Wicked Games. Alison Kent
wondering if this Reuben Bettis was the one wanting to buy out Doug’s part of the architectural firm. “But that isn’t what you were doing.”
Doug took both to the table, giving her a smile on his return. “When you say that it sounds much more convincing than when I tell myself the same thing.”
“So you were forgetting?” she asked, offering him a fork and carving knife.
“I don’t want to think so.” He set about cutting off thin slices from the chicken breast and arranging them on the platter. “Media West is one of my original clients. I guess having Marcus West, not to mention Anton, question my commitment and loyalty doesn’t sit well.”
Lifting her wineglass, Kinsey swirled the liquid inside. How real was the possibility that Doug was actually more torn about this move and the impending sale of his investment in Neville and Storey than she’d been led to believe?
Lauren had made it seem as if Doug was only waiting to sign, seal and deliver the deal. But now…now Kinsey wasn’t so sure the other woman knew what she was talking about.
Kinsey sipped her wine, looking over the upraised glass at Doug, wondering what facets of his personality she might have missed during the time they’d spent together. Commitment and loyalty had never been an issue. She was surprised anyone who knew him would question either, especially Anton, who knew Doug so well.
“What’re you looking at?” he asked, refilling both their glasses once she’d set hers beside his on the island.
“Just thinking, wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“What it will be like not to have you around.”
A look of guilty relief crossed his face. “How did you find out?”
“From Lauren.”
“I was planning to tell you tonight.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously. I was.” She could hear the guilt again, this time with added regret. “It’s just tough breaking that sort of news to good friends.”
Friends. Well, that was all they were, wasn’t it? So she shouldn’t be feeling the sadness that had her eyes welling. “It’s tougher having to hear it. Especially secondhand.”
“I am sorry, Kinsey.”
“For what? Not telling me yourself? Or for going off and leaving me?” When he didn’t say anything, she decided to let it go. She didn’t want to spend their time together in an inconsolable, emotional state. And something in his pained expression told her she wouldn’t like hearing what it was he had to say.
Blinking away the threat of tears, she carried her wine and the platter of chicken to the table. When she returned for the glaze, she found Doug pouring it into the gravy boat she’d borrowed from Sydney, and her heart tripped at how at home in her kitchen he seemed.
“It’s going to take a lot of getting used to. You being gone and all that. Especially since you’re turning out to be quite handy. I’m sorry I never knew this before.”
His grin was amazingly wicked. “I have talents you can only imagine.”
“Is that so?” she asked, wishing she still had her wineglass there because she really, really needed something to do with her hands. As it was, she was having a hard time not slipping them underneath his sweater and shirt. She wanted so badly to get close to his body.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely so.”
“Well, then. Do you care to share what you know?” she asked, settling on toying with a strip of peeled cucumber skin. “Or are you keeping your skills secret?”
Doug slowly lowered the gravy boat. He stood where he was for a very long moment, his hands flat on the countertop as if he wasn’t at all certain what he was doing or why.
But as Kinsey looked on, he came to a decision. She saw it in the tensing of his shoulders, and in the way he finally tossed back his head, blond hair flowing, like a stallion having selected his mare.
The analogy made her laugh, or would have if the look he gave her didn’t make her feel as if he was considering the best way to mount. And even though that was what she’d wanted, where she’d wanted this evening to go, she couldn’t deny the sting of surprise at the speed with which they’d progressed.
He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.
Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they’d never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.
That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. “My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I’d rather start with what I know best.”
She responded with a bit of a grimace. “I didn’t remember to make dessert.”
“Trust me, darlin’. What I have in mind is better than anything you could’ve whipped up.”
It was a good thing she wasn’t easily taken in by a sweet-talkin’ man. “You say that without having tasted any of my cooking.”
“Yeah, but I’ve tasted you.” And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.
She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she’d imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.
“Mmm,” he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. “You have no idea how good that feels.”
“It can’t feel half as good as what you’re doing with your mouth.” He’d moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.
He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. “It would feel a hell of a lot better if you’d lose this top.”
She couldn’t get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.
And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.
He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn’t want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.
His skin was on her skin, and all she could think about was the night they’d both been drunk and only half aware of being on the veranda at the house on Coconut Caye. His hands had been all over her then, beneath her clothing, in her hair, inside her body in ways she still imagined vividly when she went to bed alone.
With his hands now on her rib cage beneath the curve of her breasts, she thought again of that previous contact, realizing her memories were nothing compared to the bliss of the real thing.
He was deft in the way he teased her, making sure she enjoyed his touch. He tested her reactions, his mouth whispering his kisses along with his words. Both thrilled her beyond belief.
“Is that good?” he asked, his lips drawing on the skin just beneath her shoulder. “Do you like that?” he added, before she could do more than softly moan. “What do you want me to do?” As if his tongue wetting a line along the upper curve of her breast wasn’t enough. “You’re so beautiful.