Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) (28 page)

Muscles twitched along his shoulder blades. “Did you come here to pick a fight?”

“Not especially.” Shaye turned to the cookie dough, displaying her cute short-shorts-covered butt. “Just making an observation that I’m not your type.”

His hand slowed. “What type do you think I go after?”

Oh, yeah, she was spoiling for a fight. The temperature in the kitchen cranked up a few degrees. She wasn’t the only one frustrated and horny.

“I couldn’t say. But not someone like me.” She raised an insolent shoulder. “I’m not a party girl. I don’t drink or do drugs or sleep around, and I don’t shop on Rodeo Drive.”

His temper spiked. “Jessica sometimes drank too much, and she occasionally smoked weed. But she didn’t screw around, and she didn’t give a shit about Rodeo Drive. She was a nice girl—”

“Really? The kind of girl you’d have eventually married?”

He let the fork he whisked the buttercream with drop. “For your information, I nearly did marry her.”

Her hands stilled in the mixing bowl, followed by three beats of deadly stillness. Another flare-up of foot-in-mouth-itus.

“This
complicated relationship
you mentioned the first time you kissed me,” she said, her spine rigid. “You weren’t only
seeing
Jessica, you were going to…marry her.” She straightened her backbone farther, the fine bones of her shoulder blades shifting.

He sucked in a deep breath and then another, trying to see through Shaye’s snark to the emotions beneath. Insecurity? Jealousy?

“
Were
is the key word here, and it’s not as if Jessica’s been on my mind every fucking day since I arrived in Oban.” Shaye had commandeered his undivided attention in that area. “But in hindsight, yeah. Maybe I should’ve mentioned Jessica and I were more than just dating.”

“Ya think?” Shaye’s hands gripped either side of the bowl’s rim. “Having an ex-fiancée is a not-so-small detail to keep from the boring chick you’re messing around with.”

Was that all she thought they’d done? Mess around? His fingers flexed open and shut over and over. “Will you stop saying you’re boring? You’re not bloody boring, you’re simply caught up in some pastel-colored delusion where no one’s ever screwed up and where the perfect man will one day waltz into your world.”

Shaye spun to face him, her eyes blazing fire.

His blood fired hot in return, fed by every flaw he knew about himself. “Let me tell you something else, cupcake. I’m not perfect. I’m just a guy and a pretty ordinary one at that. I belch after a beer, hog the TV remote, and scratch my balls because I damn well can. I won’t pretend to like Pride and Prejudice, I don’t remember birthdays and anniversaries, and the day I get on my knees and grovel for a woman’s affection will be the day I ask Dr. Joe to ring the psych department for a straitjacket.” He stabbed a finger at her. “But I want you, and you want me—and it pisses you off because you can’t bear getting messy with a man who’ll never measure up to your unrealistic expectations.”

“You are
such
a jerk.”

“And you want a life-sized Ken doll, not a real man.” He turned to his frosting. “Someone like that dickhead, Ward.”

A soft missile hit him dead center of his skull, dropped to his shoulder, and slid to the floor with a plop.

“What the—?” He whirled back, his heel grinding cookie dough into the linoleum.

A second missile struck his forehead before he had time to raise an arm. Cookie or not, when thrown with enough force, chocolate-chip loaded dough stung.

Del swiped the mixture off his face, spotted Shaye’s hand move, and lunged to the left. “Hey!”

“Asshole.”

Another ball smacked into his ear. Man, she had a killer aim. He snatched a cupcake off the tray, and lobbed it across the room. It sailed straight past Shaye’s shoulder and bounced off the swinging doors.

“You throw like a girl, Hollywood—not like a
real
man.” She scooped up more ammunition and ducked around the edge of the counter.

“Oh, really?” He stalked after her.

Pop
—dough ball to the shoulder.

“Yeah, really.” She danced backward, keeping a safe distance between them.

Del rounded the counter—had her dead in his sights. She could go right and circle around to where they’d been working, or left, out of the kitchen doors.

No way would he let her leave now. Not when things were getting good.

Splat
—dough ball to the chest.

The last of his temper vanished in a blaze of heat. Goddamn, but getting messy with Shaye Harland would be fun. His lips split into a wide grin, probably a risky target, but he’d walk on the wild side.

“You should quit that before I catch you,” he said.

“Not scared of you, Hollywood.”

Smack
—dough ball nailed to his upper thigh. Too damn close to his junk for comfort—and considering what he planned to do after he caught her…

“Oh, you should be.” His grin stretched wider at the flash of tanned leg as she slipped around the corner to their work area. “I’m gonna do real bad things to you once you finally break down and beg.”

As planned, his words needled her into distraction. Shaye spun to heave another ball at him—but this time, he was ready. Del went in low and fast, knocking the last couple of missiles out of her hand and scooping her off her feet. He grabbed two sweet butt cheeks in his hands and backed her up to the counter. Soon as he’d wedged himself against her so she couldn’t escape, he snatched up her right hand, which crept along to his neat rows of cupcakes.

“Nuh-uh.”

She glared daggers at him.

“I might throw like a girl,” he said. “But I’m still bigger and stronger and faster than you are.”

Her knee jerked, and he thrust forward, grinding into the cradle of her hips. Her eyes widened. Yeah, the oven wasn’t the only piece of hot equipment in this kitchen. Lush breasts rubbed against him as her breaths heaved in and out, her pebble-hard nipples stabbing into his chest.

He bent and nipped her bra strap between his teeth, tugging it sideways until it slid off her shoulder.

“Del.” Her voice aimed for tart lemon, but sugar softened the sour, so he licked a strip of skin from shoulder bone to the pulse bumping in her throat.

Shaye wriggled, kneading him so sweetly he nearly swallowed his tongue. He was a man starved for her touch, and the wriggle signaled the buffet was about to open. Traversing the silky skin of her neck, he tasted a sliver of vanilla and sugar where she must’ve touched herself while forming the cookies.

Desire clogged up his lungs. Edible. She was so deliciously edible.

Lips closing on her earlobe, he rocked into her again, and a soft moan slipped from her throat. He sensed the moment her struggles changed from
desperate to get away
to
desperate to get closer
. She sagged, her fingers twisted into his shirt relaxed, splaying across his chest. He pulled her closer, and spacing hot kisses along her jaw, he reached out and yes…his fingers connected with the cool sides of his mixing bowl.

“You wanna get messy with me, baby?” He sucked on her lower lip, tugging it gently with his teeth, soothing the little sting with a flick of his tongue.

Hooded green eyes stared dreamily up at him. She nodded, so he swiped his fingers through the frosting and smeared it across her mouth.

Shaye’s eyes flew wide open, and she smacked his chest. “You—”

He kissed her before she could say anything else—diving into the kiss, throwing the full weight of lust and frustration and need behind it. She tasted of sugar and slick heat, every inch of her mouth a new texture and sensation to explore. He sucked off frosting, rubbed his lips over the stickiness coating her chin.

Fingernails raked his shoulder then dropped, creating a spine-tingling trail down his biceps. He lost himself in the kiss; not even the bowl rattling on the countertop could deter him. Had he expected Shaye to capitulate without a fight? Not bloody likely; otherwise she wouldn’t be the woman he wanted so desperately.

He pulled away to smile at her and got a face-full of frosting.

He swept his tongue around his lips, taking in more of the citrusy-orange flavor.

“Good?” She smiled up at him, batting her long lashes.

He scraped a hand down his face then smeared the leftover orange tinted cream over the enticing swell of cleavage exposed by her slipping bra.

“Admit it,” he said. “I give good frosting.”

Her eyes crinkled in the corners, green irises now missing the dangerous glitter of temper.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven for being an asshole?”

“It means I’ll be mad at you later, so take off your shirt, Hollywood.”

Del made short work of stripping off his tee. He tossed it on the floor and glanced back at her. She had another glob of frosting on her fingers.

“Are we going to get messy now?” he asked.

And please, God. Let her say yes.

“Very messy.”

She slapped a hand on his chest, dragging her fingers over his pecs until her short nails gently scratched his nipple. With her free hand, she hooked him by his pants waistband and tugged him closer, bending forward to lap at his skin like a kitten.

A fucking
sex
kitten.

Her tongue circled the nipple that seconds ago she’d toyed with using her nails. Del’s pulse exploded into a gallop. The wet heat of her mouth traced from one side of his chest to the other, her tongue flickering across his skin until she latched onto the other nipple, flicking the sensitive nub over and over. The pleasurable tug of it arrowed straight down to his balls. No innocent, this woman.

He ran his hands down her arms and caught the tank top’s hem. “Your turn.”

She released his nipple with one final rasp of her tongue. From the strength of her suction, he figured a red patch would form on his skin.

Lucky he was tough enough to handle a feminine hickey.

Her fingers dipped past his waistband and stroked the swollen head of his cock.
Holy shit
. Pity he wasn’t tough enough to muffle a groan. Del mentally multiplied complex fractions in an effort not to humiliate himself like a thirteen-year-old boy who’d discovered his first dirty magazine.

She slipped her hand out of his pants and helped him tug off her top—since, apparently, one touch on his penis had rendered his fingers unworkable and his brain with limited muscle memory of how to unhook a bra. Shaye had that sussed too—thank Christ—and the scrap of red satin fell to the floor.

Del hauled her flush against him, her breasts smooshing into his chest and sticking slightly, thanks to the icing making his skin tacky. The playful idea of
I’ll cover Shaye’s amazing tits with frosting and slowly lick it off
evaporated the moment she kissed him again, her desperation matching his as she wound her arms around his neck.

No more games. No more teasing. There’d be time for slow, sexy discovery later. He was ready to burn, and from the thrust of her tongue in his mouth, so was she.

Hands kneading her sweet ass, Del lifted her, and she hooked her legs over his hips and ground against him. God, he’d go out of his mind before he’d a chance to taste her. No way. Del broke the kiss, bracing her shoulders and tipping her backward until his mouth found her breast. He swirled his tongue around the pebbled texture of her nipple, but the hint of citrus frosting didn’t taste half as addictive as Shaye herself did.

She moaned, rubbing her cleft against his rolling-pin-sized erection. Things were getting serious fast. He needed to be balls deep inside her in the worst way.

The nipple he feasted on slipped from his mouth with a moist pop. “Condom.”

Since he hadn’t planned on ravishing Shaye amongst cookie dough and cupcakes, he wasn’t carrying. Her legs tightened on his hips, and his cock jerked.

Yeah, lesson learned. Always be prepared.

She blinked up at him, her slightly swollen lips parting on a gasp. “Nightstand. My room.”

“Let’s go.”

Shaye unhooked her legs from around him, and he helped her stand. Her legs wobbled as he bent down to pick up her tank top and bra, sending a rush of masculine pride through him.

“Stick your shirt on,” he said. “We don’t want a scandal.”

The corner of her mouth quirked, but she tugged on the top. Rock-hard nipples jutted against the thin cotton, puckering the fabric as the wetness from his mouth made the shirt cling to her breasts.

Fuck, not a huge improvement—how would they make it to Shaye’s room in time?

Del snatched up his shirt and wrangled it on, taking a full three seconds to discover he was trying to jam his head into the sleeve.

He had it bad for this woman, real bad.

Del took her hand, but she slipped away.

“Oven,” she said, twisting the dial to zero. “Smoke alarms going off wouldn’t be a good look.”

He reeled her in for another mind-blowing kiss.