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He sets his food aside for a moment, then leans in to kiss my lips, my neck, my shoulder, the swell of my breast… My eyes slide shut for a luxurious moment. I know where this is headed. We still haven’t managed more than a few bites of food. We haven’t retrieved my suitcase from the car yet, either.
I slide a hand between my flesh and his mouth before he can suck my nipple and make me lose my mind. “You promised to feed me before you tumble me to the bed again. And didn’t we discuss a shower?”
Carson grimaces and backs away. “Yeah. Sorry. I lose my head with
you. I have to be in a meeting in five hours. And right now, I just don’t care.”
“You should. You’ve done a lot to save Sweet Darlin’,” I point out. “But you surprise me. You’re not as driven as I thought when we first talked.”
“What do you mean? I’m ambitious.”
He is. If he weren’t, he never would have assumed the helm of Sweet Darlin’ or found himself engaged to Kendra Shaw. “But you’re not the kind of workaholic who forgets there’s another person in the room. You’re not the sort to disregard the people around you.”
At that observation, he scowls. “Have you dated someone like that? If so, he sounds like a terrible prick.”
In a weird way, that’s actually sweet of him to say. Normally, I wouldn’t share much about my past with a boss or a date. But Carson is different. “No. I’m talking about my parents. My dad was a reporter for the ABC affiliate in Los Angeles. My mom was a costume designer who worked for various TV shows. They both worked incredibly long hours. When Dad was home at all, he was forever on the phone or leaving in the middle of dinner to meet an informant or chase a crime scene. Mom was around more, but she always had her head stuck in a sketchbook or was cozying up to her sewing machine. Sometimes, my younger sisters and I felt invisible.”
His face softens. “I’m sorry. My mom and stepdad had their faults—they were human, after all—but they were great parents. I know how it feels to be invisible and irrelevant, though. I spent a lot of time growing up wondering why my own dad never wanted me, why my mom had to marry someone else to find a guy who gave a shit about me.”
I nod. It seems as if he truly does understand. “I had to become an adult to realize that my parents weren’t awful or uncaring or neglectful on purpose. They simply picked occupations they were so passionate about that sometimes they would forget everything else. In some ways, they saw the work they did as a public service. My dad gave truth to the community. My mom added beauty and authenticity to the world.”
“But it would have been nice if they’d remembered to be parents more often, too, right?”
I nod. “Exactly. I can’t complain much. I grew up in a nice house, went to good schools, had awesome friends. No one beat me. I never went hungry. I shouldn’t complain.”
“But everyone wants to be loved,” he says softly.
Maybe I’m just tired. Or maybe my emotions are raw because in the last few hours, this man has opened my body to him in nearly every conceivable way. All I know is that my eyes well with stinging tears.
“Yeah.” I sniffle, determined to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. “And love in return, so could you give me another forkful of those heavenly potatoes?”
With an understanding smile, he hands me the round tin and my fork, then sets about inhaling his own dinner. “God, everything tastes amazing. I was starved.”
“I was, too.” Not just for the food but for the toe-curling sex, affection, and understanding.
We both eat up, and I decide that I’m just not worrying about calories anymore today. He’ll go to work in a few hours, and I’ll pay penance with a lean breakfast, a long stretch of yoga, and a good hour on the stationary bike I noticed in the corner.
Finally, we both finish scarfing down our steaks and all our side dishes with gusto. Once we’re done, Carson groans and lies back on the bed, wrapping his hand around my ankle and skating his fingers up and down my calf. “This is the happiest I’ve been since I moved here. I gave up all my friends and dived into a company I only had a passing knowledge about. Half the management staff has been against me from the minute I walked in the door, and I don’t have just cause to fire them. So I’ve had to work hard to slowly change their minds. Juggling everything has been a bitch and a half.”
“It sounds like a lot of work. Did one of the existing executives want to assume responsibility of the company?” I shrug. “If so, why not let them?”
“Because my biological father’s last wish was for me to take the reins. Part of me wonders if he did that in death because he wasn’t with me in life. A few of my friends said that sounded like wishful thinking. Maybe it is. But this company meant everything to him. Now that I’ve been here almost six months, I understand. Think about the number of people who enjoy their candy with a favorite movie or fill their kids’ Easter baskets or eat something Sweet Darlin’ has cooked up because it reminds them of their own childhoods. I get mail every day from average people and employees alike who thank me for not letting their favorite treats die with my biological father. My cousin Jagger ran the organization for a few months, between Edward’s catastrophic head injury and the day he was removed from life support. He was cutting costs because that’s what he learned you should do in the one junior college business administration class he’d taken, but that meant he was cutting quality and employee pay. He didn’t know anything about running an organization, much less one this size. When I figured out what he’d done, I was angry on my biological dad’s behalf. I didn’t know Edward well, but I’ve learned a lot about the man he must have been by reading his notes, files, and correspondence. I understand how he would have wanted Sweet Darlin’ run, so that’s what I’m doing.”
I admire Carson all the more for it. I know how easy it would have been to be bitter toward the parent who hadn’t spared you any time as a kid. But he’s risen above it and given himself a new purpose. “I’m sure you’ve made him very happy. What you’ve done can’t be easy. Between the grief of losing the man you’ll never know well and the responsibility he left behind, a lot of people would have caved already.”
He gives me a thoughtful nod. “It’s been a lot of effort. I haven’t taken a day off in months. But tonight, being here with you…this has been everything I’ve needed. Thanks, Ella.”
“Stop. You’re making me blush,” I tease him.
Then a sly grin creases his face. “I can do more to make you blush, sweetheart. Come here…”
That voice I now know so well makes me tremble. It’s deep and low. It’s full of mischief and possession and sin. “What if I refuse?”
I can’t resist teasing this man. Taunting him. Tempting him. In response, he delivers the sexiest threats. We fell into this pattern so quickly and easily, and I’m addicted to knowing that I can start unraveling this big man with nothing more than my words, my voice, my expression. It’s a turn-on. Heck, he’s a turn-on. All I want is more.
“I’ll make you come here, little girl. And once I get you where I want you, I’ll make your torment so much worse…”
I roll closer to him, press our torsos together, and throw my leg over his. “Is that so?”
He glides a hand down my body, starting at my shoulder and working his way to my back and over my ass, cupping one cheek and bringing me closer. “Yes. Did I stutter?”
“Not at all.” I grin at him. “But you’re still feeling me up instead of getting busy, so I can only guess that you’re not really serious. What a shame…”
“Are you’re challenging me, woman?”
“Maybe.” My smile widens. “Does that make you quake in your boots?”
“First, I don’t have any boots,” he growls. “Second, if you’re serious, sweetheart, I’m so ready.”
My playful expression turns completely smug because he’s going to give me exactly what I want…except he doesn’t. Instead, he bounds off the bed and marches out the bedroom door. “Carson?”
“Get ready,” he calls as he retreats.
I hear a drawer open and close in the kitchen, followed by an electronic beep of the oven. What is he doing? The clatter of plates tells me nothing. As I hear him stomping back to the bedroom, I sit up and push my tangled tresses from my face. I already caught sight of myself in a mirror earlier. Ugh. There’s a reason people call it “sex hair.”
“For what?”
No answer.
I smell heaven before I see it. A moment later, Carson struts through the door stark naked—which, believe me, is a to-die-for view on its own—c
arrying a plate piled with the bread pudding he ordered at the steakhouse. It’s covered in creamy sauce. It almost looks like vanilla, but the slight caramel tinge and smell of hazelnut tell me it’s way more amazing.
“Are we going to eat that in bed?”
He sends me a challenging glance. “No. I’m going to eat this off your body. Lie back.”
I shouldn’t like his bossiness or his commanding tone. But right now, I do. In fact, I feel as if I’m flushing from head to toe and my heart is chugging pure anticipation through my bloodstream.
“All right,” I murmur as he sets the plate on the nightstand,
