Chapter 13 – Don’t Call Me A Carrot Cake
Grady –
This is the first time I’ve run since before I was captured.
I’ve been a long-distance runner since I joined the Army at eighteen. The Army didn’t care whether I liked running or not. It had to be done and it was another way I could work at being the best, distinguishing myself from my peers. I’ve always been competitive, but that drive went to another level when I enlisted. I knew I needed something—a direction, a focus—and I knew I’d never find it in college.
When my organization approached me, explaining a top-secret group wanted to discuss alternative career options, they didn’t have to ask twice. If there was ever a career created specifically for me, it was being a Soldier of Fortune. I was top-notch for nine years—on top of my game, had my specialty, and was in high demand.
Until I lost my focus. I let the guilt fuck with me.
When my fascination with Maya began, I’d notice her running every night. That turned into watching her go from camera to camera. I’d wait for her. Like a pathetic dog knowing it was time, there I was. If she didn’t come out for me to stalk, it almost hurt.
So now, after all that, to have her close to me and actually be running with her? I can’t describe it, other than it feels like another piece of my puzzle has fallen into place. And after what happened with the fucking flowers today, there’s no way I’ll be able to tear myself away from her.
I asked her to point the way, even though I know her normal course. I can’t let her know how much of a freak I am just yet. I keep her pace, which is a quick one, letting her lead as I follow. Now I’m glad I paid attention to the course so I’d know when to take the lead. Otherwise, I would be lost in the way her body moves effortlessly through the woods and hills.
After we finish mile four, I shift next to her. When she glances at me, she narrows her eyes, and instantly quickens her pace. We aren’t jogging. She’s fast and efficient with her strides.
We haven’t said a word since we started, which I’m thankful. For the next two miles, I focus on her breathing and match my pace to hers. I keep my eyes on the path we’re maneuvering side-by-side, letting myself absorb the feeling of being close to her, moving in tandem, like one, but still not.
I do this for six miles, and the whole time I have to work at not getting hard. It takes all my concentration and strength—listening to Maya Augustine breathe hard for that long is not easy.
We’ve just made the last bend and we’re getting close to her tiny house on Addy’s property. Since I’ve set my speed to hers, I can tell she’s picking up her pace. I wait for my moment since our path is a narrow one. As efficient as her footwork is, I don’t want to do anything to trip her up. I’d feel like shit if I won because she fell, even though there’s no way I’m not gonna win this race—not with our first date on the line.
When the woods open into a clearing, I see her house in the valley. I move away from her and let loose. The last four-tenths of a mile goes fast, I hear her close behind me, but as I near the end, I lengthen my strides and I know I have it locked up.
When I cross the drive where her compact car is parked, I slow and turn to watch her do the same. When we’re both stopped and facing one another on either side of her gravel drive, she puts her hands to her knees and breathes the word, “Shit.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday—date night.” My words come out quick while trying to catch my breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve worked out. “Be ready. I have plans for you and they don’t include a salad.”
Her head pops up at the word salad.
Her fair skin is flushed red from the cold and the run, but her light blue eyes flare, and I can tell she’s pissed. Only, I’m not sure what she’s pissed about.
“I’m gonna start running for time again,” she breathes, standing up and wiping her brow with the back of her forearm. “I hate losing.”
She’s pissed because she’s competitive. I close the distance between us and she holds her ground, her face tipping back to look at me as I get close.
Before I kiss her like I plan, she asks, “How’s your shoulder?”
“A little sore, but I’m good.”
She tips her head to the side and barely smirks. “I should be happy it’s sore since you beat me, but that wouldn’t be nice since you’re sort of my patient and you’re traveling all the way to Buffalo with me. And you’ve been kind of sweet.”
I step closer. “Kind of sweet?”
Finally catching her breath, her smirk turns into a smile. “Yeah. You’re like dark chocolate compared to milk chocolate. Or carrot cake as opposed to devil’s food with all the thick frosting.”
I lose my smile and mean it when I say, “Don’t call me a carrot cake. That’s rude.”
She grins broadly, taking a step back and throws her arms out low. “How about zucchini bread?”
“Now you’re just being cruel.” I move closer, making her take a few steps backward up her small porch.
She unzips a small pocket on her hoodie and pulls out a key. When she turns to unlock the door, she peeks at me over her shoulder and keeps talking shit. “Sweet potato pancakes?”
When she opens the door, I follow her in and watch her switch on some lights around the room. “What is it with you and health food?”
She tosses her key on the table and kicks her running shoes to the side before peeling off her sweatshirt. Between her leggings and compression shirt, it’s easy to see every contour of her body.
“I have a minor in nutrition.” She puts her hands on her hips and changes the subject. “So, this date tomorrow. What are we doing? I have to work in the tasting room all day. By the time we close and clean up, it’ll be late. I guess I should’ve clarified that when I accepted your wager, but I really thought you’d be eating a salad. I shouldn’t have let you keep pace with me for so long.”
“We aren’t seeing a movie and we don’t have a reservation. Whenever you’re ready is fine.”
She smirks. “There you go again, being a candied butternut squash.”
That’s it.
I advance on her and when I do, her eyes get big, but her smile remains. She puts a hand up to stop me, but I move it out of the way and back her into the wall. With my body pressed into hers, I bring one hand up to her slim hip and place the other gently on the side of her face.
When I lean in close, I lower my voice. “Do you know what I want?”
Her smile shrinks. “No.”
I lean in to kiss her so softly, her lips are barely a whisper against mine. “I want to be molten chocolate cake for you.”
She sounds confused when she breathes against my face. “You do?”
“I do.” I probably shouldn’t, but I press my groin into her stomach, not able to keep from getting hard when I feel her body against mine. Her face flushes, this time having nothing to do with the cold. “Warm and moist, with chocolate oozing out. Have you ever had anything so good?”
Knowing full and well we aren’t talking desserts any longer, she shakes her head twice. “Never.”
I let my hand slide from her jaw into her hair, tilting her head to me. Brushing the side of her cheek with my thumb, it’s all I can do to restrain myself from peeling her sweaty clothes off her and taking her against the wall. Instead, I let my hand on her hip move to cup her ass.
This doesn’t help my resolve.
I force myself to focus on her eyes that flare at my touch. “Judging from the interactions with your ex, this doesn’t surprise me. If you’ll let me, I can give you sweet.”
Her tongue instantly appears, wetting her lips before she catches her bottom one between her teeth. I feel her hands grip my sides where she’s hanging on, but her voice is smooth and assured when she changes the subject. “What should I wear tomorrow night?”
I squeeze her ass, loving the feel of it in my hand. “I like these.”
She tips her head. “Are we running again?”
“No. We’ll be eating, drinking, talking, and maybe eating some more.” I pull her away from the wall and fully palm her ass, making her eyes widen. I grin before leaning down to kiss her quick. “But I still like these.”
She tries to look put out, but does it while suppressing a grin, and pushes against my chest. “I need to shower and you need to leave.”
“You shower, but I’m not leaving. I’ll get in after you.”
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean, ‘you’ll get in after me’?”
“I mean, I don’t want to smell like this all night and I doubt you want me to, either. I packed a bag. I’ll shower after you. If you think I’m leaving you alone after what happened today, you’re crazy.”
“But,” she starts before biting her lip again. I’m beginning to think it’s a habit and can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. I’d love to bite on that lip freely. “I feel bad, there’s nowhere for you to sleep.”
I shake my head and turn for the door. “I’m not leaving. Either you shower or I shower,” I stop and look back before I add, “unless you want to shower together. I’m up for that, too.”
She looks down and sighs.
“Maya?”
Looking back, I can tell she’s giving in because she raises her brows when she widens her eyes to silently acknowledge me.
“I want to know about your family—more about Joe and what I should expect from your parents. We’ll talk about that as I watch your hair dry.”
Again, she shakes her head, turning to her bedroom. But I catch it, the smallest of smiles, even if it wasn’t for me to see, just before I lose sight of her face.
When I open her front door to go to my SUV and get my bag, I do my best not to think about her in the shower. Listening to her breathing hard during our run was rough enough, imagining her wet and naked is pure torture.
I was serious though, I need to know what to expect from her family. Reading her background, I know her dad’s corporation has been listed on the Fortune 500 for years. Next week should be interesting, that’s for sure. I’ve got three days to prepare—she told me today we’re leaving first thing Tuesday morning. She’s got two days off work, that means we’ll be there for only one night.
I grab my bag and the two sacks of food I picked up this afternoon. As much as my obsession has taken over, I’m not about to become a vegetarian.
*****
Maya –
He licks me from my opening to my clit.
Oh, yes.
More, I need more. I try to lift my hips, but I can’t. He has me pinned—deliciously pinned to the bed with his big hands behind my knees—holding me wide open for his painfully slow ministrations to my pussy.
I’ve never felt this before, I don’t want the humming to end. I want to orgasm, but I don’t want to lose his mouth.
“Please,” I call to him.
He says nothing, and I didn’t know it was possible, but his grip on my legs tighten, holding me stronger.
Then he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue before lightly scraping his teeth across it.
“Yes, that, more of that,” I beg, but he lets me go.
I lose his tongue, his lips, his teeth, and his hold on me. But he does give me his weight—every beautiful muscle I’ve come to love is heavy and firm, pressing me into the bed. I bring my hands up to touch him, but I find nothing.
I frown as I look up into his blue eyes that shine brighter than they should through the dark. “I can’t feel you.”
“No, you can’t. But can you feel this?” He slides into me, and as he does, he presses on my clit that’s on the verge of igniting into a burst of hot sex flames. “Now you can come.”
I lurch awake.
Breathing hard, I lean up on my elbows to look around my dark bedroom where I’m alone. My door is still closed, thank goodness for that. My gasping isn’t quiet, and since my reality doesn’t include Grady’s face between my legs, he must still be asleep on my tiny sofa.
I fall back to my pillow and squeeze my thighs together. I’ve never had a sex dream, wet dream, or whatever it’s called. Is it possible for a woman to orgasm in her sleep? If so, I’m seriously jealous. Why did I have to wake up right before the good stuff?
I roll to my side and groan. It’s nowhere near morning. With thoughts of Grady between my legs and then inside me, I’ll never get back to sleep.
*****
“Give me a show of hands, who got Madagascar?”
Grady raises his hand low, showing the world, or at least the brewery, he knew Madagascar produced two-thirds of the world’s vanilla.
I raise a brow, wondering how he knew this bit of weird information.
He shrugs as he picks up his water. “I didn’t know that one. That was a guess.”
Grady has done everything he said he would. Last night after the nerve-racking ten minutes of imagining him naked in my shower, I watched his thick, brown hair dry into a perfect wavy mess before he ate enough for an army. He brought over a bevy of junk food, but he did eat two bananas with what looked to be a half a jar of peanut butter. I made a mental note to buy him the organic kind the next time I go to the store.
Putting the flower incident behind us, he was back to his normal self, and spent the night in my little house just as promised. I have no idea how he slept on the little loveseat Addy provided, but he said he was fine. I’m sure all of this spurred my subconscious, creating my erotic dream that I can’t get out of my head. It took me forever to get back to sleep, and the only reason I didn’t put my own hand between my legs for some relief was because I was afraid he’d hear me. Addy didn’t name my little house a bungalow for no reason—it’s small.
Still worked up into a sexual frenzy, I waited tables all day in the tasting room. Besides coming in for a quick lunch, Grady weirdly didn’t stalk me at work today. Instead, he told me he was catching up on some things, he’d be by at six-thirty, and we’d leave whenever I was ready to pay off my bet.
It’s strange how he won’t leave my side at the Ranch, but at Whitetail he doesn’t mind. I didn’t have the chance to ask him about it—he seemed in a hurry to get wherever we were going, so I barely had time to change into a pair of jeans, sweater, and boots, plus touch up my makeup. We drove barely ten minutes to Old Bust Head, a local brewery in Vint Hill that I’ve never been to.
The place was packed, but Grady grabbed my hand and found a corner table where a group of four were leaving. Not only was it packed, it was loud because of trivia night. The guy on stage with the microphone was asking questions and we kept our own score.
Grady offered to play together, smirking the whole time and said I might not feel like losing to him again. That, of course, got the best of me. I’m competitive and it was time I beat him.
It was unlike any date I’ve ever had, but seeing as though Grady is only the second man I’ve ever been on a date with, it would be different.
Right after securing our table, he took my hand again, and we left the building through the back door. There, under a huge overhang near the brewery warehouse, was a truck with the name French Kiss scrolled along the side with a mass of people waiting their turn.
After taking our place in line, I looked up at him. “What’s this?”
He tipped his head with a small smile, but spoke slowly as if I didn’t speak his language. “Dinner.”
“Like a concession stand?” I went on.
He turned fully to me. “You’ve never eaten at a food truck?”
“No.” Sure, I’ve seen them around, especially when we went to New York City on shopping trips or if I had to go to downtown Buffalo. But Vanessa Augustine won’t even eat at a chain restaurant, let alone from something on wheels. “I assumed all they sold were novelties, prepackaged ice cream bars, and popcorn.”
“Oh, Maya. This is going to be fun.” He grinned big and put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his large frame. Turning me to a large easel sitting next to the truck, there’s a menu haphazardly scrawled on a dry erase board. “French Kiss is French food, not usually my thing, but I’ll go out of my way to eat at any food truck. I don’t care about the beer—we’re here for the food. Order whatever looks good.”
I read through the menu that included a full breakfast offering, savory crepes, fancy French bread sandwiches that would challenge Maggie’s, cheese and meat platters, and a ton of sides that sounded mouthwatering.
“They have all that in this truck?” I asked.
“No, they make all that in this truck.” He gave me a squeeze and I looked up to him. “You remember I read your background, right?”
I frowned, but nodded, not loving the fact he’s been able to read up on me while I still know so little about him.
“I understand why you might not have experienced a food truck. Trust me, it’ll be good.”
Well, it wasn’t only good—it was great. I snagged the last of the parmesan fries that Grady ordered for us to share. They were tossed with parsley, sea salt, parmesan, and roasted garlic. I forked the last bite of my savory crepe with turkey, roasted asparagus, capers, and sun-dried tomatoes, and Grady inhaled his French dip sandwich. The meat and cheese platter that came with fruit was annihilated. It was the best meal I’d had in a long time.
I’m surprised it was made in a truck and now I’m wondering what else I’ve been missing out on.
Since sitting down for dinner and a delicious beer, all I’ve learned about Grady is he knows his geography and early American history well. He knows Australia is almost cut in half equally by the Tropic of Capricorn, and the Oneida Native Indian Tribe aligned themselves with Americans during the Revolution. I, on the other hand, am kicking his ass in science and literature.
“What measure of energy comes from the Latin word meaning heat?” the announcer booms over the PA system.
Easy. I know this before the options are given and scribble my answer down quickly before flipping my page over.
Grady leans in close, as it’s the only way we’ve been able to have a conversation thus far because of the noise. I feel his breath on the side of my face when he boasts, “Madagascar put me ahead. You wanna bet again?”
Knowing we’ll probably be back at a tie because he sucks at science and I doubt he guessed calorie, I turn my head to him and can’t help but bite my lip from having him so close. Especially his mouth, and I find myself wondering if he’s as good with his tongue and lips in real life as he was in my dream.
Shit. I need to focus.
“Another date?” I ask.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “You bite your lip a lot.”
I instantly roll my lips out of sheer habit, before forcing myself to release them and relax. His eyes come back to mine, but I don’t say anything. I know I do this, my mother has pointed it out my entire life, explaining to me it’s not only unnerving for others to watch, but unbecoming. Still, I catch myself doing it all the time.
Grady doesn’t let me explain, but goes on, “Makes me jealous.”
To this, I lean back, confused.
His hand comes up quickly, wrapping around the back of my neck and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me.
He doesn’t kiss me long and deep, but his tongue does sweep mine. I taste the sweetness of his root beer he insisted on having since he was driving, along with a hint of our French Kiss dinners. I can’t remember anything tasting better.
When he pulls away, he’s looking at my lips when he mutters, “Makes me want to kiss them.” His eyes shoot to mine. “Maybe even bite one of them myself.”
“Let me see a raise of hands for calorie,” the voice booms over the speakers.
Without moving, our lips almost touch when I ask, “Did you get that one right?”
His beautiful lips tip on one side. “Fuck no. Calories are something I work off so I can eat more of them.”
I lean my head into his hand because it feels good and smile. “Then we’re tied. You still want to bet?”
“Yeah. If I win, you make me dinner, but I get to choose what you make.”
“And if there’s more science and literature questions and you go down like a big fat loser?” I ask.
“Then you still make me dinner, but you get to choose what to make.”
“Either way, I’m making you dinner,” I point out the obvious flaw to his plan.
He grins big, unapologetically. “I know. I want you to make me dinner.”
To keep from grinning, I bite the inside of my lip, but catch myself quickly when he narrows his eyes on my mouth.
Honestly, I love to be in the kitchen and there’s nothing more I’d like than to cook for Grady. Even more so if I get to pick the menu. “I’ll make you dinner.”
He smiles and is about to say something before we hear the next question. “Name the author of The Power of One.”
I scribble my answer and cover it up, but Grady doesn’t try to hide his. When I see him write out Stephen Covey, I do my best to hide my smile.
“What?” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve never heard of The Power of One. It sounds motivational—it’s my best guess.”
I laugh and show him my answer when Bryce Courtenay is announced. All I say is, “You’re going down, Grady Cain. I can’t wait to make you dinner.”