That Voodoo You Do
Copyright © 2010 Jodi Redford
“So what’s going on in there?”
She narrowed her eyes. “That managed to be both evasive and sexist.”
“Damn, and here I wasn’t even tryin’.” He chuckled. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she reached around him for the doorknob. He scooted sideways, forcing her hand to smack into his abdomen instead. His bare, firm-as-marble abdomen. Her fingertips brushed the warm hollow of skin resting just above the low rise of his button fly. Sucking in a sharp breath, she yanked her arm away and shuffled back several steps.
“Don’t stop now. Things were just getting interesting.”
“I, uh, just have to go and…um…yeah.” She spun and stumbled in the direction of the kitchen before she did something really stupid, like follow the silky trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of
And where was everyone else, anyway? She craned her neck, scoping the dining alcove for signs of Ms. Peach or Gloria.
“Hey, baby. You’re just in time for a taste test.”
She whipped her head around at Griff’s zippy tone. Now she knew something was up. Griff didn’t do chipper, particularly not thirty minutes after snarling at her like a pissed-off Tony the Tiger. “What the hell is going on?”
Griff tried for a guileless look. Oh yeah, he didn’t do innocent well either. “I’m getting lunch ready.”
“Without your shirt on?”
“It’s hot in here.”
Well…that was certainly true. Even without Griff’s muscle-icious torso making her girl parts all warm and tingly, there was no denying the temperature in the kitchen hovered between muggy and melt-your-panties-off miserable.
Griff dug a spoon out of the drawer and ladled some of the sauce he’d been stirring. “Tell me if this needs anything.”
Her intuition warning her to be on the lookout for any sneakiness, she hesitantly crossed to the industrial-sized, stainless-steel stove. She tried to wrestle the spoon from Griff, but he insisted on feeding her the concoction himself. Almost from the instant the tapestry of flavors met her tongue, a seductive ripple of heat unfurled inside her, tightening her nipples beneath the sundress’s snug, smocked bodice. Griff’s thumb traced the outline of her lower lip. Holding her gaze, he lifted his finger and slowly licked it clean. If the humidity didn’t melt the crotch of her panties, Griff demonstrating his perfect oral skills sure as hell would.
“What do you think? A pinch more salt and pepper?”
She stared into Griff’s dark-as-sin pupils. Clearly he was waiting for her to answer, but damn if she could concentrate on anything beyond the flush of arousal making her dizzy with hunger. Only it wasn’t food she was lusting for at the moment. Knees wobbling, she clutched the counter. “W—what’s in that sauce?”
“Butter, egg, milk. The usual Béchamel ingredients.”
Sure, and a liberal dash of horny goat weed and Viagra thrown in for good measure. She had no idea why Griff was trying to get her juiced up for sex. He knew damn well that all he had to do was breathe and she’d gladly tackle him to the floor and ride him until they were both properly yippee-ki-yayed out. Which left only one possibility.
He was about to spring some hellaciously scary sexual request on her. If a midget and a monkey strolled in right now, she was so out of th—
“Looks like the party is revving into high gear.”
Her focus shifted between the two gorgeous specimens of male flesh on decadent display, and the puzzle pieces began locking together. Oh, sweet Jesus. Her heart frantically tap dancing, she snatched the embroidered dishtowel resting on the counter and blotted her perspiring forehead. Either the heat and the sauce were getting to her, or Griff and Logan. More than likely, all four.
She shot Griff an accusing glare. “Now I get it. You think the three of us having sex will fix everything, and I won’t have to worry about Nettie luring me to the dark side. Did it even occur to you to give me a say in this decision?”
Griff thunked the spoon on the stovetop before giving her his full attention. “Christ, do you honestly think you wouldn’t get a say? Damn it, you know I’d never force you into doing anything you don’t want.”
She plunked one hand on her hip and waved the other hand at the stockpot. “But you weren’t averse to a little cheating, courtesy of your pasta à la sex sauce.”
“I just wanted you to feel more comfortable. Relaxed.”
“Turned on,” she added, arching a brow.
A guilty flush spread from Griff’s jaw to his cheeks. Chuffing a laugh,
She snorted. “Trust me, he already did.”
Something warm and sticky stroked her nipples. She jumped at the unexpected sensation, her gaze shooting to Griff’s sauce-coated fingers as they painted her areolas with the creamy substance. He lowered his head and followed the path of his fingers with his tongue, sparking a new conflagration of fire inside her. She shivered and Griff peered up at her, his eyes blazing. Curving an arm around her waist, he stood and claimed her mouth in a hot, devouring kiss. He tasted of Béchamel and exotic spice. Of magic and sex. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, ravenous for more. Their tongues rasped in a mating dance and she wiggled against him, her nipples aching for the sumptuous devotion of Griff’s mouth.
Oh yeah. No mistaking that.
Griff’s mouth trailed to the crook of her neck, and something soft and silky caressed her cheek. She reached for the fabric, but
“Not yet. First I want something in return.”
She licked her lips, a hot liquid rush of excitement pulsing low in her belly. “What?”
A whimper escaped her and