The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes—or just by staring into space.
-Marilyn Monroe
Karma pulled into the garage of Mark’s condo and parked next to his BMW. He had told her he would leave the garage door open. That way, her car wouldn’t sit in his driveway all weekend, just in case a coworker happened by.
As she got out and grabbed her bag from the backseat, the garage door closed. Mark met her at the stairs leading into the kitchen.
“Hey you.” He swept in for a kiss.
He took her bag and stepped aside. A trail of steam rose from the spout of a pan on the stove, and the savory scent of garlic and oregano suggested Mark could cook a mean Italian dish.
“You can cook?” She looked over her shoulder as he stepped behind her and wound his arms around her waist. Her heart fluttered.
“Oh, yes, Karma. I can cook,” he said against the side of her neck before kissing it.
Easy jazz played from somewhere in the living room, lending a classy ambience to the atmosphere. She took a seat on one of the barstools and watched him make his way around the kitchen with the swift confidence of an executive chef. He lifted the lid off a skillet, releasing a plume of steam, then dipped in a spoon, raised it to his mouth and tasted, licked his lips thoughtfully, then sprinkled in a dash of salt before replacing the lid and opening the oven in one fluid motion. He pulled out a tray of thick slabs of buttery garlic bread, barely golden brown, and set it on the counter. It was an entertaining dance between man and cuisine.
“You sure know your way around a kitchen.”
“Cooking is sort of a hobby.” Using a fork, he plucked a piece of spaghetti from the boiling water, blew on it, then dropped it in his mouth.
“I didn’t know that.” She leaned on her elbows and crossed her forearms on the granite countertop. Learning these nuggets and nuances was like opening small gifts. Each one revealed something precious, something expressly hers.
Using a kitchen towel, he lifted the pan and carried it to the sink, where he poured the contents into a metal colander. “I love to dabble in the kitchen. It eases my mind.” He set the empty pan on the counter, lifted the colander, and shook off the excess water. “When I’m stuck on some part of a project, or when I get stressed, cooking always seems to clear my head. It’s kind of like my doodling. It occupies my thoughts in a way that just feels simple so my subconscious can work on other things.”
“Do you make up your own recipes or follow others’?”
He used tongs to lift the noodles from the colander and twisted them into a spiraled bundle on a nearby plate. “I usually make up my own, but sometimes I see something I like, get the recipe, and alter it my way.”
“You’re a real Gordon Ramsey.”
He twisted a second pile of pasta on another plate. “Nah, just an amateur who has a way with food.” He carried the plates to the stove, lifted the lid off the skillet, and ladled a large spoonful of thick, rich sauce that smelled heavenly onto each mound of pasta. Two giant meatballs topped them off. Then he added a piece of garlic bread and placed one plate in front of her and the other at the setting beside her. “Wine?” He lifted a bottle of red.
“Please.”
Very impressive. This was the first time a man had cooked for her. The first time one had gone through so much trouble to seduce her. Mark didn’t have to go to such lengths. They both knew what tonight was about…what this entire weekend was about. He could have simply ordered takeout, fed her, and whisked her off to bed. Instead, he took his time, easing into the moment. Despite their steamy exchanges at the office today, Mark was in no rush to reach the evening’s denouement.
The first bite of her meal sent an explosion of flavor through her senses. This was Italian with an attitude.
“Oh my God.” She turned toward him as he sat beside her.
His modest grin did little to hide his pride. “Good?”
She nodded then changed her mind and shook her head. “No. Not good.” She turned back to her plate. “This is orgasmic.”
He had just taken a drink of wine and nearly spit it out. He coughed, dabbed his napkin on his upper lip, and cleared his throat. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
She grinned. “This is really good.” She sliced her fork through the steaming meatball and slipped a chunk into her mouth. “Mmmm, heaven.” Flavors crashed against her tongue. “Is this your recipe? You didn’t replicate someone else’s?”
He nodded once and took a bite. “My own.”
“What’s in it?”
He winked. “It’s a secret.”
“I want this recipe,” she said.
“If you’re good, I’ll think about it.” He nodded toward her plate and flashed a wicked grin. “Now eat. You need your strength.”
It was his first allusion to what was in store for her this weekend.
“I’m sure I do.” She turned to her Italian heaven-on-a-plate and dug in. If he wanted her to eat, she would eat. And if he wanted her to do other things later? Well, she would just have to do those, too.
* * *
After dinner, Mark took their plates to the sink then returned and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Why don’t you take a bath while I clean up the kitchen?”
“Why do I get the impression you’ve already made that decision for me?” She slid off the barstool.
He simply smiled, picked up her bag, and led her upstairs to the loft bedroom.
The small desk lamp was the only one on in the room, but evening light still spilled through the western-facing windows. He set her bag on the king-sized bed, which was dressed in burgundy satin with enormous throw pillows resting against the leather headboard.
She followed him into the bathroom.
He turned on the water and started filling the large, oval tub.
“Vanilla okay?” He held up a bottle of bubble bath.
“Yes.” It was more than okay. Everything—the whole evening, all of it—was perfect. She had hit the romantic jackpot. Was Mark even for real?
He poured two capfuls of bubble bath into the running water.
Mark had gone to great lengths to make tonight special. First dinner, now a bubble bath, and not just any old bubble bath in any old ho-hum bathroom. A vanilla bubble bath set among a romantic oasis. Three large bouquets of pink and white roses created ice cream colored decadence on the counter and on the deck of the ivory tub, along with a dark red candle. A second candle rested on the opposite end of the counter from the flowers.
“Cinnamon?” She gestured toward the candles.
He smiled, lit them, then moved toward her like a cougar on the hunt. “Did you know vanilla and cinnamon are powerful aphrodisiacs?” His gaze danced over her face, and his arms circled her waist.
“No.”
He nuzzled her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. “It’s believed that vanilla is arousing for both men and women, but especially so for men.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And cinnamon produces heat in the body and increases the sexual appetite.”
She glanced around his temple of seduction. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” He looked over his shoulder at the bubble bath. “The only thing you have to do is relax in the tub. I’ll bring you a glass of wine in a few minutes.” He kissed her before departing.
Was this what it would be like if she were really, honestly Mark’s girlfriend and not just an affair with an expiration date?
Her gut told her that this was just how Mark was. That he wasn’t putting on some act. He believed in romance and the art of seduction. And with Mark, it was an art. Other men could lure women into their beds with a look, a nice meal, or a well-placed compliment, but for Mark, seducing a woman involved evoking her senses, pleasing her, making the seduction about her.
She retrieved her bag from the foot of the bed and set it on the floor by the bathroom counter. Inside was the white baby-doll nighty and thong. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing something so sexy, but now she couldn’t wait.
After undressing and pinning up her hair, she eased into the tub. The water’s temperature was perfect. Hot, but not scalding. A bevy of vanilla bubbles enveloped her, covering her entire body except for her head and shoulders.
Aaaahhhh. Sinking into the bubbly bed was as decadent as pouring melted chocolate over her skin. Lifting one arm through the vanilla-scented film, she skimmed her hand up to her shoulder. The bubbles made her skin slick, almost as if she were covered in oil. Only Hollywood royalty was treated better than this.
A few minutes later, Mark knocked lightly then entered. He held a glass of wine and a bath pillow. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Mm, yes. Very much,” she said lazily. Between the vanilla and cinnamon scents, she felt like she was in a bakery, but without the calories. And what woman didn’t like the idea of smelling like a cinnamon roll?
He set the wine beside her on the edge of the tub, nestled the pillow behind her head, removed a pink rose from the vase beside her, tore off the flower, and then sprinkled the petals over the white blanket of bubbles. She lifted one foam-covered hand and slid one of the petals into her palm. It felt like silk-covered velvet.
“I still can’t believe you removed your panties at work,” he said, dropping his hand into the bath. His palm caressed her inner thigh.
She played the rose petal through her fingers. “Me neither.”
His hand slid all the way up her thigh and back down, making her catch her breath. Dark shadows filled his gaze, and the lines of his face softened. For several seconds, he continued to gently caress her leg. It felt like a hundred naughty thoughts passed between them in the space of only a few seconds. Finally, he smirked and pulled his hand out of the water. “I should stop that or I won’t be able to.” He reached behind him for one of the plush, cream-colored towels and dried his arm.
“I didn’t mind.” She felt like a lamb caught in a wolf’s sights, only she wasn’t scared.
“Don’t worry, we have all weekend to play.” He bent, kissed her, then stood and turned for the door. “I’m almost finished downstairs, but don’t rush. Take your time. I’ll be waiting when you’re done.” He stepped out, quietly closed the door behind him, and left her with her wine, her hot bath, and a warmth in her lower belly that had nothing to do with the water’s temperature and everything to do with the lingering burn of his touch.
* * *
It took Mark five more minutes to finish in the kitchen, then he shut off the light and went back upstairs. The bathroom door was still closed, and he heard the quiet burbling of water as Karma shifted in her bath.
She had looked surprised and pleased when she saw the setup he had prepared, but he wanted tonight to be special. Giving her that little taste of luxury was the least he could do.
He turned on some light jazz through his computer and changed into a pair of light blue pajama pants and a white T-shirt. His semi-erection tented the cotton pants, but there was nothing he could do about that. He had been in an aroused state the better part of the day from all the teasing and flirty texts.
He left on the dim desk lamp and pulled back the satin comforter to reveal matching burgundy sheets. He’d bought them especially for tonight. There was nothing quite like making love on satin sheets, and Karma’s pale skin would look beautiful against the dark red shade.
Once everything was ready, he climbed into bed, propped himself against the wall of pillows against the headboard, and let the sounds of Chris Botti’s trumpet carry him away as he waited.
* * *
Karma looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t fill the bust of the lacy baby-doll as well as the model on the Yandy website, but she still looked good.
Her pale nipples were barely discernible above the opaque swath of satin that covered the lower half of her breasts under sheer lace. The gathered skirt hit just below her hips, barely covering the G-string she wore underneath. The delicate lace eyelets that extended six inches up the skirt, as well as the tight gathers from the waist, helped conceal enough to ease her nerves a little.
Deep breath. She was ready for this. She wanted it. After tonight, there would be no going back. Good-bye, little lamb.
She placed her hand on the doorknob, took one more deep breath, and opened the door.
* * *
Mark opened his eyes…and promptly forgot how to speak.
If he had thought Karma looked like an angel before, she epitomized the definition now. Dressed in white and backlit from the candlelight in the bathroom, all she needed was a pair of wings and a halo. Her silhouette under the gauzy film of fabric was an erotic shadow of sex appeal that lit his soul on fire, and his gaze devoured her inch by slow inch, from her pretty face all the way down to the sexy pink tips of her toes.
Speechless, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. She shifted her weight and curled the toes of her right foot over the top of her left.
“Is it okay?” she said.
Finding his voice, Mark licked his lips and nodded. “It’s very okay.”
When had he ever seen anything sexier? White. Good choice. The color of innocence. It was perfect for her. Any other color would have been a sacrilege. At least at this point. Later, when they had spent more time together, he would like to see her in something red, or maybe black, but right now, white was perfect, especially given the style of the almost Victorian-looking chemise. She looked ready for the cover of a historical romance novel.
“Come here,” he said, unable to make eye contact as he stared at her outfit…or, rather, her lack of one.
She did as he requested and walked tentatively toward him then stopped less than a foot away. “Do you like it?”
His hands disappeared under the hem, and he skimmed the tips of his fingers up the backs of her thighs to the lower curve of her bottom. “Yes, I like it very much.” He smoothed his palms over the bare cheeks of her ass.
Her plump lips parted and a soft breath escaped.
“I underestimated you,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t expect this.” Her smooth skin warmed his palms, and the firmness of her rump boosted his erection.
“I hoped you would like it.”
“I do.” He drove his hands up her back then down to her ass again. “You’re not uncomfortable?”
Her hands rested on his shoulders as she took another small step forward. “Not anymore.”
In other words, his reaction had emboldened her and erased any insecurity she might have felt before she stepped out of the bathroom. Who would have thought that the woman in the sexy red dress that had stolen his sense of reason would be even sexier in a white negligee?
His breath came in shallow draws. He knew tonight was as much about himself as it was about her. He had tried to tell himself it wasn’t, but now he knew better. By giving her pleasure, he gave pleasure to himself.
“You’re beautiful.” He hooked his fingers inside the strap of her G-string and tugged it down her hips.
Her grip briefly tightened on his shoulders then loosened.
Slowly, so slowly, he dragged the wisp of fabric down her legs. “Lift your foot,” he said. She stepped out of the thong, and he nearly fell to his knees to kiss her lovely feet but didn’t. Instead, he sat back up and pulled her forward so that his knees were between her thighs. She lowered herself onto his lap as he pulled off his T-shirt.
“Now what?” she said
“Now I give you a night to remember.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her with him onto the bed, ready to deliver on his promise.