Bar Bites: A Man of the Month Cookbook (Man of the Month 13)

It was January, so she put o

n boots and an ankle length knit skirt that she coupled with a tank top and a cable knit sweater. A couple of strokes of the brush to her hair, a swish of mouthwash, then a quick touch-up of her make-up. Ready.

She grabbed her purse and coat, yanked open the front door, then gasped when she saw the limo parked in her driveway.

As soon as she stepped onto the porch the driver came around to meet her. He nodded in greeting, then opened the door. She entered, expecting to find Nolan in there, despite the fact that his message had suggested she'd be riding alone. But alone in a limo? Where was the fun in that?

Apparently, the fun was in the bar, because before he shut the door, the driver offered her a drink--then poured her a tall Pinot Punch--the very drink from The Fix that she'd been wasted on the night she'd met Nolan.

A wine, Schnapps, and frozen peach concoction, Shelby had discovered the drink after Cam--one of the bartenders at The Fix--recommended it. Considering it was now on her favorite drinks list and had indirectly led her to the man she loved, Shelby guessed that she really owed Cam a thank you.

She assumed they were going downtown, so she drank her glass quickly, wanting to finish it during the short drive. But then the limo turned and they ended up heading south out of the city. By the time they'd pulled up in front of a stunning stone house on what seemed like endless acres of property, almost forty-five minutes and half the pitcher had gone by the wayside.

If Nolan's plan was to get her drunk, he'd succeeded admirably. And considering how drunk she'd been that first night, they were definitely re-creating their first date. Except then, she'd had to prove she was sober before he'd sleep with her. She'd recited prime numbers, she recalled. And she really, really hoped he didn't care about her sobriety today, because at the moment, she wasn't entirely sure what a prime number even was. So much for all those years studying advanced mathematics.

All she wanted--all she could think about--was his mouth on hers, his hands touching her. She wanted to be naked and stretched out beneath him. Most of all, she wanted to feel him moving inside her.

Naturally, that was the moment the driver opened the door, and she squeaked a little, certain that her thoughts were all over her face, whatever natural filter she might normally rely on having been completely obliterated by the mass quantities of alcohol.

She let the driver help her out, then stood a bit at the end of the stone sidewalk. For a moment, she was unsure what to do. Above her, a giant moon provided enough light to reveal the path to the house. Past the wash of light, a blanket of stars hung in the velvet sky that seemed to stretch forever and ever. And suddenly, strangely, Shelby felt very small and very alone.

She almost took a step back toward the limo--but then the front door of the house opened and Nolan stepped onto the porch, and just as quickly as everything had tilted sideways, the world righted itself again. He was there; right there. And everything was fine.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, and she basked in the glow of his love. God, she adored him. He had an athletic build, tall and lean, with muscled arms that could hold her tight. His dark hair accented his pale gray eyes, and he had the kind of long lashes that women envied. He was, in a word, delicious. But at the end of the day, it wasn't Nolan's appearance that had won her heart; instead it was the way he looked at the world. And at her.

Like he was looking at her now. A tiger stalking its prey, and she was so very ready to be devoured.

He didn't say a word as his long strides ate up the sidewalk between them, and he didn't say a word when he reached her. He simply kissed her. Although, honestly, there was nothing simple about that kiss. It burned hot and wild, the kind of kiss that she felt more in her core than on her lips. A full-body kiss that fired her senses and left her gasping and grateful he'd hooked his arm around her waist, otherwise she would have melted onto the ground.

"Hey," he said, sliding his hands inside her coat to cup her ass. "You taste good."

"I taste like Pinot Punch."

"Yes, you do."

"I think you were trying to get me drunk."

"Might have been," he said. "Did you already have a head start with the girls?" She nodded, the guilt from her fears washing over her again. "I'm sorry."

His eyes widened. "For what?"

"For--for going out with them. Otherwise, I could have been here sooner."

"You're here now." His hands on her rear tightened, and he tugged her close to him until she could feel his erection hard beneath his jeans. She drew in a shuttered breath, wanting to touch him, to feel his hands on hers. She wanted him to take away the chill of her fears and of the cold evening air. And when she met his eyes, she saw that same desire on his face. That same raw, wonderful need.

"Inside," he said, his voice ragged with desire.

"What is this place?"

"Just a little fantasy I whipped up."

She laughed, delighted. But the laughter stopped when they stepped through the front door. The entrance hall opened into a wide living area, and the entire area was flooded in candlelight. Faux LED candles, yes, but the effect was the same. They lined the floor of the entrance hall leading in, and then in the living area they covered every conceivable surface.

"I wanted real candles," he said, "but the rental agreement says no open flame. So I bought boxes and boxes of the LED kind." He swallowed, looking suddenly unsure. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding? It's lovely, but why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "I wanted to give you a romantic weekend. Well, romantic and... you know, there might be... sex... going on, too." He said the latter in a shocked stage whisper, making her laugh.