Promise Me

“You can’t show up with some pretty young nobody who caught your eye at Dylan’s club. I need to check her background. Having a fake ID and a fuck-me smile might work for The Cabana, but it’s not going to cut it Thursday night. She needs to be…appropriate. Not jailbait or some aspiring porn star.”

“She’s not underage or a porn star.” Claws of a tension headache dig into my skull. “She’s twenty-two. Just graduated from NYU.”

“Is she trying to break into the business?”

“No. She’s house-sitting for the summer.” A knock at my door has me heading inside.

“A house-sitter? I don’t see any point to this, Vaughn.”

He wouldn’t. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tickets.” I end the call, toss my phone on the narrow table in the entryway, and open the door.

And there she is, on my doorstep, stealing my breath in a sleeveless black dress that hugs her curves. Her loose hair looks even blonder against the dark fabric. Her skin seems even more golden. The diamond in the pendant I gave her winks at me from its enviable position guarding her cleavage. And last but certainly not least, a slit runs high up one thigh—high enough to make me wonder if she’s wearing anything under the dress.

I wipe my palms on my jeans. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She breathes the word and offers me a little smile. Awesome. We’re both nervous.

My nerves might explain why I’m just realizing she’s holding a gift bag in one hand and a plate covered in aluminum foil in the other, although the slit in her skirt is more likely the culprit. “What’s all this?” I take the plate off her hands.

She looks up at me from beneath a fringe of lashes. “You wondered if this thing between us could ever lead to chocolate chip cookies.”

The pink invading her cheeks fires my blood. Just to see her blush harder, I say, “I meant it as a euphemism.”

“I know,” she teases, but her cheeks do, indeed, turn a shade closer to red. “And this”—she raises the bag—“is the birthday present I forgot to bring you.”

“You didn’t—”

“I wanted to.”

I want to kiss her. In hello. In thanks. To acknowledge this constant energy between us is something new for me, too. I lean in and plant one on her lips, keeping it quick, and mostly innocent, because I don’t want to come on all hot and heavy first thing, but when I draw away, a sugary, vanilla flavor hits my tongue. Her lip gloss. Without really planning it, I come back for another taste. She inhales quickly just before I settle my mouth over hers, and the involuntary, breathless little sound excites me in a way a calculated moan never could. My free hand cups the back of her head, and next thing I know I’m delving deep, and the sweetness of Kendall supersedes everything. Her fingers are in my hair, her scent in my head, and her breath in my lungs.

A voice in the back of my mind reminds me I’m trying to be a gentleman tonight, and I’m standing at my front door with a plate of cookies in my hand, jumping her like some hard-up perv who’s after only one thing. I ease back. She closes her lips around my tongue as I slowly withdraw, and I feel the slick tug of her mouth all the way to my cock. Now I’m the one dragging air into my lungs, struggling for control. Her hand slides from my hair to my jaw. I rest my forehead against hers, and, after a few seconds, open my eyes and fall into two clear blue oceans.

r /> Worried I’m looking at her like a lion stares down a gazelle, I drop my hand, muster up a smile, and straighten. “Did I mention you look beautiful?” The compliment puts another flush in her cheeks and earns me a self-conscious laugh.

“You, too.”

I take her free hand and lead her inside. “Thanks. Just for that, you get one of these fresh-baked cookies my neighbor made me.” This is mostly me wanting a cookie and not wanting to be rude.

“I actually already ate a few, so those are all for you.”

I steer her toward the kitchen, put the plate down on the counter, and peel back the tinfoil. “If you insist.”

“Open this first.” She puts the gift bag in front of me.

Why I’m keyed up about what’s inside, I have no idea. Maybe it’s because I can’t remember the last time a woman I dated gave me something besides liquor or a blow job. I lift out the tissue paper then reach my hand inside to withdraw a men’s woven leather bracelet. It’s black, double corded with a slipknot, and it’s fucking awesome.

“I thought, since you got me something to wear, I’d get you something to wear, too,” she says softly.

I slip the buttery soft leather onto my wrist. “I love it. Thank you.” It takes everything I’ve got not to kiss her again. I resist because I need to take this slow, and when I put my mouth on her, I lose sight of that goal.

Her gorgeous smile tests my willpower. “You’re welcome.”

I snag a cookie to give my mouth something to do besides lust for her. “Holy shit, these are insane.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you like them.”

No blush this time. She’s comfortable accepting certain kinds of praise. For some reason I miss the pink cheeks. I want to see them again. “Oh, I like the way you bake, Kendall, but you have other talents I like even better.”