Sweet On You

chapter Eleven



What was he doing there?

Nico stared at the storefront. There was no sign to indicate what it was. Inside it was dark but, looking into the window, he could see construction materials and debris.

He checked the address again. Jason had assured him this was where her office was located. Jason's research was always unquestionably thorough—it was one of the reasons he was Nico's second-in-command.

Beyond the chaos in front, there was a double door with a light shining from under it. Contractors? Or was Daniela back there? He knocked on the door and waited.

No answer.

He reached for the doorknob and tried it. To his surprise, the door opened. He walked in, carefully making his way to the double doors.

Even before he pushed open the door, he heard Frank Sinatra singing. The air smelled warm and sweet, and he knew without a doubt that Daniela was the one inside.

Excitement surged through him, not unlike when he made his first business conquest. Stronger, though—a potent mix of the hunt and the thrill of victory.

Because he intended to win, the building as well as this game he and Daniela were playing.

Pushing the swinging door, he stood in the entry. The kitchen looked like it was at the end of a remodel. The walls hadn't been painted yet, and there was still plastic covering the cabinet surfaces. After a cursory, professional survey, his attention focused on the main attraction.

She stood at the large island in the center, head bent, rolling what looked like dough. Her hair was piled on her head, but a few curls had escaped, wildly free around her heart-shaped face. The only spot of messiness was a dab of flour on her cheek. Her arms were bare, a white apron the only visible article of clothing.

He thought about her wearing nothing but that utilitarian apron—give or take a pair of heels. He hummed, liking the image. He'd have to make sure that happened.

As an entrepreneur, he was cautious when entering a new partnership. This situation wasn't any different. However, it wasn't a matter of whether or not. It was how far did he take it, and when did he stop?

Now was definitely not the time to stop.

He stepped into the kitchen.

Daniela's head popped up, her brow furrowed and barely-leashed fury in her eyes. When she registered who he was, the fury erupted. "You bastard. Did you come here to gloat?"

She'd gotten the news, then. He smiled without any humor. "I don't know why I came here."

"Well, you're not welcome." She slammed her fist into the dough. "Unless you've come to say you're sorry."

"No."

"Then get out before I hit you." She brandished the rolling pin at him. "Because you're a jerk. You know how much I want that building and still you're bidding against me."

"Maybe I want it badly, too," he replied mildly, standing across the counter from her.

"You can have any building you want. You don't need that one."

He did, for Eddie, but he wasn't going to get into that.

Daniela glared at him. "You're still here."

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed, and then before he could react, he was hit on the chest by a blob of dough.

"Sugar cookies are always a crowd pleaser," she said with a satisfied smirk, already rolling another ball in her hand.

He watched, mesmerized by her graceful movements. The urge to have those hands on him surprised him.

Not that he wasn't a physical person. He was, and sex served a purpose. He took care of his needs and was never lacking.

But this yearning was new to him. He normally didn't fantasize about a woman this way, especially one who wanted his balls for another reason other than her own pleasure. Although the way Daniela looked now, he figured cutting off his balls would give her great pleasure.

She lifted the other ball of dough.

"I don't recommend doing that," he warned.

She threw it at him like she was a major league pitcher.

This time, he ducked and charged around the counter. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist, turning her around and pinning her against the counter.

"Let me go, damn it." She struggled against him.

"Not until you promise to stop trying to maim me with cookie dough."

"Cookie dough is my secret weapon." She tried to wrestle herself loose.

Her ass wiggled against him, and the feeling shot straight to his head. Unable to help himself, he nuzzled the side of her neck, inhaling her sugary scent. "I think you're wrong about what your secret weapon is."

She growled, but her head tipped to one side. "This isn't going to make me go all docile, you know. I'm not going to just walk away from what I want."

"Good." He placed a kiss there, the lightest brush of his lips, even though he wanted to sink his teeth into her.

Seeing a bowl of melted chocolate in front of them, he dragged his finger in the chocolate and smeared a bit on her exposed neck, licking it clean. "Delicious," he murmured, doing it again.

She arched into him, gasping. "Nico."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Are you crazy?"

Amazingly, he smiled. Then he smeared another ribbon of chocolate down her neck and then slid his hand under her apron and into her top.

He'd expected her to protest, or to pull away. He was thrilled when she just moaned and rubbed herself against his erection.

He nibbled her skin as his fingers played with her nipple. His other hand trailed down to the waistband of her pants, undid the zipper, and slipped his hand under silky panties.

"I feel like someone should point out that this is a mistake," she said breathlessly.

"Someone probably should," he agreed, "but it's not going to be me."

"Me either." She stretched overhead to tangle her floury fingers in his hair.

He liked it—the messier, the better. He slid his hand lower into her pants, until his longest finger found what he was looking for.

Her head fell back and she cried out.

His mouth next to her ear, he whispered to her. "I like how open you are to me. You're so wet, and I've barely touched you."

"I have a weakness for bastards."

"Then I'm happy I'm one." He rubbed his finger over the spot that had her panting.

She squirmed in his arms. "I'm not going to be able to hold out."

"I don't want you to. I want to feel you to writhe in my arms. I want you to fall apart. To scream."

She cried out again, and he could feel her losing control of her body. He kept the pressure on her sensitive parts constant, deliberate, knowing by the way she undulated under his touch that the waves of ecstasy were building, ready to crash over her.

"Now, Daniela," he commanded.

And she came—hard and without cease, over and over, calling out his name.

He loved hearing her cry his name.

He held her there, wrapped around her, keeping her grounded and safe, giving her a place to come back to. He was crazy with lust and the need to be inside her. But it was too much, too soon, so when he felt her limbs regain their strength, he righted her clothing and detached himself from her.

As she refastened her hair onto her head, she looked him in the eye. "Don't think that just because you gave me an orgasm that I'm going to stop my bid for the property."

"I'd be disappointed if you did." He adjusted his still very prominent erection to a more comfortable position.

Her eyes fell to his crotch, but then she lifted them again. "You should probably go now."

"I know." He picked up his jacket. Then he went to her, lifted her chin, and kissed her one last time—partly because he wanted to get the last word in and partly because he just needed to.

Smiling at her dazed expression, he strode out, feeling oddly satisfied for someone who was closer to blueballs than any man had ever been.