Divorced, Desperate and Delicious

Chase sent Lacy one more glance, then started past her. Fabio, wearing horns again, came barreling out of the studio barking. As Lacy sidestepped the dog, her shoulder brushed up against Chase’s.

  “Thanks,” Chase said, offering her a smile, and he came within a breath of pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. Jason was right; he was a fool to want to leave here.

  Stepping into Lacy’s room, Chase backed against the wall beside the window where he could listen and possibly peer out without being noticed. He heard the front door open.

  “Hi, Hunky.” Lacy’s voice carried, and Fabio barked in the background.

  Hunky? Chase pushed open the blinds a half inch to see who stood on Lacy’s porch.

  The blond guy standing outside Lacy’s door wore a FedEx outfit and a smile—a big outfit and a big come-on smile. He looked more like a weight lifter than a deliveryman. And he stared at Lacy as if he’d love to lift her a time or two. So, this was the guy Lacy was supposed to bring inside and screw his brains out in every room of the house? Not! Chase thought.

  “Have lunch with me today?” the man said, passing an envelope and clipboard to Lacy.

  “Wish I could, but can’t,” Lacy said, matter-of-factly.

  “Okay, then have sex with me,” the man said.

  “Real smooth talker,” Chase muttered.

  “Wish I could, but can’t,” Lacy said in the same nonchalant tone. She signed the clipboard. “But thanks for the offer.”

  The man laughed. “Am I wasting my time?”

  “Yes,” Lacy answered, and returned the clipboard with a bright, flirtatious smile. “But don’t stop asking.”

  “You’re killing me, Lacy,” the man said.

  No, Chase thought. I’m going to do that.

  “Bye,” Lacy said and closed the door.

  “I won’t give up,” the man called out.

  Yes, you will! Chase walked out of the bedroom and met Lacy in the entranceway. Fabio danced at her feet. “You know, you could call and report him for harassment.”

  Lacy glanced at Chase and then opened her envelope. “He’s not harassing me.” She pulled out what looked to be a check and then went and tucked it into a basket on the antique sewing machine beside the front door.

  “He asked you to have sex with him,” Chase snapped. “Or did you miss that part? I think it came right after he asked you out for lunch.”

  “He was joking,” she answered. “Besides, he asked nicely.”

  “Right,” Chase said. “Maybe if you stopped calling him a hunk, he might ease up on the invitations for sex.”

  Lacy looked up. “I called him Hunky . . . which is his name.”

  Chase shook his head, angry at her, angrier at himself for sounding jealous. No, not just for sounding jealous, but for being jealous. Jealousy didn’t belong in the type of relationships he intended to have for the rest of his life, and it certainly didn’t belong here and now.

  Sifting through his feelings, he decided it was his cop instincts making him overreact. “You don’t know him. He could be a rapist or a serial killer. You’re out here in the boonies and he could push his way inside and attack you.”

  “Yeah, I never know when someone might take me by gunpoint and handcuff me to the bed. Or throw me down on the ground and grope me! But wait, that’s just the police who do that, not FedEx guys.” She shook her head and walked past him.

  Fabio, sitting at Chase’s feet, barked to get his attention. Chase looked at the dog. The animal cocked his head and stared up, his reindeer horns sagging. Chase scowled and pointed to the closed door. “Next time bite him, got it?”

  • • •

  Lacy high-stepped it into her studio. Warm emotions stirred in her chest, and she smiled in spite of herself. She might just be a wafer to him, but Chase Kelly was jealous. And that did a lot for her vanilla ego. Then her insides turned to marshmallow again, and she knew she’d better send Chase Kelly packing soon. At lunch, she promised herself. She’d tell him to leave at lunch.

  • • •

  “Come on. Don’t be shy. Give me your sexy pose.” Lacy whistled, trying to get Leonardo to look toward the camera. Suddenly Fabio’s horns dropped forward, and Lacy groaned. “No.”

  “Let me help.”

  Lacy turned to the door, unaware that Chase had been watching. “It’s okay. I can do it,” she said.

  “I got it,” he argued, and he sat down on the floor in front of the tree. He patted his lap so Fabio would come closer. “Do you always listen to Christmas music when you shoot, or is it just when you shoot Christmas photos?”

  “Just when I shoot Christmas photos.” She glanced through her lens, thinking the man wouldn’t look as good through her 50 millimeter as he did face-to-face. Nope. He looked darn good through the lens, too.

  “And when you shoot Easter pictures?”

  With her eye still on the camera, she sang. “‘Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping . . .’”

  He grinned and fixed Fabio’s horns. “How’s that?” He glanced up at her, then tilted his head back to the dog.

  Lacy saw the shot and clicked the camera. When the flash went off, Chase turned. “Hey!”

  Leonardo, hat askew, stepped up on Chase’s leg. Fabio, a bit jealous, scooted closer. Chase glanced at the cat, tilted his eyebrow, and Lacy clicked again.

  She moved her eye from the lens and smiled. “Sorry, when I see a shot I click. It’s habit. You have to be fast when you shoot animals.”

  Chase grinned and readied over beside the tree where Lacy had piled Christmas items. He picked up a piece of fake mistletoe and dangled it in front of his face. “So, what type of compensation does a fellow get for being exploited?”

  Both Leonardo and Fabio moved to sniff the plastic mistletoe in his hands. Lacy snapped another picture. “Hold it a little higher,” she suggested.

  Chase rolled his eyes, but he followed instructions. “I don’t work for free, you know.”

  Fabio put his front paws on Chase’s leg and, leaning forward, gave his cheek a lick. The camera flashed.

  Lacy laughed, the thrill of the shoot igniting her artistic side. “Now that was priceless. Do it again.” She moved her eye back to the camera.

  Chase glanced at the dog. “You want me to kiss a dog?”

  Lacy chuckled. “I’m sure you’ve kissed a few.”

  “Yeah, but I was drunk at the time.” He held the mistletoe over the dog’s horns and made a kissing sound. The dog leaned forward and obliged him.

  The flash went off. “Perfect,” Lacy said, grinning as she moved from behind the camera. “Every female pet lover in America will buy these Christmas cards. I don’t know why I didn’t think to use a male model.”

  “Yeah, next you’ll ask me to take off my shirt,” he said.

  Lacy considered it for about two seconds. “Nah. You got that bullet wound; it wouldn’t look good.”

  Chase laughed again. “You really don’t plan on using those, do you?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to,” she said. “But I would like to. Seriously.”

  “Well, if the pay is good.” He twisted the mistletoe, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

  Lacy grinned in spite of the heat filling her belly. “I could make you another cat-food sandwich.”

  “I had something else in mind.” Sex appeal and humor filled his eyes, and Lacy clicked again.

  This one she wouldn’t send off. This one she would keep. And on desperate lonely nights she’d stare at his face and think about what she’d missed out on. Missed. The word hung in her thoughts, and she realized she would miss more than just the sex that she wouldn’t allow herself. Chase’s sense of humor, his easy company and . . . when would she find another man who would actually kiss her dog?

  “I could make you a famous model,” she said, and looked again through the lens.

  “Is that a turn-on for women?” he asked, looking directly at the camera. “Women like models?” One eyebrow arched seductively.

  She s
napped another pic. “Oh, yeah. You’d never have to kiss another dog,” she teased, pulling away from the camera.

  “Speaking of kissing . . . maybe we can negotiate.” He stood up and inched toward her like a big cat about to pounce on its prey.

  She stared at the mistletoe still in his hands and realized she was that prey. Feeling the heat of the moment, she took a step back as the words to “Jingle Bells” began to play in the background. But the bells she heard were warning bells, and the things jingling were her nerves.

  “One kiss, Lacy. For my modeling services,” Chase said seductively, now standing in front of her. “Then you can have the shots blown up on a billboard for all I care.”

  “I’d rather just offer you a cat-food sandwich. Or money. I could really pay. I’ll have to figure out what—”

  “I don’t want your money.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help but let her gaze focus on his lips. She had noticed them before, how sexy his mouth looked, but now . . .

  “One kiss.” He brushed the mistletoe down one side of her face.

  “No tongue, “ she said without thinking.

  The same surprise she felt at her words filled his eyes. He leaned back his head and laughed. “But Lacy, what’s a kiss without tongue?”

  “No tongue or no deal,” she said, realizing the wisdom of her words. Because she should be able to handle one quick chaste kiss, as long as . . .

  “Okay, I won’t use my tongue, but you have to use yours.”

  She considered it. The photographer part of her heart pounded as the quick images she’d just snapped flashed around in her head. The female part of her heart drummed for different reasons altogether.

  “You’ll sign a release?” she asked. “That will give me the right to use them.”

  “I’ll sign a release.” His whisper caressed her cheek.

  “Okay,” she said, but she wasn’t thinking about Christmas cards—she thought about his lips and about the quick kiss they’d shared yesterday.

  He dropped the mistletoe and brushed his hands down her forearms, then he leaned forward to claim payment. “Let me see your tongue,” he said against her lips.

  It was just a tongue, but Lacy felt as if he’d just asked to see her breasts. Blood rushed to her face.

  “Come on, Lacy.” He touched her cheek as if he noticed her blush. He grinned and his fingertips moved across her lips.

  Oh, jeepers! She’d made a very big mistake. Kissing him could prove fatal. But what a way to go. Her tongue emerged, wetted her top lip.

  The green of his eyes grew brighter. “Sexy,” he said, his voice husky. “Do it again.”

  His hands drifted up to cup each side of her face. His nose touched hers and she felt his breath on her lips.

  “A little tongue, Lacy. Give me just a little . . . ”

  Her tongue, against her better judgment, slid from one corner of her lip to the other.

  He took her tongue into his mouth, suckling ever so lightly. His lips nibbled against her mouth, tasting her as if she were something to be sampled and savored slowly. Time stood still as he kissed and kissed. His fingers moved over her cheeks, behind her ears. She dipped her tongue into his mouth— only because she’d promised to do so. He moaned.

  His hands left her face and she felt them moving beneath her T-shirt, around her waist, over her bare stomach, and up. She went to catch his hands, but hesitated.

  “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered into her mouth, never breaking the kiss.

  She didn’t tell him to stop. Not one darn good reason popped into her head, even though she knew there had to be a thousand floating around in her brain. His hands continued upward, until he had her silk-covered breasts in his hands. Her nipples tightened instantly, and he pinched the hardened peaks between his fingers. She moaned with pleasure. Heat pooled between her legs, and she moved her hips closer to him.

  His response came immediately. He shifted against her, moving her against the wall. His thigh pressed between her legs, right where she ached, where she needed to be touched. And she needed it so badly.

  She grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and pulled him into her, lost to everything but the heat and the sweet, painful ache burning between her thighs. Before she knew what was happening, he had her in his arms, carrying her toward her bedroom, toward her bed. He never stopped kissing her and she never wanted him to.

  He placed her on the mattress and then lowered himself beside her. His touch moved over her with a swiftness and gentleness that made her insides melt. His hand came between her legs, cupping her sex, pressing and squeezing her through her jeans. She pushed against him. Once, twice.

  He pulled away, and she cried out in protest. “Please.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, “he said against her neck.

  Somewhere deep down she realized she should tell him to stop, he’d had his one kiss and she had a release form for him to sign, but then his hand was on the zipper of her jeans.

  The good-girl side of her conscience whispered in her ear to tell him no, but the hot-looking chick wearing red on her other shoulder promptly cold-cocked the idiot in white. Lacy pressed her head deeper into the pillow. Then his mouth was on her breasts, suckling her nipples through the cotton shirt and silk of her bra.

  His hand slipped inside her jeans, moving beneath her panties, and his finger parted her sex.

  When she felt it, felt him there, her hips rose off the bed with the pleasure.

  “You’re so wet,” he said. “So ready.” He kissed her chin and she remembered how he’d kissed her neck last night.

  Lost in a world of want, Lacy gave up all pretense of fighting. She needed Chase, she needed this. Just this. Sex, it was just sex. She wouldn’t fall in love with him—wouldn’t marry him. Her hips shifted up and down and she moved her hands beneath his shirt to touch him, to know him. But she kept her eyes closed, as if in doing that, she’d make it less real.

  His finger moved deeper until it slid inside her and she moaned again. He raised her shirt with his free hand and his mouth moved over her stomach, breathing butterfly kisses down, down, down.

  “Can I use my tongue now, Lacy?” he asked. “I need permission. Tell me yes.”

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  Dipping his tongue into her navel, he used the same slow, easy pace that his finger dipped inside the opening between her legs. She wriggled beneath him, so hot, so ready for more. She felt her jeans slip down over her hips, and she rose up to help him, not wanting him to stop any of the things he was doing to her. But definitely not wanting it to happen too fast.

  Her jeans came off and landed with a whoosh against the wood floor. His mouth lowered from her navel to the edge of her panties.

  “What do you want, Lacy? What do you like?” he asked.

  “More,” she said. He pulled away and it all stopped—the touching, the kissing. She moaned. Then the silky feel of her panties being whisked down her thighs made her breath catch.

  “Patience is a virtue.” He chuckled and she heard him unzip his own jeans. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

  The sound of his voice brought her back to some awareness, not enough to stop, but at least enough to make her think about things she should. Like protection.

  She opened her eyes. Sitting up on his knees, he leaned his head back as he pulled his shirt over his head. The muscles in his arms bulged. Her gaze riveted to his chest, to the ripple of hard flesh and muscles down his abdomen. Nothing existed on this man that wasn’t positively male. And she wanted that positive male on top of her, inside of her.

  But first, she wanted to touch him again, to be touched again. His green gaze moved over her, filled with heat, emotion. He tossed the shirt away, but never moved his gaze from her face. “Your shirt has to go, too.”

  “Touch me some more,” she begged, wanting this to last longer, not wanting him to climb on top, to find his piece of Heaven and leave her in Purgatory. Oh, how many times had she wished she coul
d be faster? But quickies had never been her specialty and it seemed Peter had only had one speed. “Touch me more. Touch me a long time.”

  “As long as you like.” He ran a hand down her belly, between her legs. “I just need to be naked beside you.” His hands went back to his jeans and he pushed them down on his hips.

  “Protection.” She managed that one word. She kept her eyes on his face, embarrassed to glance down where she knew she’d find further temptation.

  His expression changed. He stopped tugging at his pants. “You don’t . . . have any protection?” he asked.

  “No.” She paused, bit into her lips. “You don’t keep them in your wallet? All men keep them in their wallets.”

  “No,” he said and inhaled sharply. “You’re not on the pill?”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. The bed shifted. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wood floor, and then the bathroom door closed with a whack— not a completely I’m-pissed-off slam, but almost. Even while cringing deeper into the mattress, Lacy didn’t get upset at his show of anger. She knew exactly how he felt.

  Chapter Fourteen