SWEET TOOTH
PROLOGUE
I closed my eyes as he pushed into me slowly. My breath caught in my throat and I felt myself quiver with pleasure as he started to move. The feeling of bliss was sweeter than chocolate icing and as warm and sticky as syrup.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned.
I opened my eyes, peeked at him and smiled.
He was so handsome I couldn't resist watching him a little. I sometimes doubted he was real.
With his thick curly brown hair and big brown eyes, he was like an enchanted prince.
A sexy, rated R one, though.
As he thrust into me again and again and the sound of our breath mingled in my ears and my body started to reach climax, shivering and quivering, I wondered how it was I could be this blessed.
Drew Liston – sexy, stunning and so-high-class that I was amazed he’d actually looked at me. He was the son of a super-wealthy freight tycoon and I was just the daughter of a grocer. But we had met through some crazy set of circumstances, and we loved each other.
“Oh, baby,” he panted as he started to come closer to climaxing. “Oh, you make me feel great...” he grunted, gritting his teeth as he came at the same second I did.
I felt my body shiver and then melt in bliss.
Later, as we lay beside each other, him stroking his hands through my thick chocolate-brown hair and me with my hand on that delicious body, I couldn't quite believe how lucky I was.
“Drew?”
“Mm?”
“It's just...so wonderful.”
He chuckled. “You make me feel great too,” he murmured.
I shook my head. It wasn't just how I felt now – stunning though that may be – it was everything. I felt so lucky to have him in my life.
“What?” he asked, leaning over to kiss my hair. I smiled.
“Nothing,” I said. I didn't know how to put it all into words.
He chuckled again.
We lay like that – like we always did – drowsing off. Then, like we always did, he slipped off the bed and washed himself, then came back and started to dress.
“Hungry?” he asked.
I smiled. “Always.”
We laughed together and he headed off into the gorgeous kitchen of his apartment to go and find us something small to eat. Grapes, usually, or whatever fruit or antipasto he happened to have in the house.
I lay back and looked up at the ceiling and thought I couldn't be more content.
When I left, driving back to my own small, rickety apartment at the edge of the more-salubrious area of town, I wondered – as always – what would happen.
Now, I know what happened. We attended a party at his uncle's home. Then, the next day, out of the blue, he mailed me.
We won't see each other again.
Just as weirdly as he had appeared in my life, he disappeared.
That was six years ago now, and part of me still hasn't gotten over it.
How do you get over something you can't understand? Impossible.
I sighed and stretched, reaching up to the ceiling. “I don't have time to just sit here,” I told myself. “Work again tomorrow.”
I stood and headed off to my study to prepare for tomorrow. As the owner of my own business – I'd finished chef school and now owned my own establishment, still paying it off – I couldn't take time to sit and wonder about how things might have turned out if things hadn't turned out the way they did.
I ran a hand down my angular, oval face and headed upstairs. I had tax reports to file, and accounts to fill in and bills to manage. I absolutely did not have time to indulge in wishful thinking. Because, however I might wish, I wasn't getting a second chance with him. Or was I? Only if the impossible happens.