Any Way You Want Me - By Jamie Sobrato Page 0,51
Cass’s mouth went dry.
She wanted to see him again, too. She did, but she didn’t. She didn’t want complications, she just wanted sex. Didn’t she?
Of course she did.
“Come up for dessert,” she said, taking the straightforward approach.
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, so?”
“I do, too. I’ve got an eight o’clock meeting,” he said, glancing at his watch.
“Are you saying you don’t want to come up?”
“No, I want to, I just—”
It’s just that he really was so endearingly clueless about women, he couldn’t figure out when he was being propositioned for sex.
“Worried about feeling a little sleepy in the morning? Drink some coffee.”
He smiled then, a crooked, unrehearsed smile that she found charming. “Okay, I guess I can stay awhile.”
Seriously, she needed to get laid. ASAP.
She needed some hot, sweaty sex to clear her head and remind her of the sole way men had proven useful in her life.
He got out of the car and came over to Cass’s side to let her out, then escorted her up the sidewalk as properly as if they weren’t about to get it on.
All night, he hadn’t dared to make the slightest overt move on her. His restraint was charming in a 1950s sort of way. Definitely another first for Cass, who was a magnet for dogs of all kinds.
“Want some coffee?” she asked as she let him in the door.
“You have decaf?”
“No.”
“I’d better not then. I get jittery.”
“How about some warm milk?” She flicked on the hallway light, then the kitchen light.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Possibly. But you’re such an easy target, I should stop.”
He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher, and she decided she’d better quit being a smart-ass.
Having proven herself on Christmas Eve completely inept at using the kitchen for its original intended purpose, she saw no reason not to find a new use for the space.
“Are you a dessert man?”
“I can be tempted by the right thing,” he said, his breath tickling her cheek. “I like pie.”
“What kind of pie?”
“Cherry’s my favorite.”
She leaned in and placed a kiss on the side of his neck, then pulled back. “No cherries here.”
“What do you have?” he asked as his gaze traveled between her eyes and her mouth.
“Some leftover sweet potato pie, but I made it, so it tastes kind of awful.”
“I’ve tasted your cooking—it’s not bad.”
“You’ve tasted my finger. My dinner party, however, was a disaster. I burned almost everything except the stuff that didn’t need to be cooked, and that stuff I managed to screw up in other ways.”
“Some women’s talents are best revealed outside the kitchen.” He ran his finger along the neckline of her sweater, then down and around the outside of her breast, sending a chill through her.
“I’ve got talents that can be demonstrated in the kitchen—just not the traditional kind,” she said as she edged her hand up his inner thigh, stopping just short of his crotch.
“Care to show me?”
“I was hoping to serve you something sweet, though. I did invite you for dessert, after all.” She bit her lip, trying to think of anything she had in the apartment that wasn’t burned or stale.
“I thought that was just your excuse to get me up here and have your way with me,” he said, smiling.
“It was both, but I don’t like to make empty promises.”
“I’ll forgive you.”
“I’ve got some flavored coffee syrups. You can at least have something sweet in your coffee.”
“I like my coffee straight, no frou-frou stuff.”
“Me too. The syrups were a Christmas gift…. But maybe we could find some other use for them.”
“What kind of use do you have in mind?”
“Definitely not what the manufacturer intended.”
“Sounds like my kind of dessert.”
Was she really have this conversation with this man? This man who’d spent the evening making her mostly forget to have an attitude? This man whose atrocious fashion sense and inability to dance hadn’t done a thing to dampen her desire for him?
She needed to stay focused, keep her mind on the fact that this was sex for sex’s sake, not getting-to-know-you sex, or let’s-be-intimate sex, or promise-of-something-more sex. It was just plain, opportunistic sex.
“Wait a second,” she said, then went in search of the box she’d gotten.
In the pantry, there it sat with a bow still stuck on it, a gift box of four flavored syrups. She grabbed it and tore open the packaging, then placed each bottle on the counter next to Drew.
“French vanilla, mint chocolate, hazelnut and raspberry. Which one do you want to try first.”
“Honestly, I don’t want