Page 23 of Quarterback Sneak

“Really.” His mouth traveled up her jaw, the slide of his lips along her skin electric. “I understand risotto is difficult to make.”

Not as difficult as it will prove to resist what you’re doing to me. “It’s a sensitive dish requiring a lot of care.”

“Does it?” He followed up his question by sliding his hands up her front. His dexterous fingers unbuttoned her chef’s coat before his palm invaded the loosened material to settle over her breast. She sucked in a sharp breath, her nipples tightening through her tank top.

“Yes, you have to add the stock to the dish and stir.” Sighing, she used the whisk to move the uncooked mixture around the pot, her mind no longer on the process. Sam’s touch eclipsed her concentration and the pressure of making the perfect dish lessened in the face of her need for him. She’d never allowed herself the freedom to be lost in passion, to give up total control over to someone else. Her need for Sam overrode the desire. She had no idea if it was chemistry or emotional connection but she wanted to forget about her reservations, and to give herself over to his seduction.

His thumb played across her nipple and she jerked in his arms, a moan issuing from her throat. “Um…you have to be patient and…um…allow the rice to absorb the liquid.”

“In essence, you need to moisten the rice until it reaches its boiling point?” The wicked man used the opportunity to glide his other hand under the waistband of her pants. His calloused palm skimmed her belly, his fingers blazing a path to the juncture of her thighs. “How long until that happens?”

“Twenty or thirty minutes, I think,” she said, her knees weakening at his exploration.

“That long, huh?” His talented mouth progressed to her earlobe and he nibbled at the flesh, thumb continuing his seduction of her breast while he patterned lazy circles around her aching clit with his fingertip.

She groaned at his comment and arched herself more into him, determined to enjoy every nuance of his touch.

“How do you know when it’s done?” he asked.

“When the starch seeps out of the rice…and, oh yeah, that’s good…” Blood pooled heavy between her legs and ripples of delight continued to fuel her pleasure. Carried away by her own response, she found it hard to concentrate on the topic. “…the rice combines with the stock to create a…a…creamy…um, oh God, yes…consistency.”

“I love it when you talk dirty rice to me.” He rocked his hips and his groin nestled flush against her butt.

Throaty laughter spilt forth, sensations continued to build on top of each other at an accelerated rate, the seductive bent of the conversation firing her blood to greater heat. She pushed her bottom against his cock, her own thighs quivering, back arching at the rush of release washing over her.

He held her in his arms, his face buried in her neck. She shuddered in the throes of fulfillment and her legs felt weightless. Ivy was falling hard and fast for this man. He guided her away from the stove and lifted her onto one of the stainless steel prep tables. Green eyes black with desire raked her face before his mouth found hers. He curled his fingers into the waistband of her pants and she raised her hips to allow him to tug them down. What she ached for was finally happening, sex with Sam.

The backdoor bell rang and a loud pounding followed. She growled her frustration. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” Never in her life had she meant it more. “It’s Beth. She’s helping me make pasta tonight.”

Chapter Ten

Ivy hopped from the table and adjusted her pants. To Sam’s horny ears, the statement proved a death knell. Annoyed as hell by the interruption, he stomped over to the sink and turned on the cold water. He splashed it over his face, wishing he could submerge himself in the coolness, not that it would do much good.

“We had a tour bus come by unexpectedly at dinner and we ran out of pasta. She volunteered to come in and help. Good thing she was late or she would have gotten an eyeful.” Ivy fetched her purse and extracted her keys, frustration etching her brow.

He finished washing his hands and resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to finish what they started anytime soon. Stealing the keys from her, he opened the back door. “Why isn’t she using the front door? It’s dangerous back there at night.”

Warm air rushed in, the briny scent of the Puget Sound mixing with the rank smell of garbage.

“Hey,” Beth greeted and moved inside.

He allowed her to pass and spied the man lurking in the shadows. His stomach sank. Had the photographers found him? The figure emerged from the darkness to reveal a lanky rocker type with tattoos up to his neck and several piercings. Black hair flopped over his forehead and he grinned at Sam, his teeth flashed freakishly white. Sam blocked the door with his arm. “Who are you?”

“That’s my man, Aaron,” Beth said.

Sam gave the guy a curt nod and allowed him to come inside. “Sorry, you can never be too careful.”

“Damn straight,” Aaron said. He had a gravelly voice with an Australian accent and by the smell of him and the six-pack of beer he carried in one slender hand he was drunk.

“Good to meet you, Knute,” Aaron said.

“Call me, Sam.”

A loud clang from Ivy’s direction drew Sam’s eye. She stood on her toes and pulled down several pots, her tank top riding up her flat belly. He wanted to send the newcomers away and finish what they started earlier but he had to refrain from following his inclinations.

Aaron stepped deeper into the kitchen with marked familiarity and plopped the beer on the counter. With a cocky grin, he offered a bottle to Sam.

Nodding, Sam accepted the bottle out of politeness, the coolness seeping into his palms, ones that had caressed Ivy and ached to do so again.

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