Chapter 84 84
The scent of his shower soap muddled her thoughts. She wanted to toss the spoon aside and kiss him senseless. The warmth of him at her back made her hands shake. Gripping the utensil tightly, she tried to pretend it was nothing out of the ordinary to play chef with the man who had seduced her in front of a fire only hours before.
His fingers gripped hers and released, his voice hoarse as he spoke near her ear. “You’ve got the hang of it.”
To her intense disappointment, he stepped away, moving to open cans of tomato soup and sauce. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The fact that he wasn’t producing some exotic sauce from scratch made her feel marginally better.
Suddenly, she realized that the pan was sizzling far more than it had been a few moments before. “Um, Justin?”
At about the same moment she said his name, the hot grease popped and crackled. A splatter hit her forearm, and she yelped, dropping the spoon and sending bits of browned ground beef flying everywhere.
Justin grabbed her wrist and pulled it beneath a cooling stream of water from the faucet. Already the sting was subsiding. Leaving her for a moment, he turned the stove off and moved the skillet to another burner.
“Are you all right?” He took her hand and lifted her arm for his inspection.
“It’s okay. Just a red spot. Sorry I overreacted.” She tugged until he released her.
Justin shook his head. “It had to hurt. My fault for not turning down the heat.”
“I'm hopeless in the kitchen.” She was mortified to feel the sting of tears.
He cocked his head, studying her face, his eyes seeing far more than they should. “It’s no big deal, Sherry. You’ve got enough money to hire people to cook for you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“Women are supposed to be able to cook.”
He opened his mouth, closed it and sighed. “I’m trying not to trivialize your concern,” he said, “but that’s a ridiculous, outdated stereotype.”
“Maybe,” she said, sticking out her chin. “But I just feel like my sex is supposed to be gentle and kind and proficient in the domestic arts.”
“Oh, good Lord, Sherry. Do you hear yourself? So you can’t cook. Who the hell cares? If it’s that important to you, take lessons. But if you see this as some deficiency in you as a woman, you’re nuts.”
She stared at him. “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that your mother and grandmother are amazing cooks.”
He shook his head in disgust, bending to wipe up the meat she had flung willy-nilly across the floor. “I refuse to get into this.”
She nudged his butt with the toe of her shoe. “Because you know I’m right. I bet when you think about that wife you want, you think about someone who can plant gardens and make casseroles and bake birthday cakes… Probably without a mix.”
He straightened, tossing the wad of paper towels in the garbage. “And you're trying to tell me that you're not that woman because I asked you to marry me. Is that it?”
When he went on the attack, she lost focus. “Not exactly,” she muttered. “Forget it. I’m going back to work. Call me when lunch is ready.”
“Not so fast.” He pulled her into his arms so rapidly, she actually felt dizzy for a moment. Plastered against his chest, she felt every one of his ribs, heard each heartbeat, registered the ragged tenor of his breathing.
When she opened her mouth to protest, he covered it with his. He went in deep, without apology, staking a claim. Making clear what he wanted. Justin Covington was hungry, but she had a feeling that chili was far down on his list.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, struggling for air between frantic kisses.
He tangled his fist in her ponytail and used the tension to tip back her head so he could nibble her neck. “If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong.”
Before she could assimilate a thought or form a protest, he had scooped her into his arms and was striding out of the kitchen and across the hall to her bedroom. The door was ajar a couple of inches. He kicked it open, endangering hinges.
“Justin!” The single syllable ended on a whimpering sigh as he set her on her feet and cupped her breasts with both hands.
“Don’t talk,” he begged. “Just let me do this.”
This was full-out, desperation-fueled seduction. And at the moment, Sherry couldn’t think of a single reason to quibble about the method. Justin undressed her reverently, but with enough clumsiness to betray his need for haste. His hands found every soft curve, every bit of damp skin, every responsive group of nerves. By the time she was bare-ass naked and flat on her back, Justin was stripping off his clothes.
He came down beside her and stroked between her legs, finding her damp and ready. “You make me crazy, Sherry.”
“The feeling is mutual,” she muttered.
Tired of waiting, she reached for him and closed her fingers around hard silky flesh. Justin's quick catch of breath elated her. She squeezed gently, tracing the vein on the underside of his shaft with her thumb. Despite what had happened between the two of them in the wee hours, she still felt clumsy and unsure of herself. Lacking domestic skills was one thing, but the specter of possibly being bad in bed took insecurity to a whole new level.
To most people who knew her, Sherry was a sharp-edged, assertive, take-no-prisoners businesswoman. She’d been told to her face that she intimidated competitors, particularly if they were female. It wasn’t something she aspired to or even practiced. Her family had taught her to be confident and capable in business. Bennet men were all that and more. And they had reared Sherry both by precept and example to be one of the pack.
But here, in bed with Justin, it was a different story. Beneath her touch, his rigid flesh twitched and grew. Apparently, she was doing something right. He touched her thigh.
“Lift your leg over mine,” he said, his voice rough with sexual intent.
She did as he asked, feeling a momentary frisson of unease at the position. So open. So unprotected. Justin angled his hips and entered her slowly, grabbing her hip to thrust deeper. The penetration was shallower than last night, but conversely, far more risky. Now she and Justin lay face-to-face, their breaths mingling…her ragged sighs, his groans.