Текст книги "Perfect Kind Of Trouble"

Автор книги: Chelsea Fine

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8 Daren

After cleaning up my plate, I head back to the kitchen. Jake is at the grill, calling out instructions to the staff when I walk in.

“Daren,” he calls out. “You’re on prep.”

“Sure thing,” I say. “Thanks for letting me help out. Again.”

“Anytime.” He shouts out an order to the guys on the line and flips a burger before giving me a curious look. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” I start washing my hands.

He shrugs. “You look… happy.”

I smirk. Hell yes, I’m happy. I just found out that I’m heir to an inheritance.

“Was it the blonde out there?” Jake nods toward the restaurant. “Is she the reason you’re in such a good mood?”

“What? No.” I scrub my fingers. “Well kind of, yes. But not like that.”

He slants his eyes to me. “Riiight.”

I scoff. “Come on, Jake. When have you ever known me to get happy over a girl?”

He considers. “Good point.” He throws a raw steak on the grill and pulls a cooked one off. “So what’s up with you then?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

Yet.

After I finish washing up, I head to the chopping block while biting back a smile.

I still can’t believe it. James Turner left me an inheritance, that old dog.

Twenty dollars would be fine. But if it was more money… if it was a lot more money… my whole world could change. All the shit I’ve had to deal with these past few years, all the stress, it could all disappear—or some of it, at least—and I could have options.

And I didn’t think I’d ever have options. Not as far as my future was concerned.

I spend the next hour and a half slicing and dicing ingredients while bantering with the kitchen guys.

I love being in the kitchen of Latecomers. I love being in kitchens, period. There’s nothing quite as invigorating as the hustle and bustle of cooking. The prep, the flavor pairings, the sautéing and grilling. It relaxes me in a way nothing else ever has.

The first time I ever “cooked” was when I was nine. Marcella was making spaghetti sauce and asked me to help stir the simmering tomatoes. While I was stirring, she started to toss in some olives and I made a face. I hated olives in my spaghetti sauce. Laughing, Marcella asked me what I did like in spaghetti sauce. I told her I wasn’t sure what I liked because I didn’t know all of the ingredients. So she pulled out some basil, mushrooms, onions, and spices and had me taste each one. Then she let me make my own spaghetti sauce using the ingredients I liked. I cut up the mushrooms and onions and sprinkled oregano. Then I stirred the simmering sauce, the rich aroma filling my nose, until it was ready. We sat down to eat together, just the two of us in my parents’ giant kitchen, and I took my first bite.

It was the most amazing spaghetti sauce I’d ever had.

I asked Marcella why it tasted so much better than the kind she made. She laughed and said, “Because you created it, mijo. Food always tastes sweeter when you work hard to make it.”

From that day on, I was obsessed with cooking. Marcella obliged me in every way she could. She taught me how to whisk, measure, knead, and dice. And I never grew tired of it. Even after we could no longer afford Marcella and she had to move away to find work, I still spent endless hours in the kitchen.

It wasn’t the same, though. The kitchen wasn’t as warm or happy without Marcella. There was no one to talk to. No one to call me mijo.

Nothing was the same after Marcella left. She was the last piece of warmth I had in an otherwise cold home. And the only comfort I could find in her absence was in the heat of a kitchen. So cooking became my haven and has been ever since.

Halfway through the dinner rush, I realize we’re running low on dessert so I exit the kitchen door to get more from the spare freezer out back. The freezer is located in a fenced courtyard on the side of Latecomers, next to the parking lot. Jake has plans to make it a patio with outdoor seating but for the time being it’s more of a storage area.

As I reach the freezer, something on the other side of the short fence catches my eye. Kayla stands outside of Latecomers, helping an elderly woman walk down the steep steps of the entrance. She holds the old woman’s hand in her own and carefully guides her down the stairs and over to where a taxi waits. Kayla gets the woman settled in the cab before shutting the door and walking away.

I watch her sexy hips swinging through the parking lot until she’s just a few yards away.

I open the courtyard gate and smile. “A friend of yours?”

Kayla spins around, clutching her chest. Then sighs in relief when she sees me. “Oh. Daren.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

She waves me off. “It’s fine. I’m just jumpy. Uh… no. I didn’t know that woman, but she was having trouble and no one was around to help her.” In the soft yellow glow from the courtyard lamps, her hair shines golden and her big blue eyes glimmer. She really is stunning.

“That was nice of you,” I say, smiling. “So how was dinner?”

“It was good.” She nods and her blue eyes widen. “It was really good, actually.”

I laugh. “You sound surprised.”

“Well I am. I’m not used to bars having gourmet food. But it was really fantastic.”

My chest swells with pride. Even though I didn’t make her dinner, I’m still proud of the kitchen that did.

“So this is where you work?” She gestures at the closed kitchen door behind me as she approaches.

I step back so she can enter the courtyard then glance over my shoulder. “It’s more like the place where I help out in the kitchen, occasionally,” I say. “I like to cook so sometimes the owner, Jake, let’s me jump on the line.”

She tilts her head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the cooking type.”

“No?” I arch a brow. “What type am I?”

“Well the professional lover type, obviously.”

I grin. “That too.”

The teasing in her eyes along with the lightness of her smile does something soft to my insides. This is a different Kayla than the one I was sitting next to at the bar. That girl was stressed and burdened, but this girl… this girl is hopeful and happy.

The only reason I can think of for the change in her tone is the inheritance. Does the idea of getting money please her so much that she’s suddenly this cheerful person? Does it please me that much?

I remember Jake’s comment earlier, about my being happy, and realize with a sinking feeling that yes, the idea of an inheritance has made me happy. Money would alleviate some of my problems and, therefore, it gives me a security in my future that pleases me.

I’m not sure how I feel about money having so much control over my contentment. It makes me sound an awful lot like my dad.

“So what is this place?” she asks, nodding to the courtyard around us.

I look up at the small twinkle lights strung above the area. “Right now it’s just storage space. But Jake wants to make it into a dining patio. You know, so people can rent it out for private parties or whatever.”

“It’s cute.” She walks around, checking out the rose bushes that line the fence and the Tuscany-inspired mural painted against the back wall.

“So where you off to?” I step closer so we’re both beside the painted wall. “Back to your humble abode at the Quickie Stop?”

She scoffs. “Humble indeed. But yeah.”

I glance at the dark parking lot beyond the fence and the even darker streets that lead to the edge of town, and frown. “By yourself?”

She faces me with a cocked eyebrow. “Yeah. I’ve got my own driver’s license and everything.”

I smile at the ground. “Okay, that’s fair.” I glance at the dark streets again. “I’m just a concerned citizen that wanted to make sure you got home safely. That’s all.”

She nods. “How very kind of you, citizen. Would you rather I be going back to the Quickie Stop with someone?”

The idea of Kayla going home with someone—anyone, other than me—rakes down my spine like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t know when I got so possessive of this girl but holy hell. My veins are on fire.

How very unexpected. And somewhat annoying.

I don’t get possessive of women. Ever. Sure, I care about Amber and Pixie but that’s different. I care about them like sisters. I’m protective of them. I couldn’t really give a damn who they, or any other female in this town, go to bed with.

But Kayla?

Hot jealousy darts through my veins.

How very annoyingly unexpected.

I set my shoulders back in a casual manner. “Not particularly,” I say coolly. “I just wasn’t sure if you had a ride or not.”

“Oh.” She runs a finger over her lips. “And what, you were going to offer me a ride?”

I watch the tip of her finger skim over the pink fullness of her bottom lip and my breath hitches. She can’t say things like “give me a ride” and touch her mouth at the same time. That’s just not fair.

“Well I might have offered you a ride,” I say, inwardly cursing as I remember sweet, precious Monique, “except I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take rides from strangers. And since that’s what you and I are…” I sigh dramatically. “It would have just been a waste of time to ask you.”

She smiles behind her moving fingers and I start to wonder if she’d let me kiss her. My guess is, yes. Maybe.

I want to kiss Kayla. Badly. But the idea of kissing her, of touching her at all, also makes me a little nervous. And I’m never nervous when it comes to women.

Goddammit. Everything about this girl is unexpected.

“You’re so obsessed with us not being strangers,” she says, and her eyes shine. “That can’t be healthy.”

I probably shouldn’t kiss her. We have an inheritance to claim tomorrow. We have shit to follow through with. Kissing her is a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“No. Probably not.” I step closer so we’re only inches apart. “But I can’t seem to let it go.”

She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t break eye contact.

Yes. She’d definitely let me kiss her. I’m sure of it.

My heart pounds and it’s all I can do to keep my nonchalant demeanor in place.

“Is that what we are, Kayla?” I lower my voice with a crooked grin. “Strangers?”

She meets my crooked grin and raises me a tipped chin. Her eyes are steel and sure, not giving anything away, and I suddenly feel unsure.

I lean in.

She doesn’t react. But she also doesn’t back away.

Kissing her is a bad idea.

Her lips part, ever so slightly, a thin seam of wet flesh forming between the soft skin of her pretty lips, and all my reservations vanish.

9 Kayla

I jolt in surprise when Daren’s mouth meets mine. I was flirting—shamelessly flirting—with him, but only because I didn’t think he’d act on it.

Clearly, I underestimated his audacity.

I’m not even sure what possessed me to tease him in the first place. I’m never like this. I don’t flirt. I don’t lure. I’m quiet and careful, and usually shut off from all males unless they go out of their way for my attention. Not because I’m a snob, but because most of the time guys just want to get me naked and I don’t have the time—or the patience—to entertain random guys for the sake of getting them off.

So everything I’ve done tonight leading up to this moment with Daren is completely out of character for me. Yet here I am, with his lips pressed against mine in this little courtyard and all I can think about is how good his mouth feels up against me.

His hands skim up my arms and cradle my face, drawing a shiver out of me as his lips softly swipe over mine. My eyes flutter closed and I gasp, unsure.

Sensing my hesitation, he pulls back slightly. His lips set before my mouth, a featherlight touch as he loosens the cradle of his hands. The pad of one thumb brushes my jaw as he waits.

I know I should pull back and walk away. But the careful stroke of his thumb moving up my cheek and to my ear, the hot breath of his exhales warming the tender skin beneath my jaw…

It’s all so good, so fulfilling, sending pleasures of warmth through my body and awakening a hunger in the depths of my being. A hunger that only grows when he runs his thumb over my lower lip and gently pulls it down so my lips are partly opened.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers. His words drift between my lips and tickle my waiting tongue.

Fighting between my better judgment and the lust sprawling through my lower belly, I sink against him and whisper, “Don’t stop.”

Instantly, he crushes his lips against mine, more fully than before, and I eagerly kiss him back. He grips my jaw, not roughly but not gently either, as he runs his tongue down the seam of my lips and I open for him, softly moaning as his tongue slips inside my mouth and rolls over my own.

Our mouths meet in a hungry collision, kissing and pulling and licking at each other. My breaths come out in shallow pants as my body becomes alight with need. He tips my chin up, exposing the sensitive skin of my throat, and moves his mouth to my windpipe where he lightly suckles.

I exhale into the night, my eyes fluttering once again in the hazy glow of the twinkle lights above us, as I arch my back and push my chest into him. My nipples tighten with need, brushing against the hard muscles of his chest as his hot mouth moves against my throat, up to my jaw, and then to my ear.

Letting out a little whimper, I grab at his shoulders as he trails his hands down my spine and to my hips. Our kissing becomes rough and heavy, hot tongues gliding over each other and licking furiously at lips and teeth and skin as I roll my hips into his. I feel his hard erection against my belly and wetness pools between my legs.

He nips my bottom lip and I sink my nails into the back of his shirt with another quiet moan. Grabbing my hips, he yanks me against his body and I rub against his hardness feverishly, wanting him with an unfamiliar desperation. He groans and pulls back for air. My pupils widen at the sight of his swollen lips, wet from our kissing, and the heaviness in his eyes.

Seeing him want me just as badly as I want him has me licking my own swollen lips, and his eyes follow the slow movement of my tongue. Then suddenly, I’m no longer standing. He lifts me into his arms and presses my back against the painted wall behind us. Opening my thighs to wrap around his waist, I shiver again as the new closeness brings friction to my most needy area.

As the softness between my legs grows hot and wet, I let out a succession of whimpers, jerking my hips a little when he rubs against me just right, and my eyes roll back into my head.

Sliding my hands down to his pants, I rub my open palm over the bulge in his pants. He feels so long and thick, and so very hard. The aching tightness in my core melts with need as I rub against him more fervently.

Groaning, he grabs my ass and squeezes firmly. He grabs my chin and takes my mouth captive again. He runs his hand under my shirt and up my bare belly, taking my breast in his large palm and roving his thumb over my painfully tight nipple through my bra.

God, this feels good. Good in a way I’ve never experienced before. Good because I want it. I want Daren and his mouth. I want Daren and his hands. I want Daren and his…

Then reality hits me.

What am I doing? Making out with Daren Ackwood against the back wall of a bar? No. I’m not this person. I’m careful. Cautious. I don’t get swept away like a horny teenager and give in to my every whim—even if that whim is telling me that I like Daren’s fingers inching my bra cup down to reach my naked nipple. This is the opposite of what I do.

“Wait,” I say, panting as Daren’s soft lips brush against my throat. Again.

I instinctually tip my head back and groan. Why does this have to feel so good?

He pulls back slightly, just as out of breath as I am, and slowly slips his hand out of my bra. My nipple aches in protest, wanting to be plucked and prodded again, as my core continues to pulse and ache.

Clutching me against the wall in his strong arms, he searches my face with his deep brown eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah… I’m good.” I swallow, tasting him on my tongue. “I’m really good. I just… I have to stop.”

I wait for him to argue like most guys would do. Or nuzzle my neck and say something sweet to try and get me to reconsider. But instead, he nods and gently sets me back on my feet.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he says. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as he rubs a hand over his mouth. “I sort of got carried away there.”

I blink, surprised by his conceding response. “No, you’re fine. Sorry. It’s—it’s just…” I reach for the right words. “I… I just can’t…”

He waves me off with a small smile. “No, I get it. We’re good.”

“Are we?” I squint at him, still out of breath and quivering between my thighs. “Because we agreed to be handcuffed together tomorrow and I don’t want things between us to be weird.”

He raises a brow. “Weirder than being handcuffed while we track down a letter?”

I can’t help but smile.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. He must see the uncertainty in my eyes because he adds, “Really. This never happened.” His smile falters a bit, but his pleasant expression is genuine, which makes me wonder if maybe I was too hasty putting the brakes on our tongue tango.

I’m grateful that he’s being so cool but at the same time slightly disappointed that he isn’t fighting harder to keep me in his arms.

God, Kayla. What is your problem tonight? You do not hump guys you barely know in parking lots. Pull it together!

“Right.” I nod once. “This never happened.”

He takes a few steps back and takes a deep breath. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “No. I’m fine. But thank you.”

I don’t trust myself at all right now. Nothing about the last ten minutes was normal behavior for me. Who knows what I’d do if Daren walked me to my car? Probably invite him back to my motel room for some shaggy-rug shagging. God.

“Okay. Well.” He nods. It’s awkward.

I lift a shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yep.” He grins. “Bright and early.”

We step farther away from each other and do a weird almost-wave as we say good-bye. Then I turn and slip out the courtyard gate before darting away. If it weren’t so dark and eerie in the parking lot, I would hang my head.

Instead, I keep my chin up and my eyes alert until I’m safely shut inside my car, then start the engine as I remind myself that this never happened. It never happened.

Except it absolutely did.

* * *

The next morning, I slip back into my royal blue blouse and pencil skirt before driving to Mr. Perkins’s office.

Sleep was a lost cause last night. My mind was too busy racing with possibilities of an inheritance from my father, and scolding myself for getting hot and heavy with Daren.

I still don’t know why I gave in to him so easily. Sure, he’s attractive and charming but so are a lot of guys, and you don’t see me wrapping my legs around every hot man who passes me on the sidewalk, and then rolling my hips up against their hard bodies.

A warm shiver runs through me, turning me on at every nerve ending as the memories of last night swim around my head. The whole thing was complete madness.

One minute, we’re talking about being strangers, and next minute, Daren’s kissing and touching me like a bandit. Like a super stealth bandit.

Never in my life have I been so turned on—and we were only kissing. I can only imagine the levels of arousal I’d reach had his hands wandered to truly naughty areas. Maybe all the stories Lana told me about Daren were true. Maybe he is some kind of woman whisperer.

But it doesn’t matter. Stopping before things got naughty was the right thing. I wanted so badly to just let go and get swept up in the desire of it all, but when sanity peeked through my lust and reminded me that I couldn’t get caught up in a guy right now I knew I had to listen.

I’ve spent the past few years taking care of my mother instead of myself, and the past few months just trying to scrape by. The last thing I need is another complication.

I don’t have anything in my life figured out. But I have a clean slate. It’s a dirt-poor slate, wandering aimlessly through the Arizona desert, but it’s mine to start over with and throwing a guy into the mix won’t do me any good.

I need to get my life in order and figure out what my future holds before I even think about getting involved with someone. And while meaningless sex might work for some people—probably people like Daren—it’s not my style. But oh how I wish it were because damn. It felt good to be touched.

I reach Mr. Perkins’s office and quickly park before climbing out of the car in my high heels.

The inheritance really could be only twenty dollars—or less—and spending an afternoon chained to Daren Ackwood to find it could be a complete waste of time, not to mention horribly awkward given our romantic encounter last night, but it’s worth a shot. Because if it turns out to be a substantial amount of money, everything could change.

Not only could I go back to nursing school, but I could afford a decent apartment and buy myself some time to find a new job—one where my boss isn’t demanding I work for free or flash him in order to pay off my mother’s debt.

Ugh. My life can really only go uphill from where I’m at.

I know money can’t buy happiness, and I believe that. But it would be nice to be out from under Big Joe’s threatening thumb. And sleeping in a cockroach-free apartment while eating regular hot meals wouldn’t be bad either.

I hurry down the sidewalk toward Mr. Perkins’s office, tripping a little in my shoes. Maybe wearing the skirt and heels again wasn’t such a great idea. But I wanted to look professional and responsible, and the gray dress is too hot and the only other pair of shoes I own are my beat-up sneakers from last night. I didn’t think a pencil skirt and a pair of dirty sneakers really said I can be trusted with my deceased father’s money. So I went with the pumps.

I wobble as my shoe catches on a small pebble and curse under my breath.

High heels really are a bitch.

Up ahead, I see Daren round a corner and hurry toward the office, now just a few yards down the sidewalk. I relax a little, knowing he’s not there yet. As we near each other, my stomach fills with butterflies. I don’t know what I’m more anxious about—the inheritance or seeing Daren.

We reach Eddie’s door at the same time.

“Good morning.” He smiles broadly.

“Morning,” I respond with a cheerful smile of my own.

Our smiles are exaggerated, like we’re trying to prove just how “okay” we are with the thing that never happened last night. Then our eyes meet in brief a clash of lust, and tension fills the air.

Daren is the first to break it. “So. You ready to do this?”

“I am,” I say.

The tension returns, but this time it’s laced with nervousness. We’re about to lock ourselves together. For money. The morning after we dry humped each other against a bar. It’s nothing less than weird and desperate. Which begs the question, why is Daren doing this?

I know why I’m subjecting myself to this craziness but I’m still not sure why Daren has agreed—especially without knowing how much money is at stake. Is he in it for the thrill? Is he just bored?

Whatever his reasons are, I’m grateful.

We enter the office and Eddie looks up from his messy desk, his glasses perched on his shiny head. Today he’s wearing a yellow button-up shirt with a plaid bow tie to match his plaid pants. The look suits him.

“You’ve returned,” he says brightly, standing to greet us. “I guess this means you’ve come to a decision about Mr. Turner’s letter?”

“We have,” I say.

Daren nods. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” Eddie clasps his hands together. “What have you decided?”

Daren and I exchange an anxious look. My stomach does a flip-flop, afraid he’s going to change his mind, but then he gives me a subtle nod and I nod back.

We turn to face Eddie, hold out our wrists, and at the same time say, “Cuff us.”