Her Real Man Read online

  “Maybe.” I was not going to tell him I couldn’t get him off my mind and that I was sure my next hero was going to look a lot like him. “Do you have a tattoo?” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and saw him smiling, his lips curving upwards on one side.

  “Maybe.” He was infuriating. Now I couldn’t stop thinking of his maybe-tattoo and where it may be located. I crossed my arms in front of me and vowed not to talk again until we had arrived at his place. Which, it turned out, took only a few more minutes. He lived pretty close to my house. “We’re here. Need help dismounting?” Nice. Teasing me now.

  “I’m fine.” I wasn’t. I was wearing a dress, and as I slid out of the seat, I nearly exposed my butt to the world. “Sometimes I hate being so short,” I mumbled under my breath. The gallant firefighter had already reached my side and offered me his hand for support.

  “I do have a tattoo.” His whisper caressed my ear, his lips mere inches from it. I shivered, a frisson of pleasure beginning where his breath touched my skin and spreading like wildfire all over my body.

  He lived in a condo above a small coffee shop, and as we climbed the stairs, the aromatic scent of roasted coffee wafted around us and made my mouth water. “How can you stand it? I would be craving coffee all day long.”

  Gavin walked in front of me, his boots clanking on the wooden steps. “I’m not here much. Between the firehouse and volunteering at the hospital, I don’t have much time to smell the coffee.” He laughed at his pun and stopped by a wooden door, taking out his keys.

  “Make yourself comfortable while I go change.” He pointed at his small living room and turned to walk away. Halfway down the hallway, he stopped and turned around. “You look beautiful, by the way.” And he walked away, leaving me breathless and uncomfortably hot.

  His living room was small but very comfortable, with a gray couch in front of a glass-topped coffee table and a couple of simple bookcases packed with books. Another small pile of books, a tray with a coffee cup, and a small picture album created a feeling of hominess.

  He likes to read! He was getting less and less real now. A handsome guy who liked to read? I scanned the titles on the table and on the shelves, wondering whether his choice of literary works was less than savory, but I was blown over by the quality—and diversity—of his choices. There was a smattering of everything, from comic books to James Joyce. Is that a romance I see? Were these books a clever ploy to get bookish women like me to fall head over heels in love with him? If that was the case, it was working. Gavin may have never read a single title on his shelves, but I was smitten.

  “Do you like to read?” Gavin was standing by the counter that separated the living room from the small kitchen, rubbing a white towel on his wet dark hair. He had changed into a pair of jeans and a white shirt that clung to his obviously well-built chest muscles and shoulders. I gasped. Damn! He was perfect! The top three buttons of his shirt were undone and revealed a light smattering of dark hair. I had never been very fond of hairy chests, but at that moment all I wanted was to run my fingers over it.

  What is wrong with me?

  I had lost my power of speech and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing smart or interesting at least. “Yes, I love to read.”

  Gavin discarded his towel on the top of the counter and ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to curl and spike everywhere. “I thought we would eat here. What do you think?” No thought came to mind other than yes, yes, and holy shit, yes! “I was planning on taking you to Joe’s Bistro, one of my favorite places, but I thought maybe I’ll just cook something quick and easy for us. Do you mind?”

  Mind that a hot guy voluntarily cooked a meal for me? Was he serious? “Of course I don’t mind. If you don’t. I don’t want to be too much trouble.”

  Gavin moved then and, for the first time, I noticed a certain oddness to his step. Nothing I could put my finger on. It was not a limp, but an unusual way of moving. Maybe he had crooked legs after all.

  “No trouble at all. I enjoy cooking.” The sun had landed smack in the middle of that living room as Gavin’s lips stretched into a smile, and my body turned into a puddle.

  I watched him as he busied himself in the kitchen, slicing onions, chopping carrots, and browning ground beef with the expertise of a chef and the sexiness of a dancer. “You’re obviously not a rookie in the kitchen.” The way he turned the contents of the frying pan with a simple flip of his hand was as hypnotizing as the pendulum on a clock. “Have you been doing this for long?”

  “Since I was a kid. My mom was a chef at a trendy local restaurant and she used to take me with her when she couldn’t get a babysitter—which was pretty often.” He stirred the contents of the pan, his eyes never leaving the now pinkish-brown meat. “I learned a lot from her and the other cooks. I also learned that cooking can be a whole lot of fun and super relaxing.”

  Should I ask? “Where was your father in all of this?” Damn, it came out before I could bite my tongue.

  Gavin stole a brief glance at me before returning his attention to the chopped tomatoes he was transferring from the block to the pan. “He was never in the picture. When I was about two, he decided he was not too impressed with his family and decided to go get a new one.” I flinched. Wow! That was cold. “He wanted my mom to be home cooking and cleaning for him. ‘Why marry a chef if she’s not going to cook for you every day?’ So, he packed his bags and left us. A couple months later, he was engaged to another woman.”

  “What an asshole.” I nibbled on a piece of baguette he had sliced and placed into a small basket. “Did he at least keep in touch?”

  Gavin chuckled, wiping his hands on the towel attached to the waist of his pants. “Hell, no. I know I have a couple half siblings, but he never bothered to check on us and I could barely remember him. It’s been me and my mom all this time.” Bringing the wooden spoon to his lips, he took a taste. “Care to have a go?” He picked up another spoon, half filled it with the delicious-smelling mix of meat and vegetables, and with his other hand cupped underneath, offered me a taste.

  His fingers, so close to my lips, made me shiver in delight. The food was yummy, but that was not what I had been craving all evening. Behave, woman. A simple taste and my mouth watered. “This is delicious. What is it?”

  “Nothing fancy.” He chuckled, dropping the spoon in the sink. “Shepherd’s pie. My mom’s favorite comfort food, and her own recipe.” I watched as he mashed the potatoes and then layered them with the meat deliciousness. He slid the whole pan into the oven with a flourish and sighed with satisfaction. “Now, we have to wait a while. Glass of wine?”

  Drinking was not my thing. In fact, I didn’t like any kind of alcoholic drink, but I figured the occasion called for something different. Against my better judgment, I accepted a small glass of red wine, the only thing I could drink without gagging. We sat on the couch, side by side, with drinks in our hands. Our knees were nearly touching, a fact I was painfully aware of.

  “Next you’re going to tell me you like romantic comedies.” If he said yes, I would throw in my hat. He laughed.

  “Some are not too bad, but I do prefer something with a bit of mystery or action.”

  Phew, not so perfect. Good.

  “You’re not gay, are you?” I had to ask. I mean, he cooked, he read, he obviously kept his house nice and tidy… I had never met a man quite like that. Except in some of my books.

  “I like women.” Was I imagining it, or had his voice dropped an octave? “Why? Do I look gay?” His voice was back to normal, a lilt of amusement at the end of his question.

  It was my turn to laugh. “I was wondering, because you just seem too perfect to be straight.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I think I should take offense to that… for my whole gender, I mean. Are you telling me guys can’t be perfect unless they have some feminine traits? In the name of all straight and gay guys, I must strongly protest.” I laughed even harder at his look of outrage.

/>   By the time we sat at the table to eat, my legs felt a little wobbly and my head swam. I had only drunk an inch of wine, but my body, unused to alcohol, was having a strong reaction to it. I needed to put something in my stomach. Fast.

  The shepherd’s pie was like ambrosia from the gods. I may have been a terrible cook, but I knew when I was eating good food. This was better than good. This simple comfort dish was worthy of a professional chef. My starving stomach was so grateful for the deliciousness of each forkful it was almost grunting in delight. I giggled, covering my full mouth with my hand. Man, I had a serious buzz on, the first one I had ever had. Probably not the best timing, considering whom I was with. For some reason, that thought made me giggle harder.

  “Are you okay?” Aww, he was so sweet! He truly looked concerned.

  My eyes wandered to his lips, full and sexy, and I had an urgent need to kiss them. A wave of bubbly dizziness ran over my head again, and the next thing I knew I had jumped to my feet, dropped my napkin on the plate and, leaning over the small table, grasped a handful of Gavin’s shirt, and kissed him full on the mouth.

  ***

  Gavin

  Honey and mint with a hint of rich red wine. Ana tasted like something out of a dream, and I couldn’t get enough of her kiss. Even though she had barely touched it, the wine had obviously gone to her head too quickly. She hadn’t hit me as the kind to grab a guy’s shirt over dinner and devour him along with the shepherd’s pie. Except that’s exactly what she had done.

  I wasn’t complaining. At all.

  With a moan of pure pleasure, I swiped my tongue along the inside of her lower lip, feeling the familiar flames of desire beginning to flare. My hands went around her shoulders to cup the back of her head and press her closer to me. Silently I cursed the table and the rest of the dinner still lying between us. Ana relaxed against my touch, and for a moment I thought she was going to fall flat on top of the dishes. I anchored her, and she whimpered.

  “We should move to the couch, don’t you think?” I was pretty sure she was far from thinking anything at that moment. Her eyes were closed and her arms flopped down along her sides, limp and powerless. She was drunk. “I’m not sure how you could have gotten drunk from a finger of wine, but you sure did.”

  Oblivious to my words, my sweet writer allowed me to support her and almost carry her to the couch. I didn’t think her eyes ever opened. As much as I would have loved to continue the make-out session, I couldn’t in good conscience. She was obviously unaware of what she was doing and probably wouldn’t remember a thing the next day. Unlike me, who would forever remember exactly how she tasted and how she made my body burn and vibrate with a simple kiss.

  I propped her on a couple cushions as her head lolled backward. Man, she was so intoxicated. I had never seen anyone get wasted on such a small amount of wine.

  “Ana, can you hear me?” She whimpered again, and I yearned to squeeze her against me. “I’m going to make you some strong coffee and then I’ll take you home, okay?” She mumbled something I couldn’t understand, and I realized she would never last long enough for me to brew coffee. I had to take her home safely.

  As soon as I walked away from the couch, she slid all the way down and almost fell off the edge, her head now buried between two cushions. I wondered where her keys were, and then I remembered her dropping them in her purse earlier. Her small purse was still sitting on the coffee table, but I hesitated. It seemed like a terrible breach of personal space to go through her things, but I needed to find her house keys if I was to take her home. It was either that or let her sleep at my place. I dismissed that idea quickly. There was no way I would be able to have her sleep so close to me.

  “Come on, Ana. I’m taking you home.” I tried to wake her up, but all I got from her was groaning. She was fast asleep. Fuck. I have to carry her.

  Even though she was a tiny little thing, carrying an unconscious body was not an easy feat. I had done it a few times in my job, but adrenaline had been running high. This time, the only thing I was high on was the rush of hormones and blood to certain parts of my body. Not helpful at all.

  “All right, girl. Let’s do this.” I slid one hand below her arms and another behind her knees and braced myself to pull her up. She was lightweight and soft even in her sleep. As I held her against my chest, Ana’s head dropped on my shoulder, and her soft brown hair tickled my chin. An urge to kiss her took over me and I shook my head.

  I’m such an idiot.

  The drive to her house was quiet, the silence punctuated by her steady breathing and occasional whimper. I couldn’t settle my pulse down, my blood still running fast and furious through my whole body. The mere proximity of her body was playing havoc with all my senses.

  What is it about this woman that makes me feel this way?

  I sighed deeply, half-relieved when we arrived at her place. I carried her inside and placed her onto the bed, dropping her keys on the nightstand. For a moment, I stood there, watching her sleep like an angel, flat on her back. The skirt on her floral dress had gathered beneath her and revealed a tantalizing portion of her milky thighs. The temptation to crawl on the bed and curl up against her was so strong my body shook like a leaf in the wind. I pulled the throw draped on the bottom of the bed over her sexy body and walked out of the room. I needed an icy-cold shower. Fast.

  As much as I wanted to believe I was immune to her understated beauty, my body wouldn’t allow me the illusion. I was very much taken by her petite frame, her thick brown hair, her soft honey eyes, and her luscious, sensual lips—pink kiss-me signs that pulled on me with the power of magnets.

  Better get out of here fast.

  I flew rather than walked out of her house, and drove home faster than ever before. Once I got there, I stripped off my clothes on my way to the bathroom and ran the water in the shower while I kicked off my shoes. Without hesitation, I threw myself under the running water, grateful for the shocking blast of cold that assailed my body. Just what I needed—or rather, just what I could have right then. What I truly needed was Ana. Her body glued to me, lips on mine, hands working whatever magic she had over my body and soul.

  Damn! No shower is going to help me now.

  Lobster and Fire

  Ana

  I was determined to stay locked in the house for the rest of…. Who was I kidding? Forever! I was never going to leave my house again. Inside my head, an eight-foot gorilla was pounding his enormous paws on my brain, and my limbs had turned into some kind of gelatinous material. I had never gotten drunk, so this was all new to me. Add the fact that I couldn’t be more embarrassed for kissing my fireman over his delicious shepherd’s pie, and I truly wanted nothing else than a chasm to open under my feet and swallow me whole.

  Why, oh why had I thought that drinking was a good idea? Since my lips very rarely touched any kind of alcoholic substance, what made me think I could drink even the two fingers of red wine without feeling its effects tenfold? Now, not only was I as sick as a dog, but also totally and utterly mortified by what I had done.

  It was a good kiss though. Gavin’s lips had been soft and yielding when, fueled by the red devil, I inserted my tongue between them. His taste was heavenly—not that I had ever tasted anything heaven-bound. My body had liquefied and, if it hadn’t been for Gavin holding me up, I would have fallen chest-first into the leftovers of our dinner.

  The phone rang, loud and strident, and I moaned. Who could be calling me at—? I looked at the clock. Hell, it was already eleven and I was still in my pajamas. I slid my finger across the screen and gingerly placed the phone by my ear. “Ana speaking.”

  “Are you okay? I was worried about you.” Oh, God! It was none other than sweet and hot Gavin. The last person I wanted to talk to right then. “You looked a little green when I dropped you off at your place last night.” In fact, I didn’t remember much of what happened after the infamous kiss. Not sure whether it was the wine or the fact I had blocked it out. I was so ashamed I had ac
ted like a harlot. Shit, there it was again. The writer in me. Did anyone even use that word still?

  “Hi, Gavin.” I sounded like a penitent little girl who had just read her mom’s spicy-hot romance novel. “I’m okay. A little hungover, that’s all. Not too used to drinking, obviously.”

  Gavin’s laughter came through loud and clear. He had a lovely laugh, bright and bubbly. “Yeah, I figured it. You only had an inch of wine. There was still some left in your glass.”

  I giggled and my head nearly exploded. “I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?” Better come clean and call out the elephant in the room. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what? The kiss?” I knew I had kissed him—and loved every second of it—but hearing him say it out loud made my ears burn against the phone. “Why would you be sorry? I had been thinking about doing the same all evening.” Wait! What? He wanted to kiss me? “You have by far the sexiest lips I’ve ever seen.”

  My friends would have to come and gather what was left of my body into a bottle. He thought I had sexy lips. Was he teasing me?

  “Really?” I was not very good at repartee.

  “Yes, really.” His laughter had stopped and his voice was low and warm, seeping through the phone speaker like a love song. “It was a great kiss. Even though I’m not sure you were 100 percent aware of what you were doing.” I laughed nervously. “I would like to go out with you again, if that’s okay. I’ll even help you with the research for your book. I can be the real guy you’re looking for.” Oh, no, he couldn’t. He may not be a Hulk-type guy and have his body covered in tattoos, or have a face that rivaled Dorian Gray’s, but he surely wasn’t ordinary.

  I cleared my throat. “I’d like that.” I couldn’t get over the fact he thought my forever-dry lips were sexy. Not cute or sweet. S-E-X-Y.

  “I’m off this Saturday. Picnic by the lake?”