A Splash of Vanilla (Three Sisters Catering Book 3) Page 9

  Once we were all seated, I opened the bag of chips, then looked up to see them both watching me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Thanks for lunch,” Dru said.

  “Did you get my hot Funyons?” Ma asked.

  “Yeah, Ma, I did, but I gotta say, I don’t think those are good for you.”

  “I’ve lived long enough to know my own mind, haven’t I? I think I should be able to eat what I want,” Ma countered.

  “I agree,” I replied, then added, “Within reason.” Ma pursed her lips. “You need to mind your health and burning your gut with some dyed, processed, powdered junk food cannot possibly be healthy.”

  “Not all of us are health nuts like you and your pop . . . and, don’t forget, I breast fed you, potty trained you, dealt with you during puberty and your hulk-like growth years. I lived most of my life for you and your father, shouldn’t I get to live for me now?”

  “Jeez, Ma, yes, if the hot Funyons mean that much to you, for God’s sake, eat ‘em.”

  “Don’t you take the Lord’s name in front of me.”

  It took every ounce of willpower I had not to roll my eyes.

  “Sorry,” I managed, then stuffed my mouth with sandwich before anything else accidently flew out.

  I scowled when I noticed my mom shaking her head and Dru trying not to laugh.

  “Dru, can you be a dear and go get me my Funyons?” Ma asked, shooting me a look that dared me to object.

  I sighed as Dru said, “Of course,” and pushed back from the table.

  Once she was gone, my Ma leaned in and whispered, “If you let that one go, you’re out of my will.”

  Nice, Ma . . .

  Dru

  “THERE SHE IS!” I SQUEALED, then clasped my hand over my mouth.

  Not that the lady currently walking down her front steps, dog leash in hand, could’ve heard me from inside Mick’s Jeep two blocks away, but . . . still. We were on a stakeout and I didn’t want to raise suspicion.

  Mick’s laughter drifted through the cab and I turned to him, wide-eyed, then dropped my hand and mouthed, sorry.

  “It’s okay, I don’t think she heard you,” he replied good-naturedly, then lifted the long lens of his professional camera and pointed it out the dashboard toward where the tall raven-haired woman was waiting while her schnauzer went to the bathroom on her neighbor’s lawn.

  I watched the woman carefully, half expecting her to realize we were watching her, and why, and bolt.

  Instead, she let her dog do its business and continued on their walk.

  “Huh,” I said, feeling a little let down by the lack of drama and suspense.

  “Kind of anticlimactic?” Mick asked, not lowering his lens as he snapped pictures repeatedly.

  “No . . . I don’t know . . . Okay, maybe a little,” I admitted, turning to look at him in my seat. “I would have liked to get out and chase someone, although, after the workout this morning, I probably wouldn’t have gotten very far.”

  “I’m sure you would have done great. But, in all honesty, my job really isn’t like that. I let the police handle the dangerous cases and any pursuits of criminals. Most of my cases deal with people trying to track someone down, like you, Jackson, and Jericho, or people trying to find out if their significant other is cheating, or get dirt on an ex . . . stuff like that.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. I’d hate to think of you putting yourself in dangerous situations.”

  “Hope you’re not disappointed,” Mick said, lowering his camera and taking it apart so he could put it back in its case.

  “Not at all. I had a lot of fun today,” I replied, reaching out to touch his forearm. “Thanks for agreeing to my crazy idea.”

  “I’ve had fun, too,” Mick admitted with a wry grin. “So, did you have any thoughts about dinner?”

  I let out a laugh.

  “I feel like half the day was spent either planning our next meal, or eating it. I usually don’t think about eating until my stomach starts growling and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Talking about, and eating, food is one of my favorite pastimes. There’s no way I’d ever forget to eat. That’s madness,” Mick said, starting up the Jeep and pulling away from the curb. “Do you like Chinese food?”

  “I do.”

  “What do you say we pick some up and take it back to my place?”

  “Your house?” I asked.

  “Yeah, my house. I don’t live at the office. At least, I try not to.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’d love to see where you live,” I said, thinking this day had turned out even better than I’d imagine when I suggested it.

  “All right then.”

  We stopped and picked up Chinese food and drove to Mick’s house, which was a sweet little ranch-style house located in between his office and his mom’s home.

  As we walked inside, I looked everywhere, trying to take it all in at once. His home was neat and clean, much more so than mine had been, and the living room furnishings were pretty minimal. There weren’t a lot of things adorning the walls, or trinkets filling the shelves. He had more records filling his shelves, along with a record player and a few small instruments on display. There was also a guitar in a stand next to the fireplace and the biggest television I’d ever seen taking up one whole wall.

  His furnishings were built for comfort, with deep lush cushions, and the recliner next to the sectional was obviously where he spent most of his time. It was facing the TV, with a large remote propped on the arm of the chair, and an end table next to it.

  The room screamed bachelor with its lack of frills and throw pillows, but the dark-blue hues made it feel very homey.

  I wanted to lay down on that couch with a fuzzy blanket and take a nap, although I doubted Mick would touch a fuzzy blanket with a ten-foot pole.

  “Do you play?” I asked him, gesturing at the guitar.

  “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I just like to pick up collector items now and then. That one’s signed by The Rolling Stones.” Mick looked at the guitar like some women looked at diamonds, then said, “Come back to the kitchen and we’ll get the food sorted.”

  I followed him out of the living room, through the dining room, which had a gorgeous, large sturdy wood table that looked like a large tree had been sliced in half and polished up, and into the kitchen.

  “This is nice,” I said as we stepped into the renovated space. “And, I have to say, that dining room table is amazing.”

  “Thanks, I have a friend who makes ‘em,” Mick said as he set the white containers on the granite countertop of the island. “And, I just finished the kitchen last summer. I’m pretty happy about how it turned out.”

  “You mean, you did this? Yourself?” I asked, incredulous.

  I looked at the pretty countertops, the slate-gray cabinets, and shining stainless steel appliances.

  “Yup, it was kind of a passion project,” Mick said with a half shrug as he dished up the food.

  “Wow, it’s beautiful. It’s the kind of kitchen that makes you long for a bunch of people to come over, so you can cook all the things.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to invite everyone over, it’s just been so busy there never seems to be time.”

  “You should,” I exclaimed, wondering if he’d let me use that oven. “When Tasha and Jericho get back, things will settle down. I’m sure everyone would love to come over and hang out, see where you live.”

  He nodded and handed me a plate.

  “Wanna eat at the table, or watch something on TV?” he asked.

  I thought about it for a minute, struggling to decide between that table and that big screen.

  “TV,” I replied. “We can sit at the table for breakfast.”

  I didn’t bother hiding my grin as I took the plate and sashayed out of the room, ignoring the shock on Mick’s face.

  Mick

  AFTER DRU WALKED OUT, I lifted my jaw up off the floor and followed her.


  You had to love a woman who wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. And, since the day we met, Dru had made it apparent that what she wanted was . . . me.

  I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or terrified. Maybe a bit of both.

  Dru was sitting on the couch, feet up and tucked in to her side, her plate on the end table next to her.

  “Do you have a throw?” she asked.

  I looked at her, puzzled.

  “A what?”

  “A throw . . . you know, a blanket.”

  “Uh, I’ve never heard a blanket called that, but . . . the only blanket I have is the comforter on my bed. Do you want that?” I asked.

  I mean, my mom kept a blanket on her chair at her place, but that’s because she’s older and always cold, I didn’t realize it was a thing most people did, cover up while sitting around watching TV.

  Is that even comfortable when wearing jeans?

  When I covered myself up, that meant I was going to sleep.

  I didn’t get it . . .

  “No,” Dru replied with a laugh. “You don’t have to mess up your bed. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Cause I’ll get it.”

  “I’m sure, don’t worry about it.”

  She picked up her plate and dug in to her beef and broccoli, while I looked around the room and wondered what she thought of my place.

  I’d never really worried about it before. Not that I’d brought a ton of women back here, maybe one or two over the years, but I’d never been serious about any of them, so whether they liked my house or not was irrelevant.

  But, with Dru, it was different.

  I want her to feel comfortable here, I realized. To want to come back again, and again.

  I cleared my throat, surprised by my thoughts, and picked up the remote.

  “What do you want to watch?” I asked as I pulled up the guide.

  “Hmm, I don’t know, want to pick a movie?”

  “Sure,” I replied, scrolling to the movie channels.

  Shawshank Redemption, A Leap of Faith, Up, and The Expendables were all playing.

  “Shawshank?” she asked, and I smiled.

  “Perfect.”

  I started eating my kung pao chicken and realized I hadn’t offered her a drink.

  Feeling like an ass, I stood up and asked, “What can I fetch you to drink? I’ve got beer, water, and maybe some juice.”

  “Beer sounds good.”

  We finished our food and the movie, and I found myself sitting in my recliner awkward and nervous and unsure what to do next.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I wondered. I never had a problem being intimate with a woman. At least, physically, and I guess that answered my question. I was unsure of how to proceed because Dru had come to matter, and I was afraid I’d fuck it all up.

  “Want another beer?” I asked.

  “No, that’s okay,” Dru said, looking at me with a sly smile. “What I really want is for you to come over here.”

  She patted the cushion next to where she was sitting and added, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

  I made a sound somewhere between a cough and a chuckle.

  Chiding myself for acting like a teenaged boy alone with a girl for the first time, I got up and went over to do as she requested.

  As soon as I sat down, Dru moved into my arms and snuggled in, hugging me to her and resting her cheek on my chest. It felt nice. Great actually. I wasn’t sure why she needed a blanket, because she was warm and soft against me.

  In fact, if I had her in my bed, I wouldn’t need a blanket, she’d be cozy enough.

  The mental image of Dru in my bed was enough to bring home the fact that she was in my arms right now. I felt her breasts against me, the softness of her skin brushing against mine, and the smell of her hair, which held hints of cinnamon and spice.

  No longer unsure of how I wanted to proceed, I eased Dru’s head off my chest and brushed her lips with mine. Slowly at first . . . testing, and when she parted her lips, I deepened the kiss.

  She made little sounds, like soft moans of happiness as we got lost in each other.

  Dru laid back on the couch and I followed, never breaking contact as I fit my body over hers, careful not to crush her with my weight. Her hands began to explore, traveling over my shoulders to my back, then under my shirt.

  The first touch of her fingers on my skin had a groan escaping from my lips and I instinctively thrust against her, moaning louder when my cock moved against her heated pussy. Fuck, I could tell we were going to fit perfectly, and the sudden need to rid us of every stitch was immediate.

  Dru bucked up against me, making the torture even sweeter.

  Tearing my lips from hers, I began an exploration of my own, kissing my way across her jaw and down her silky soft neck. I stayed there for a few moments, nuzzling and tonguing the sensitive area, loving the way she moved beneath me, and the sounds she made.

  Knowing if I didn’t stop this soon, I was going to either take her on the couch, or end up with an epic case of blue balls, I pushed up off of her and struggled to catch my breath.

  “We should stop,” I managed, my hand still caressing her thigh as if of its own volition.

  Dru shook her head.

  “I don’t want to stop. Do you? Really?”

  “Fuck, no,” I admitted.

  She beamed at my response.

  “We’re adults. Friends. And, I hope this means we’ll be something more. Now, if you’re not feeling the same way, then yes, I agree, we should stop, because I don’t want to end up hurt . . . but, if you do feel the same way, and you want to see where this thing between us is going, then I think we should go to bed.”

  I stood up, loving how candid she was . . . how fucking fearless . . . and held out my hand.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I replied.

  She answered by putting her hand in mine.

  Dru

  HE GUIDED ME DOWN THE hall to the door at the end that led to his bedroom.

  All I kept thinking was, this is happening, this is happening, this is happening . . .

  I was giddy, turned on, and full of anticipation. It was a Molotov cocktail of emotions, and I loved it.

  My eyes flitted from his wide, muscular back, down to his tight ass, and back up again, and I could not wait to put my hands all over him. It felt like I’d been on simmer all day, ever since I watched him spar, and now I was ready to boil.

  The master bedroom was large, with a huge king-sized bed, no headboard or footboard, just four large pillows at the top of a plain blue comforter. He had a dresser, another recliner in the corner, and a TV mounted on the wall. I could see two doors, which I assumed were for the master bath and his closet.

  “Can I pop into the restroom really quick?” I asked.

  “It’s that one,” Mick replied, pointing to the door on the left and letting my hand go.

  “Thanks. Be right back.”

  His bathroom was nicely done, and I wondered briefly if he’d done it himself, like the kitchen.

  I used the restroom, washed my hands, and checked myself out in the mirror.

  Not terrible, but we can do better, I thought, then quickly shucked my jeans and blouse.

  I was wearing a matching pink lace bra and panty set, so that was good. I gently opened a door, trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to snoop, I just wanted the toothpaste I was sure was inside. When I found it, I put a little on my finger and used it to brush my teeth, or at the very least, freshen my mouth.

  Chinese food and beer might taste great going down, but wasn’t as much of a treat when you’re making out.

  After I rinsed my mouth, I tried my best to wipe the smudges from my mascara from under my eyes, finger brushed my hair, and fluffed it out. I turned to walk back out, then had a thought, quickly smelled my armpits, and turned back to the sink. I grabbed a washcloth, put some soap and water on it, and rubbed it under my arms really quick, then tossed the washcloth in the hamper.


  Feeling better, but a little anxious about presenting myself in my underwear, I opened the door and struck my best sexy pose.

  Mick’s head swung toward me at the sound of the door opening, his eyes heating as they perused my near-naked form. He’d turned the bed down, which struck me as sweet, and was standing at the edge of it wearing a pair of gym shorts and nothing else.

  “Looks like we had the same idea,” I said, my voice throaty at the sight of him.

  Mick turned so he was facing me, then crooked his finger in a come here gesture.

  Needing to touch him again, to feel him, I hurried over to him as fast as my bare feet would allow, stopping just before I slammed my body into his. My hands went right to his chest, where they wanted to be, and I ran them over the smooth muscles, feeling a quiver run through me as I did.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, gruffly, his hand palming my cheek.

  “So, do you,” I breathed, remembering the first time he’d said that to me, at Tasha and Jericho’s wedding party.

  He grinned and lowered his head toward mine.

  I closed my eyes, waiting with delicious anticipation for his lips to touch mine. And when they did, it was like something had ignited between us. There was no plotting or thought, only movement and feeling.

  I moved in so I could feel the heat of his body flush against mine. His hard length brushed against my core, feeling so amazing that I couldn’t stop myself from thrusting forward, eager for more.

  Mick kissed the base of my throat, then moved lower, running his lips over the mounds of my breasts above my bra, nibbling the flesh lightly. Wanting more of that, I reached behind me to undo the clasp, then let it fall forward, shifting until it was completely off.

  A low growl escaped Micks lips, then his arms came around my back as his mouth kissed my aching nipple.

  I got a little dizzy from the pleasure and placed one hand at the back of his head, not only to steady myself, but to urge him to keep on doing what he was doing. He bit the tip softly, causing me to gasp, then moved on to love my other breast.

  Wanting to participate, and bring him the kind of knee-buckling pleasure he was giving me, I reached in between us and placed my hand on his abs.