. Or buying
Willful Homicide
. I devoured them both with a sort of morbid fascination and then thought about them for days after.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

While Chelsea’s voice sounded as though she were doing nothing more than taking a slow stroll around the park, Levi found he was having more and more difficulty making long sentences. Chelsea had increased their pace. The gentle jog they’d started with had turned into a proper run.

“When someone can’t stop reading a book they don’t want to read, you should take it as a compliment. It speaks volumes about your talent as an author. So, when does the next book release?”

“Four months’ time.”

“And the next one?”

He’d submitted it to his editor at the end of December, three months ago—and then failed to write another useful word until the past weekend. “End of the year. A while still. But let’s talk about your talent. That pasta last night? Excellent.”

“My recipe, Kainano’s talent.”

“Kainano?”

“My chef. He’s Samoan, and an absolute genius when it comes to food. Everything he touches turns to delicious.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He’d never had a bad meal at Chelsea’s. He’d never even had an average one there.

Levi’s chest began to burn and muscles in his legs he never knew he had started to cramp. Chelsea wasn’t even perspiring. She looked as fresh and relaxed as she had last night. “How’d you get into the restaurant business, anyway?”

“I have an obsessive passion for good food, which I fed when I travelled the world for four years after school. I paid for the trip by working in restaurants all over Europe. Started out as a waitress, then moved into the kitchens. By the time I hit Italy, I knew how to cook some pretty impressive dishes. Got my first chef job in Florence and never looked back. I managed the kitchen at a pretty hip restaurant in LA for a year and then came home. I think I always knew one day I’d have to come back to Sydney and open my own place. Financing took a while…but I did it. Finally.”

She glowed as she spoke, telling him with more than words how much she loved her work.

“You sure did.” She’d done a spectacular job of it too. “And we are eternally appreciative of your success.” He fell silent for a second, catching his breath. “How the heck—” he puffed, “—d’ya stay in such good nick…with that kind of passion?”

“There’s a reason I have to run five times a week.”

“You—” he pointed an accusing finger, “—don’t just run. You compete with Usain Bolt.”

“Struggling to keep up, are we?”

“Not at all.” Unless, of course, struggling included gasping to fill his oxygen-deprived lungs. “Might have a mild heart attack, but otherwise…” He gave her a thumbs up.

“You’re a terrible liar.” She chuckled and picked up the pace.

Jesus, the woman was trying to kill him.

He deliberately maintained his speed, letting her get ahead. And then he forgot all about the discomforts of running. He forgot all about everything except the shift of her ass as she propelled herself forward. She ran with a feminine grace that sent a shaft of desire shooting straight through him. Her pants—which looked more like tights—could have been painted onto her lower body the way they outlined each delicious curve.

Ah, the things he wanted to do with that ass. Over and over and over again. He began to sweat, and it had nothing to do with the exertion from running.

Chelsea was gorgeous. Didn’t matter if she was dressed for a night on the town or a morning of hard exercise, she was jaw-droppingly sexy. Exactly the kind of sexy Will Chester had encountered in the first chapter of the fifth
Willful
book—right around the same time Levi had found the inspiration to keep writing.

“I’m not falling for that,” she called over her shoulder. “Keep up or go home, buddy. There’s no room for slackers on this track.”

“Not slacking,” he called back. “Going into heart failure.” Damn it, running got a whole lot harder. Literally. It was virtually impossible to keep up with a massive erection.

“You complain an awful lot.”

“Pulse…slowing. Blood ceasing…to circulate.” Perhaps because it had all pooled in his groin? “Vision becoming blurry.”

She turned to face him but kept moving, trotting backwards. “You’re a funny guy.”

“I’m a dying guy.” Dying of gratitude. Now that she faced him, he could zone in on the roundness of her breasts. Confined in the stretchy fabric of her singlet, they hardly moved as she ran. But without those clothes…

Christ, Levi could only imagine how they’d look swinging free.

“You have a pretty focused gaze for a dying man with blurry vision.”

“Every man should be lucky enough to die looking at what I’m looking at.”

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t about to run into anything. “Ogling my breasts isn’t going to get you around this park.”

“Maybe not. But the memory alone will get me through many lonely nights.”

“Do you have lots of those?”

“Lonely nights?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Too many—since I decided the only thing that could fill them up is you.”

She grinned at him. “Still not marrying you, Levi.”

“I have faith. One day you’ll say yes.”

“Do they help you write?”

“What?”

“Your delusions.”

Levi put his fist over his heart. “Ouch.”

Laughing, she turned back around and sprinted ahead.

Levi took a long sip of water then sprinted after her. It took a good few minutes before he caught up. Minutes he spent looking his fill and enjoying every second immensely. “K, let’s simplify this. If you won’t marry me, How about we settle for a blowjob on a park bench?”

She punched him in the arm without missing a beat.

“Would that be a no?”

“Keep dreaming, mate.”

“A handjob at the bicycle track?”

“In your wildest fantasies.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Levi, Levi, Levi.”

“Sex beside the duck pond?”

“How about you shut up and run?”

“You’ve got to admit, compared to those options, marriage is looking pretty damn good.”

“Know what’s looking even better?”

“Tell me.”

“Running alone tomorrow.”

“You wound me.” No, she didn’t. She turned him the fuck on. “I have one more possibility for your consideration.”

“And that is?”

Levi came to a standstill.

Chelsea slowed down and then stopped herself, amusement making her lips twitch. As he walked towards her she took the opportunity to sip from her bottle.

Levi waited until she lowered her arm again, enjoying the way a couple of tiny droplets of water slid off her lips. “How about a kiss against the paperbark tree?”

Chelsea chuckled. “You’ll try anything.”

“For you? Anything at all. Only this time…I’m not kidding.” He gestured for Chelsea to look behind her, at the massive paperbark she’d stopped beside.

Before she had a chance to respond, Levi backed her up against the trunk of the tree, leaned in and kissed her. He pressed his lips to her utterly irresistible ones and gave himself over to the moment.

Apparently, so did Chelsea, who gasped in surprise before sinking into the kiss.

He took his time getting to know the feel of her soft, warm mouth against his, learning the fullness of her succulent lips and exotic spicy scent up close. The combination of the two did crazy things to his already aroused body, ramping up his need for her.

Perhaps Levi would have been able to keep the kiss chaste had Chelsea not emitted a muffled, needy moan and hooked her arm around his neck. But the second she reacted, pulling him closer, any chance Levi had of keeping his cool evaporated.

He deepened the kiss, opening his lips and letting his tongue delve between hers.

When he sampled the sweetness of her breath, he was lost. The studied self-control he’d summoned vanished in a heartbeat, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, devouring her.

God, she tasted good. Better than any dish she’d ever served in her restaurant. She tasted of woman and dreams and desire.

She didn’t just taste good, she felt good too. Their bodies were pressed together, her breasts molded to his chest, her toned thighs touching his. Levi’s erection pushed against her flat belly.

If running had emptied his lungs of breath, kissing her filled his blood with fire. Chelsea made him burn. Passion ignited inside, a culmination of months of aching for her yet repressing the need.