Chapter 5
Cara could barely keep her mind on her work. Every few minutes she checked the time. She’d sleepwalked through her day and was nowhere near as on point as she normally was when showing a space. She hardly remembered what she’d said to her prospective clients. Her thoughts kept drifting to Mitch and the unending dreams she’d had about him. She had to keep reminding herself that Mitch Davis was a client. The evening with him was to see his space, to be able to put it on the market, and bring him a listing of potential spaces. That was it. That was all that he wanted from her.
She’d printed out a list of five apartments that had recently come on the market that she felt would suit his needs. However, after getting a sense of his esthetics, she’d know better if she was on the right track.
Her phone rang.
“Cara Holiday.”
“Hey, girl. How’s it going?”
“It’s going,” she joked. “What’s up?”
“The editing is almost done on the piece. It really looks good.”
“That’s wonderful. When will it air?”
“In two weeks. Thanksgiving weekend as part of a 20/20 special. Hopefully snaring a captive holiday audience.”
“Sounds good.”
“And you sound distracted. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, not really. I was putting together some information for Chef Davis.”
“Oooh la la. What kind of information?”
Cara gave her the Reader’s Digest version of what had transpired and her pending appointment with him.
“And you didn’t tell me! I’m so excited.”
“About what?”
“About what? Girl, you’re going to that man’s house and you know he’s hot for you, and I don’t give a damn what lie you keep telling yourself and me, but you feel the same way.” She paused. “Sis, it’s okay to care again,” she said gently.
Cara flinched and blew out a breath. “Once again, you’re reading more into this than necessary,” she said, sidestepping Stella’s last comment. “Besides, he wants a smaller place because he’s going to be opening up a venue in Philly. He’ll only be in Brooklyn part of the time once the new restaurant opens.”
“Never heard of long-distance relationships?”
“We don’t even have a neighborhood relationship,” she quipped.
“I’ll bet five dollars that all of it will change after tonight.”
“A whole five dollars, huh? Last of the big spenders.”
Stella laughed. “Anyway, what are you wearing? Are you going home to shower first? I think you should wear that navy wrap dress. Easy to get out of.”
“Stella! Would you stop?” Cara couldn’t help but laugh. “This is a business meeting.”
“Yeah, okay. If you say so. Like I said, five dollars and tomorrow you’ll be singing a different tune.”
“Fine. Five dollars.”
Stella giggled. “And don’t forget to shave! Later.” She disconnected the call before Cara could cuss her out.
Cara put down the phone and shook her head in amusement. Stella was nuts. She checked the time. Six. Her thoughts raced. She looked at her very formal business pantsuit outfit. She had plenty of time to run home, freshen up, and get to Mitch’s house by eight.
Quickly, she gathered up her things, tossed her good nights to Tricia, and darted out. That damned Stella. She maneuvered around traffic en route home.
Cara’s revamping took a bit longer than she’d anticipated, but she was satisfied with the outcome. Much to her chagrin she’d taken all of Stella’s advice; from the shower to the dress to the “touch up” down yonder. Now she sat in her car down the street from his house, and in the time that she’d taken to go home and change it had snowed at least an inch and it was still coming down. The flurries that the meteorologist had predicted were a thing of the past and it didn’t appear that the snow was going to let up anytime soon. The one thing she’d wished she’d considered was boots.
She turned off the car, got her purse and leather folder, stepped out, and yelped. Her high-heeled foot was instantly covered in icy snow. “Grrrr.” She put her folder over her head and teetered down the street to number 186. She opened the gate and walked into the small concrete yard. The icy chill from her wet feet rose up the back of her legs and skittered along her spine. She pressed the doorbell and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.
Moments later, Mitch opened the door. “Hey. You made it. Come on in.” He took a look beyond her. “It’s really coming down.”
“Yes, I totally was not prepared,” she said, squeezing past him and catching a heady whiff of his masculine scent.
Mitch shut the gate and walked in behind her. “Let me take your coat.”
“I’ve got to get out of these shoes. I hope you don’t mind.”
He glanced down at her long legs to her wet feet. “Of course not. I’ll get you some slippers.”
She took off her shoes and set them by the door while he hung up her coat in the hall closet.
“This way,” he said, leading her into the main living area.
She looked around. The three-story brownstone maintained its original charm from the hardwood floors to the built-in mantels and towering mirrors. One room opened onto the next separated by mahogany arches. It was truly a man space with rich dark brown leather furnishings and standing lamps. The living room opened onto a formal dining room with a built-in china cabinet and a six-foot dining table. Beyond she could see the kitchen and knew instinctively that it would be the jewel of the home. The aroma of something spectacular awakened her taste buds. Her mouth watered and she realized that her nerves had kept her from eating all day.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go get those slippers.”
He went out into the hall and up the stairs. Cara took a moment to look around some more. Clearly he loved reading as much as cooking. The bookshelf was filled from top to bottom with books—the majority of which were mysteries and autobiographies. His other passion must be music. The sound system was something right out of Technology Now magazine. The wall-mounted television had to be at least fifty inches. She wondered if he was a sports buff. The only photographs were of Mitch at the opening of his restaurants, several with him and celebrities, and several culinary awards were framed as well. There was nothing that spoke to the man beyond his work or the people involved in his life. They did have that in common. She was her work as well.
“I know these will be too big. At least I hope so,” he joked, entering the room, holding up a pair of slippers in one hand and a pair of socks in the other.
She smiled. “Yeah, I kind of think so. I’ll take the socks.” She sat on the club chair, unfolded the white and gray sweat socks, and gratefully put them on. Instantly she felt better, and the sensation of having something of his on her body only intensified the feeling of warmth. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem. What can I get you to drink?”
“Oh.” Her brows rose a bit. “Hmm. Wine?”
“Coming right up.”
Why did she say wine? This wasn’t a date, it was business.
Mitch crossed the room to a closed cabinet, opened it, and perused the racks of wine.
“Impressive.” Cara came up behind him.
He glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled. “One of my other hobbies.” He plucked a bottle of Chardonnay from the rack and took out two long-stemmed glasses from the bottom shelf. He handed her a glass, opened the bottle, and poured for her, then himself. He raised his glass. “To a very successful partnering.”
Her stomach wobbled. She knew what he meant, but it was how he said it. She touched her glass to his.
“Hmmm,” she murmured. “This is wonderful.”
“Glad you enjoy it. Would you like the tour?”
“Absolutely.”
“I tried to keep as much of the originality of the house while still making improvements, like insulation, central heat and air, and electrical wiring to bring everything up to code.”
They walked through the living-room space into the formal dining room. The details were incredible, from the heavy wood to the stained glass above the archways. As she’d expected, the kitchen was the hub of the house. It was totally state of the art from the massive double oven and six-burner stove, the two-door stainless-steel fridge, and matching freezer, and an island inlaid with a wok and sink. Glass cabinetry showcased the rows and rows of condiments and serving dishes. Gleaming pots and pans hung from racks in the ceiling, and the workspace wrapped around the entire kitchen.
“Wow,” was all she could come up with as she took in the spectacular space. “This is amazing.”
“Through here is what was a small shed that I turned into a laundry room.” He opened a door at the far end of the kitchen. A full-sized washer and dryer, with a table for folding and shelves for supplies, were neatly tucked in the room. “There’s a small backyard with a trellis, which will be hard to see right now.”
He closed the door to the laundry room and eased by Cara. His breath hitched a beat when her breasts inadvertently brushed against his chest. “I’ll . . . show you upstairs.”
He led the way up the staircase that opened onto a large sitting room that was furnished in the same warm browns with a hint of taupe accents. Beyond the sitting room was a small den that he’d converted to an office space with all the bells and whistles.
“Very nice,” she managed, still feeling the tingle in her breasts from the contact with his hard chest.
“There’s one more floor to see.”
They went to the third floor that housed two enormous bedrooms, an adjoining master spa bath, as well as a guest bathroom. His scent filled the spaces. She inhaled deeply, allowing the maleness of him to enter her senses.
He turned to her and her heart fluttered. The penetrating look in his eyes was akin to hunger and her body responded.
“What do you think?”
It took her a moment to recover. “You . . . have an amazing home.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sure I’ll have no problem putting it on the market for a quick sale. I’d like to take some pictures.”
“Sure.”
“My camera is in my bag downstairs.”
“Let’s get it. I want to check on dinner.”
“Dinner?”
He tossed her a casual look. “I thought we could talk over dinner. That is, if you have time.”
She swallowed. Wine. Dinner. A gorgeous man whom she ached for. What could be wrong with that? “Sounds fine to me. And whatever you’re fixing smells delicious.”
“Great.”
They returned downstairs and Cara retrieved her camera.
“Feel free to wander around. Take as many photos as you want.” He strode into the kitchen.
Cara spun away and momentarily closed her eyes, willing her heart to be still. She was sure she was reading more into his hospitality than what was really there. And what she needed to do was stay on task and shake off the erotic notions that were running havoc in her head.
She began photographing the rooms, taking several shots of the same spaces from different angles. She spent more time in his bedroom than what was probably necessary. It was totally male, with no sign of a woman or a woman’s touch. A pair of jeans was casually tossed across a side chair. His sneakers were in a corner near his closet. She took a quick sneak peek and was instantly overcome by his presence. She ran her fingers along the row of shirts, jackets, and suits, and imagined him putting them on and taking them off.
She shook her head and shut the closet door.
“There you are.”
She jumped and spun around, holding her hand to her chest. Mitch stood in the doorway.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He studied her for a moment. “Find everything you needed?”
She blinked, lifted her chin, and forced a shaky smile. “Yep, all done.”
“Right on time. Dinner’s ready.” He tossed his head toward the door and she kept her eyes on her feet as she brushed by him to get out.
“I thought we could eat in the kitchen if you don’t mind. It’s a lot less formal.”
“Sure.” She tilted her head to the sound of very soft music playing in the background. “Kirk Whalum?”
Mitch grinned in appreciation. “Good ear. You like him?”
“Very much. I think I must have purchased his CD three different times because I wore it out.”
“That’s a fan. Come on, let’s eat.”
She slid onto an upholstered barstool at the L-shaped counter. He’d already put out dishes and cutlery and a fresh bottle of wine. White linen napkins gave the otherwise casual setting a sense of style.
“What’s on the menu?”
“Ah.” He held up a finger. “For the appetizer, we have fresh oysters steamed in my very special vinaigrette. For the main course, lightly grilled asparagus, mushroom risotto, and baby veal chops cooked and seasoned to perfection.” He took a slight bow. “I hope it meets with your satisfaction, madame,” he added, throwing on the charm.
Cara giggled. “I’m sure that it will.”
Mitch made quick work of placing the serving dishes on the table and prepared their plates.
“Oh, my goodness. These oysters are incredible.” She closed her eyes in satisfaction as the array of flavor burst in her mouth. She could have easily made a whole meal of the appetizers until he presented the main course. Heaven. That was the only word to equate with the food. Every morsel was mouthwatering, with hints of flavors that heightened the senses.
Mitch watched her from beneath his lashes. Everything about her totally turned him on from the way she held her fork, the way her lips parted to take in a mouthful of food and sucked in the oyster from its shell, to the way her eyes fluttered closed as she savored each bite. Watching her was as much an aphrodisiac as the oysters.
“This is . . . there are no words.” She tapped the corners of her mouth with the napkin and reached for her glass of wine.
“I love to see a woman who enjoys eating.”
Cara nearly choked. The wine caught in her throat, then went down. She blinked away the water that filled her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
She bobbed her head. “Fine. Thanks.” She drew in a calming breath. “I can’t imagine that you cook like this every night.”
“No.” He took a swallow of his wine and set the glass down. “But I like to try new things when I have time.” His gaze raked over her.
“Is this a new recipe?”
“Yes, tonight is the first time. And since you like it, it won’t be the last.”
She felt herself grow damp between her legs and her clit jumped to attention. She pressed her knees together.
“We can finish our wine in the living room and talk business.”
He picked up the bottle and extended his hand to help her from her seat. His fingers wrapped around hers and she felt as if she would melt from the heat of his touch. Once on terra firma, he released her and turned away. She willingly followed.
Mitch took fresh glasses from the cabinet and set them on the coffee table. He lifted the bottle toward her in question.
“Yes, but just a little. I have to drive.”
“Speaking of driving”—he went to the window and looked out—“it’s really coming down out there.”
Cara joined him at the window. “Oh no.”
“Where are you parked?”
“Down the block.”
“Well”—he glanced down at her feet—“you certainly can’t go out there now. Hopefully it will let up soon.”
She groaned.
He looked down at her. “You’re more than welcome to stay. I do have an extra room. If it comes to that.”
They were standing so close. She could feel the heat rise from his body and see the lights reflected in his eyes. He reached out and fingered a stray lock of hair that dipped by her cheek. She held her breath. His fingertip trailed to the rapid beating of the pulse in her neck and she nearly came on herself.
She knew she should move, step away. But she couldn’t make her body respond. And then the world vanished from her line of vision as he came closer, surrounded her, and his mouth tasted hers. He hummed deep in his throat and like a trigger being pulled she was shot through with a need that made her weak.
His arm snaked around her waist when he met no resistance, and he pulled her flush against him and deepened the kiss with a flick of his tongue. The contact made her gasp with pleasure and she opened her mouth to let him in.
The mixture of heady spices and the sweet flavor of the wine mingled and danced together, creating its own unique flavor that they wanted more of.
Mitch cupped the back of her head and threaded his fingers through her hair, kissing her with a hunger that stunned him with its intensity. His body came alive for her, hard and pulsing and needy.
Cara’s head spun. Her body willingly molded to his in a way that was familiar, as if they were the other half of a whole. Her inner thighs trembled and her pulse roared in her ears.
Mitch broke away, breathed hard. He rested his forehead against hers to give him time to stamp down his erection that threatened to erupt. “Stay,” was all that he could manage. He dared to lift his head and look into her eyes.
“I . . .”
“Stay . . .”
This was some kind of dream or an excerpt that you read in a romance novel. She didn’t think she said yes, but she didn’t say no either as he held her hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom.