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Relief broke through her. He didn't want to talk about the sex or their relationship. Maybe he believed, like her, that it was a wonderful evening that shouldn't go any further. Maybe he'd already accepted they'd spend a few more hours together at the golf course, then part without another word of the encounter. Maybe he'd even begin to date Mary. That would be nice.
Damn, the hash brown was so good. Very tiny, though. Maybe a few more. "They're claiming it's possible at this point, not confirming," she offered. "It's not like we're talking time travel here. But to have a timekeeping system for space would be groundbreaking. The energy exists in the lowest possible state so there won't be any perpetual motion. I'd like to see more research before I jump in and make assumptions. I'm a bit surprised. I always thought of you as a more progressive brain."
She swiped a potato into the pool of ketchup, which was super low in calories, and smiled as the taste of salt and potato exploded in her mouth. She was so happy.
"I am progressive. I'm also a classicist."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
"How long have you been studying physics, Ken?"
The hash brown dropped from her fingers. Shit. One peek at him showed his face as a complete study of concentration. He had the same look last night when he was between her thighs and bringing her to orgasm. Her body clenched in response, and she grew wet. How was he able to do that with just a look? "What are you talking about? I saw it on this science blog when I was searching for ShoeDazzle.com."
"Why are you lying?" he asked softly. "Why is it so bad to admit you're amazing at science and math?"
Her head snapped up. She was so not going there. She'd already told him too much. "Not to disappoint you, but I really don't know much in those fields. I remember stuff from school, I occasionally read a blog or two, but don't try to make me into something I'm not. I'll only disappoint you."
Green eyes burned into hers. She shivered under all that concentration, her mouth going dry as she tried to remain cool and detached. Those lush lips framed by his stubble gave him the rough morning-after look she found sexy as hell. The Calvin Klein denim jacket, button-down shirt, and snug jeans showed off his muscular body. Not that she needed reminding. Nope, she knew every inch of him, from his cut abs to the toned biceps able to hold her up while he pounded into her. He didn't look nerdy at all. In fact, he looked as steamy as a male model fresh off a catalog shoot.
She dragged in a breath. Focus. He wanted an explanation of her brains, and she wasn't gonna give it to him. She waited and prepared for a knockout battle. She'd walk out and end this right now.
Instead, his body slowly relaxed, and he nodded. "Okay. Are you done? I want to get to the course before the big groups come in."
"Maybe this isn't a good idea." She paused. "Maybe we should reschedule."
"No, you promised. Let's go." He grabbed the bill and went to the counter to pay, while she tried to rein in her sexual and physical appetite. A few hours of golf wouldn't hurt. It was a beautiful day, she'd get some light exercise, and they'd go their separate ways.
A FEW HOURS LATER, she admitted that Nate Dunkle was a sneaky son of a bitch.
Other than the crankiness he showed on the course after she got something called a birdie, he was the perfect companion. He showed her how to manipulate her grip and root her feet for more power. His fingers stroked, soothed, and caressed. He insisted on pressing his erection against her buttocks and wrapping his arms tight around her on the pretense of helping her with her swing. As they progressed past each hole, he muttered more and even began scribbling some ridiculous formulas on his notepad. Very confusing. Every time she thought she did really well, he seemed to get more frustrated. When his ball landed in that pretty lake, he'd almost lost his temper. Which was kind of interesting. And hot.
Instead of dropping her off afterward, he forced her to stop and rest at one of the outdoor cafes. He drank a microbrew, and she sipped a glass of wine as they people watched, bantered, and talked about a wide range of topics. He paused at a farmers' market, and made her close her eyes while he shopped for a variety of secret ingredients he refused to show her. Every time she tried to peek in one of the big brown bags, he rolled it tighter. Whatever. Maybe he was going to cook a special secret meal for Mary. That would be nice.
On their way home, he dragged her into an art exhibit, where they debated their favorite artists, and he came up with a ridiculous theory of how Monet used a famous mathematical equation to generate the randomness of his water lilies.
Yeah. Right.
It was early evening when he finally walked her to the door. Kennedy frantically searched for an easy, casual way to say good-bye and put their wild night of sex behind them. She decided on the straightforward approach.
"Well, thanks for a great day. I'm really tired, so I better get in." She smiled brightly, a connoisseur at the professional brush-off with men, but he ignored her and strolled right through the door.
"I like your place," he stated. His gaze took in the sparse, modern decor, clean lines, and overall expensive design.
"Thanks. Umm, Nate--"
"I know you're tired, but I need a favor. Remember how I said I don't cook much? I want to try. Building up a palate is the mainstay of a good culinary education." He set the bags on her countertop. "I need a taste-test dummy."
She closed the door behind her and faced him. "What?"
He waved a hand in the air. "Bad term. Not a literal dummy, of course. It's very simple. I blindfold you, and you let me know how each of the things I bought taste. I'd like to make a full-course dinner. Stretch my boundaries. What do you think?"
Her head was already spinning. "Umm, I think learning to cook is a wonderful idea. But it's late. And I don't know how me taste testing is going to help you."
"I'll get a woman's perspective on the menu I'd like to try. Won't take long. Please?"
She eyed the bags with suspicion. "Why do I have to be blindfolded?"
"I saw it on Hell's Kitchen. You have an open mind when you don't visually peg the ingredients. Allows your taste buds to take over as the primary sensory perception."
Her skin tingled with anticipation. This was a definite no brainer. Reject the plan, get him out of her apartment, and get to bed early. Alone.
"Fine. I'll do it."
He lit up. Removed his jacket and hung it neatly in the closet. Dressed in dark jeans that cupped his spectacular ass, he pushed up the sleeves on his casual aqua shirt as if prepping for something big. He washed his hands and dragged a chair over to the table.
"I can sit on the stool," she pointed out.
"No. A chair is sturdier. Trust me."
Sturdier for what? She shrugged. "What do I have to do?"
"Can you get me a scarf, please?"
"Kinky."
"I can be." She laughed, got him a colorful purple scarf, and sat down. "Now, I'm going to blindfold you and then I prep some of the food." He gently placed the scarf over her eyes and tied a loose knot. "Can you see anything?"
"Nope."
"Okay, just give me a minute." She heard cabinet doors open and close. The rustle of bags. The scent of freshness and a variety of herbs, all mixed up. The refrigerator door squeaked, then went silent. The shuffling around the kitchen slowly relaxed her, and she let her mind drift while she waited for the first taste.
She sensed him kneeling in front of her. The powerful aura of his male energy wrapped around her like an invisible vise. A rush of warm breath hit her lips. Her heart pounded in an uneven rhythm. "Are you ready for your first taste?"
The rich, sensual words rumbled over her ears. Her tummy dipped. "Yes."
"Open up."
Her lips parted. She expected the cool, smooth touch of a spoon, but he used his fingers. He placed something small and slippery on her tongue. The flavor of ocean, salt, and smoke tickled. The firm bite against her teeth exploded juice in her mouth. The raw earthiness swamped her in pleasure, and her body responded as if an el
ectrical cord got plugged in and fried.
"Oyster." A smile touched her lips as she caught the last bite of citrus. "The balance is amazing."
He wiped a trickle of moisture from her bottom lip. "Good girl. It was an oyster. You like?"
She remembered the way he had plucked at her nipples, biting, licking, and then asked her the same question. Kennedy rallied for sanity. "Yes."
"Next one." She waited, her senses on high alert. "Open for me." Her thighs relaxed as if trying to respond to the command, and the morsel was pushed into her mouth. Creamy, thick cheese combined with a hint of garlic, olive oil, sweet basil, and crisp tomato. As if picked right off the vine, her taste buds wept with delight. "Cheese," she moaned. "Mozzarella cheese. Tomato. Oh, God, so good."
His hands began stroking her face, her shoulders, lulling her into a more relaxed trance. Her legs fell open and her pussy throbbed. The simplicity of the flavors flowed over her, in her, and she let her head fall back. He murmured something against her ear. "You're very good at this game, sweetheart." His hands cupped her breasts, massaging her through the cotton. "Do you want more?"
"Yes."
