Stirring Up Trouble (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (8 page)

He lifted his head. “What’s my name?” he demanded.

She whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

“What’s my name?” he repeated, needing to hear his name on her lips as she came.

“Braden. It’s Braden,” she said as light as a sigh. “Please.”

“That man that hath a tongue, is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman,”
he said before descending to taste her once more.

“More Shakespeare?” she asked between breaths.

He didn’t pause to answer, but instead, sucked her clitoris between his teeth. Her legs trembled and his name spilled from her lips over and over as she climaxed. Not yet satisfied, he continued his exploration of her silky folds, gently probing and licking.

She sighed and tried to sit up, but he reached his arm out to gently press her back down. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Not surprisingly, he didn’t get an argument.

What did surprise him was the strange thought that washed over him as she shattered beneath his tongue a second time.

He didn’t know if he’d ever be done with her.

CHAPTER 10

What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide

virtues in?

William Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night
, act 1, scene 3

While Braden worked in his office, Lola stood at the built-in cutting board in the kitchen of
Acropolis
, chopping green peppers, being extra careful not to slice off her fingers.

Two days. Two whole days had gone by since the piano incident, and not a single mention of it. How do you possibly thank someone for giving you two mind-blowing orgasms while you’re laid spread out like some Vegas all-you-can-eat buffet . . . especially when the guy doesn’t even ask for any relief of his own?

With remnants of her satisfaction on his lips, he’d helped her off the piano and scooted to make space for her to sit next to him on the bench, then they’d spent three hours writing songs as if nothing had happened.

Before they’d become physical with each other, they’d engaged in wicked banter and overt flirtation. Now, Braden had reverted to his serious businessman mode, giving her textbooks galore to study and memorize. At least it kept her mind occupied as she lay in the guest bed these last two nights, only two rooms away from him, with a subtle but constant throbbing between her legs keeping her awake and achy no matter how much she tried to sate it herself. Nope, Braden had spoiled her pussy and now only he could satisfy it. She’d roll around beneath the cool sheets tossing and turning as she tried to get him out of her mind. When that didn’t work, she’d grab a book and read about proper food storage or social security taxes. By four a.m., she’d finally drift off, only to dream of him. And the dreams had changed . . .

No longer trapped on her rock in the middle of the sea, she stood on a pebbled beach, dressed in a dress similar to a toga, white silk draped over her shoulder and cinched at the waist, with a glimmering golden sash around her middle.

After living for an eternity, she’d finally fallen in love. With a Mortal. Handsome, with shocking green eyes and long brown hair, it was his decency which had captured her heart. The man didn’t play the games of the Immortals, or even those of humanity.

She paced back and forth, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. She shivered, a sense of foreboding creeping into her consciousness. She’d left her father’s castle for good. Off with one of his many mistresses, she didn’t expect him to return until this evening, and by then, he could no longer stop her from becoming mortal.

“
Euterpe!” her lover shouted from a hill far above the sea. Even from this distance, she saw the bruises on his face which marred his tanned skin with purple and black. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth, his precious lips split and swollen.

For the love of Zeus, what had happened to him?

She ran as fast as her immortal legs could run in this realm, not used to the burn in her muscles or the lack of air in her chest. “Demetrius!”

“No. You must go back,
my
Mousa
. Your father has found you. He will kill you!”

Lola took a deep breath and forced herself to focus back on her cooking. Her heart raced, just as it had when she’d awakened from that dream. She gripped the spoon in her hand, the cool metal grounding her back in reality.

Lola dumped the peppers in a bowl and started chopping the onions. Braden had shown her the proper way to hold a knife and a couple of techniques to cut the vegetables, but without a lot of practice, it was a slow and tedious process. He’d told her something about onions. What was it again?

Her eyes burned and she tossed the knife on the counter to rub them. Oh, that made it so much worse. She couldn’t open her eyes. Water. She needed to wash her eyes, but she couldn’t find the sink. In her mind, she pictured the layout of the kitchen. The doors were to her right and the sink was in the back, almost straight ahead if the work stations weren’t in her way. She could do this.

Arms out in front of her, she felt around the shelves, knocking over a pot or pan, its loud bang startling her. She stumbled forward and tried once again to force her eyelids open just a bit, but the stinging in her eyes prevented it. Almost there. She bumped up against something solid.

“You cut the core of the onion, didn’t you? Did you listen how to cut an onion?” he asked, leading her by the arm.

She heard the sink turn on and a rip of paper, and then a cold compress covered her eyes. “I listened. I just forgot.”

“You can memorize volume one of the tax code, but you can’t remember how to cut an onion. There’s something ironic in that, don’t you think?”

“No,” she grumbled. She reached up to her eyes and pulled his hand away. She blinked a couple of times, relieved the pain had disappeared. “Thanks for the help. I’ve got to get back to work.” She turned to go back to the onions, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“I think we’ll leave the onions to the kitchen staff. I doubt the food inspector will test you on whether you know how to cut an onion so your eyes don’t water. Are you more comfortable with a knife?”

“Want me to give you a demonstration?” she said in a deadpan voice. No funny business anymore.

“No, I’m sure you’re fine. It’s time to move on to a more complicated dish. The mainstay of Greek food—
moussaka,
Greek lasagna. I prefer to pre-salt the eggplant, otherwise it soaks up all the oil and defeats the flavor of the vegetable. Luckily, I had the foresight to get everything started this morning.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a large bowl. “We’ll bring this over to the prep station. The one without the onions.”

He smiled, but she refused to return it. He was the one who wanted to ignore what had happened. She wasn’t a fool. Shame her once, it was his fault, but shame her twice . . . no, it would still be his fault.

Braden pulled out a bunch of pans then systematically gathered all the ingredients and settled it out in front of them. “We make the meat sauce first.”

She watched as he added oil to the frying pan, heating it until it sizzled. He was in his element, throwing spices into the meat and giving her a step-by-step recipe for making the filling of the dish. Of course, she’d never remember unless he wrote the recipe down. Why did she need to know this?

“Braden, I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but I don’t see why I need to waste time in the kitchen learning how to use a knife and how to make
moussaka
. You said you’d give me your grandmother’s recipes, and if you can’t find them, write everything down for me. I can do this without having to spend every single moment of the day in your presence.”

He set his knife down and turned her toward him, getting in her face. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on with you? You’ve been quiet these last couple of days. Did you . . . do you regret what we did?” He swept his hand down the side of her neck.

Her body responded even as her mind rebelled. She instantly grew wet and ready for him, her breasts notably tender underneath her T-shirt, tremors fluttering low in her belly. What was that about shame her twice?

“I don’t regret what we did, but it can’t happen again,” she said. “I thought we agreed on that and that’s why you haven’t made a move on me these last couple of days.”

He continued to stroke her neck, confusing her. She wanted to relent, wanted to drop to her knees and pay back the favor. Instead, she stayed his hand and took a step back.

Little lines formed around his lips and eyes. He took his hand off her neck and stuck it in his pocket. “I never agreed to that. I was giving you space. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t honor your wishes about not having sex.”

She frowned. “We did have sex.”

The frying pan hissed and smoked as Braden turned away and added the meat, tomato and onion to the oil. “Not according to President Clinton, and you have to admit, the man is a genius.”

Ah, the old oral sex isn’t sex argument. Such a man.

The smell of garlic reached her nose, making her mouth water. “Clinton may be a genius, but he’s also a man. Men—and women—will say anything to escape responsibility.”

He handed her a wooden spoon, pointing at the meat sauce. He added olive oil to another pan and tossed the eggplant in. “I’ve missed this.”

“This?” she asked, stirring and inhaling. Delicious.

He leaned back against the counter and smiled. “Our fights. Our foreplay.”

She’d never thought of their fighting as foreplay, but in a way, she could see it. Their quick as ping pong banter got her blood pumping, exciting her mind as well as her other parts. “We can’t do it.” She added a small bowl of spices to the sauce.

“Why? Because of Jon?” he ground out as if the name offended his sensibilities.

She decided Braden deserved the truth. “Jon and I are just friends.”

He didn’t reply and she couldn’t tell if he believed her. He fried the eggplants, pushing the pieces around in the pan. For a few minutes, they worked in silence. After he took the pan off the flame, he suddenly turned to her. “Talk to me, my
Mousa
.”

Her pulse roared and the room tilted. “What did you say?”

He gave her a look that scorched her from the inside out. “I dream of you at night, do you know that? The last four nights. Now that I’ve tasted your lips, your skin, your pussy, I want more. I thought it would be enough and I’d get you out of my system, but I was wrong. I admit it. I don’t want to screw this up and have it be just about sex, because it’s not. You’re my friend and my best friend’s fiancé’s sister. I can’t make promises, but I want to see where this leads.”

His words sent her heart racing again. Just because they dreamed of each other didn’t mean she was his Muse. She didn’t like the idea of fate taking the decisions from her hands.

She sighed. “I have dreams about you, too. But if we do this, we’re not only risking our friendship, but our family. I can’t mess up anything for Ryan and Portia. I mean, if this goes south, can you imagine us at their wedding, you the best man and me the maid of honor? It has ‘Disaster’ written all over it. I’m not trying to be fickle or play games with you. I know I said no sex and then I let you kiss me.”

“I did more than kiss you,” he said, leaning closer.

She twisted away and focused on the sauce, stirring it. “I don’t regret it. But it can’t happen again.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you don’t want to have sex?”

“I just did.”

“No. You gave convenient excuses. The truth is you’re afraid.”

She threw the spoon on the counter and clenched her fists. “Me? Afraid? I’m not afraid of anything. You’re just ticked because a woman finally said no to you and you can’t stand it. You always have to be in control. You won’t even hire anyone to help run the restaurant. And now you’re faced with a woman with her own mind who won’t flip up her skirt every time you give her one of your billion dollar smiles. You think if you can control me, you can convince me to give you the restaurant. I’m sorry to break it to you, but a few orgasms won’t change my mind.”

A red-faced Christopher paused halfway into the kitchen. “Whoops, sorry. I’ll come back.” The doors swung closed.

She ignored the interruption, too angry to care that the head chef had just heard her confirm a sexual relationship with the owner of the restaurant.

Braden glared coldly at her. “Maybe I do have control issues, but with good reason. You might pass the health inspector and IRS’s audits, but you’ll never pass the food critic’s. Memorizing the ingredients won’t be enough. And we wouldn’t want to forget the songs for the music producer.”

“Oh?”

“Your band’s comprised of a bunch of pimply potheads who wouldn’t know how to write a song to save their life. You can do so much better. I don’t know why you waste time with them.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled before speaking in order to keep herself from shouting. “I move every few months. When I get a chance to join a band, I take it. Yeah, I know these guys don’t have a shot at getting a record deal. They know it, too. But every night I get to go up there on that stage and sing to an audience. And get paid for it! You’re so arrogant you think that your college education and fancy words will get me a record deal.”

He huffed. “Alexander obviously thought so too or he wouldn’t have made it a condition of the inheritance.”

How had she ever thought she could fall for this man? She shook her head. “You’re wrong, by the way. This isn’t foreplay. This is a boxing match, and I’m tired of being beaten. I’ll work with you because I have no choice, but keep your hands and your lips to yourself.”

She held her head high as she pushed the doors open to walk out of the kitchen, Braden’s heated assertion ringing in her ears.

“Fine. See you tonight in our dreams,
agapi mou
.”