have to be perfect. Cooking is a lot about feel and developing your instincts. Trusting yourself. A tablespoon is roughly one swirl around the pan. Do three of those.”
Though she was a little nervous she’d somehow manage to screw up the simplest of recipes, she followed his instructions and poured the oil into the pan. “Is that enough?”
“Yep, now wait for the oil to shimmer a little and then you can dump the almonds in. Extra virgin olive oil has a low smoke point. It can burn or catch fire quicker than other oils, so don’t use it on too high of a heat and put your ingredients in before it starts smoking.”
She felt like she was the one with the low smoke point. A few more touches and heated glances from him and she was sure she’d catch flame, too.
When the oil started to glisten and slide easily around the pan, he gave her a little nod, and she poured the almonds in. He stepped behind her, put a hand to her waist, and reached around to give the nuts a quick stir with a wooden spoon to coat them. The smell of fruity olive oil filled her nose, but all she could think about was Van pressed against her back. He was so much bigger than she was—not in the bulky way like Doug had been—but tall and lean and honed. It made her feel petite and feminine in his hold.
She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for them to get fragrant and golden.” He set the spoon down and turned her around in his arms, shifting the two of them away from the hot stove. “And we taste.”
He picked up the olive oil again and drizzled some on his fingers. She watched in fascination as some dripped to the ground like green-gold raindrops.
“People usually think of Italy for olive oil, but Spain produces some of the finest stuff out there. Good enough to sip like wine.” He lifted his hand to her mouth then ran slick fingers over her lips. “Or to kiss off of a beautiful woman.”
Before she had time to react, he lowered his head and captured her mouth in a slow, coaxing kiss. The fruity oil slid over their lips and mixed with the lingering flavor of sangria and something distinctly him. Her hands went to his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. His lips were even more decadent than she’d imagined—soft and sexy and commanding. A vivid appetizer to what she suspected was going to be a very lavish meal. And it’d been so long since she’d been kissed—even longer since it’d been done with passion—that she found it hard to control her starved response. She craved more, needed it.
When he moved to pull back, she said his name like a plea.
Needing no further encouragement, he banded his arm around her waist as he kissed her again and backed her into the table without breaking their connection. Before she could lever herself upward, he lifted her onto the table and deepened the kiss. Their tongues touched and sparks seems to flare out along her nerve endings. She groaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing response to such a simple act. Somehow Van had transported her back to her high-school days where everything was new and an openmouthed kiss was as erotic an experience as she could imagine.
She slid her arms around his neck and gave herself over completely, opening to him and surrendering to the moment. When he laid her back onto the table and unfastened the top button of her blouse, she was too far gone to worry about anything. She didn’t care that they were out in the open and anyone could walk in. She didn’t care that they were outdoors and only protected from the view of people on the street by a row of potted trees. And she forgot to worry whether or not she was in over her head.
Van finally broke the kiss to drag in a breath and worked a few more buttons to get her shirt fully open. His gaze traced over her simple lace bra with ravenous heat. “We’re going to burn the almonds.”
“I don’t care,” she said, slipping her shirt off.
With one swift movement, he reached over and turned off the burner, then he was back over her, holding the bottle of olive oil above her. “Take off your bra, Contessa. I need to taste you.”
She did as she was told with fumbling fingers and tossed the scrap of fabric aside. As soon as she lay back against the table, the drizzle of oil hit her skin, sliding over her nipples and down her belly. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, the sensual feel of the liquid against her conjuring images of Van taking himself in his hand and marking her skin with his release.
His hands trailed up and over her ribs, bringing oil with it, then he cupped her breasts, sliding his fingers over slippery skin and making her arch with need. He pinched her nipple between lubricated fingers. The desperate sound she made bordered on embarrassing. “Van, please.”
He let out a soft curse. “Baby, I want to take my time with you. But God, I can feel how near the edge you are already, and it’s driving me to the brink. I’ll never make it through a meal.”
“That makes two of us.”
He groaned and bent over her, taking her nipple in his mouth. The combination of the warming oil and his talented tongue had her back bowing up. Lord, she’d forgotten how lovely foreplay could be. Doug had been all about the end game, convinced that because he was well-endowed, that’d be enough for any woman. But size only went so far and getting to orgasm had always taken work on her part, a concerted effort. But right now, she felt like one stroke between her thighs and she’d go off.
His hand went to the hem of her skirt, slipping beneath it and gliding along her thigh with well-oiled fingers. She reached for him, her hands acting on their own volition, and gripped his thick hair, holding him against her breast and silently begging him to move his hand higher up her thigh.
He slipped free from her grip and lifted his head. “Just lie back, baby, and put your hands above your head. I’ll take care of you.”
She did as she was told and followed him with her eyes as he grabbed her blouse and wrapped it around her wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what I want,” he said simply, as if that were explanation enough. “I have a bit of a thing for control. You okay with that?”
A ripple of apprehension went through her. “I’m not sure. What do you mean?”
His lips curved. “Ever done anything kinky before, Contessa?”
She thought back to the time she’d bought risqué lingerie and a set of handcuffs to surprise Doug. He’d wrinkled his nose in disgust and told her to throw that crap out. “No.”
“How come?” he asked as he traced his fingers along the delicate skin of her forearms.
God, why the questions? Couldn’t they just get to it? She didn’t want to rehash those embarrassing memories.
“Because it’s for girls who try too hard,” she blurted, remembering how ridiculous Doug had made her feel as she stood there in that corset and heels. If I wanted to sleep with a cheap whore, I’d hire one, Tessa. Take that shit off.
Van came back into view, his eyes meeting hers, amusement touching his lips. “Is that right? Well, I hope I can change your mind on that one because you look very, very sexy stretched out and bound. But if you’re not on board, I’ll release your hands.”
Somehow the sincerity in his voice and the heated look on his face had her guards falling away. She found herself wanting to comply, wanting to be sexy for him. “It’s okay. I’ll try it.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned over and took her mouth in a languorous kiss, dipping his tongue deep and giving her another preview of just how skilled he was with his mouth. A moan caught in the back of her throat, and her hips lifted off the table involuntarily as need built low and fast. Lord, could she come from a kiss? Her body was begging for that to be true. It had been so long. But even though no orgasm came, by the time he pulled back, she was sure her muscles had liquefied and her bones had disintegrated.
He nipped her bottom lip. “Move your hands from this spot, and I’ll stop what I’m doing. Understand?”
She