Delicious Temptation Read online

  He’d done nothing wrong really, yet she could barely stand to look at him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” His forehead glistened in the glare of the full moon and his breath came in gasps. “Why are trying to push me away now? I thought you wanted this.”

  She had wanted it. She still wanted it. And she was both angry and embarrassed that Eric had decided she couldn’t have it. At least not tonight. Since when had he become so chivalrous?

  Despite her desire, Amara reined in her emotions and tried to salvage some shreds of her evaporating dignity.

  “I’m sorry. You were right. I’m not the kind of girl who has sex in sheds. I should have never let things get so out of hand.” He reached for her but she shook her head and took a step back. “I can’t be with someone like you. I thought I wanted to be, but I was wrong.”

  She turned to walk away when he grabbed her wrist again. With one swift pull, her body slammed against his. He still held her wrist with one hand, while the other gripped her rounded bottom.

  His mouth came down to only inches from hers. Her eyes widened as she felt a hardness grow behind the zipper of his jeans. Trembling knees caused her to lose her balance, so he held her tighter. Any resistance or guilt started to slip away. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he stared into her eyes and whispered, “Oh, I get it. The good girl is going to pretend now that she wasn’t about to get down and dirty with the bad boy. If it helps you sleep tonight, then go right ahead and act like you don’t want my cock inside you right this very minute. But do you want to know what’s going to help me sleep tonight, sweetheart? Remembering the look in your eyes when I made you come. So pretend all you want and then when you’re ready to stop playing these silly games and start acting like a woman who needs to be fucked long, hard, and often, I’ll be happy to give you what you need.”

  This time it was Eric who walked away. And Amara let him.

  Chapter Five

  Eric walked into the Pasadena sports bar with only one thought on his mind.

  If Miguel knocked him out, how in the hell would he get home?

  He probably should’ve figured that out beforehand. Oh well. Nothing he could do about it now. Eric surveyed the room and noticed only a handful of people sat in booths or at the counter—not the crowd the bar probably got on a Friday or Saturday night. And since there were no major games on this particular Tuesday evening, he had his pick of seats.

  A sports bar wasn’t exactly the best place for a recovering alcoholic, but Miguel had suggested it and Eric wasn’t in a position to make any demands as to where their first meeting should take place. At least it wasn’t a deserted alley.

  That meant there would be some witnesses in case his ex-best friend decided to throw a punch at him as a form of payback. Eric decided he’d let him get in one good shot. He owed that to him at least.

  As he looked around the room for an empty table, he saw Miguel already sitting in a corner booth, studying a bottle of beer. His ex-friend looked up just as Eric approached the table, and gave him a curt nod of acknowledgment. Eric nodded back.

  It was their customary greeting, even when they were in junior high school. Of course, neither of them looked very much like they did back then. Miguel appeared to have finally grown into his six-foot frame. He was still thin, but far from the gangly teenager he had been. His old buzz cut was gone, replaced by a short, spikey style. He wore a dark blue business suit, complete with jacket and tie. Eric wished he’d worn a polo shirt with his jeans rather than a black Lakers T-shirt. Their choice of outfits made the difference between the old friends even more obvious.

  “Hey man,” he said as he took his seat across the table.

  “Hey.” Miguel took a drink of his beer and signaled to the waitress standing by the bar. “You want a beer?”

  He did. Desperately. But he didn’t trust himself.

  The waitress arrived at their table and waited for his order. “Uh, I’ll just take a Coke or Pepsi, whatever you got.” He glanced at Miguel, who raised his eyebrow and then ordered himself another beer.

  “Eric Valencia turning down a beer? I can’t believe it,” Miguel said after the waitress left.

  “Well, believe it. Me and alcohol aren’t really friends anymore.” He shouldn’t have put it like that, he realized, the second after he said it.

  Miguel shifted in his seat. “So how long has it been since you quit?”

  “Let’s see.” He did some quick math in his head. “It’s been 536 days.”

  “Good for you, man. I don’t think I could give this up cold turkey.” Miguel pointed to the empty bottle in front of him.

  Eric laughed, “Well you probably don’t have a problem with it like I did.”

  “You know, you were the one who gave me my first beer.”

  “I remember. I also gave you your second, third, and fourth. I had to drag your drunk ass home two blocks that night.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t I puke on your shoes or something?”

  “No. You puked on yours.”

  They laughed, and for the first time since coming back, Eric felt like he’d never left.

  His old friend stared out the window as the waitress returned with their drinks. He figured it was time to rip off the Band-Aid. “I shouldn’t have disappeared the way I did. I shouldn’t have ditched you like that,” Eric said when she left. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things. I just wanted to tell you that, you know, face to face.”

  Miguel nodded. “So tell me. Where’ve you been for the past twelve years?”

  “Las Vegas, aka Sin City. Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

  Eric could laugh now. But there was nothing funny about his life after he left L.A. “When I turned twenty-one, that’s when the drinking really got out of hand. I realized I could stay all day in a casino playing the penny slots and get all the free beer I wanted. I tried to quit but by then I had gotten into construction. Headed up my own company. It was good money that bought me even more beer. Then I started showing up late or calling off sick.”

  “What made you finally quit?”

  “A friend. With his help, I got cleaned up and straightened out. And life for a while wasn’t that bad. Then the economy tanked, people stopped buying homes in Vegas, and that was the end of my business.”

  “Wow. That’s rough, man.” Miguel looked like he actually felt bad for him. “Did you keep in touch with your family at least?”

  “Not at first. I assumed everyone from my past had moved on and forgotten about me.”

  “We did move on. After so many months, most of us figured you were either in jail or dead.”

  “Sometimes I’m surprised I’m not.”

  The realization hung heavily between them. Miguel cleared his throat and took another swig of his beer before asking the million-dollar question, “So what made you come back, then?”

  “My abuela had a heart attack. I came back to take care of her during the day while my mom is at work, and I’m looking for temp jobs that I can do at night so eventually I can get my business going again. I guess you can say I came back to start over.”

  After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. “Since you had your own company, I’m assuming that means you know how to put up drywall and paint?”

  “Yeah. I can do that, plus lay tile and other kinds of flooring.” He laughed and took another sip of his soda. “Why? You need some carpet installed?”

  “Actually, not carpet, but laminate flooring. And some other handyman kind of tasks. I’m supposed to be helping my dad fix up the bakery, but I just don’t have time. Plus with the baby coming, I could use some extra hands—if you’re interested.”

  “Definitely. But I doubt your mom would let me help out. I got the feeling she didn’t want me around your…you.”

  “She’s going to have a fit, no doubt about that, but I can talk her into it. I’m giving that woman her first grandchild—she’ll do just
about anything for me right now.”

  They both laughed and the tension in his neck and shoulders eased off. Miguel told him about a few more items that needed to be done. Eric assured him that he could do it all.

  “And I’m sure my dad won’t mind if you do the work after the bakery closes,” Miguel continued. “It’s not that busy during the day, but it sounds like working at night would be better for you anyway. Plus, you won’t have to worry about Amara.”

  Eric coughed and sputtered as soda went down his windpipe. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, her getting in your way and stuff. Remember how much she used to bug us when we’d hang out at my house? She can still be annoying like that.”

  He wiped his mouth and shrugged. “She seemed fine when I ran into her at the bakery.”

  “Yeah, she’s fine in small doses. Don’t get me wrong. I love my little sister, but I pity the next guy she dates. He’s going to be in for it.”

  Eric played with the straw in his glass and tried to keep his voice even as he asked, “So, she’s not dating anyone right now?”

  “Nope. Well, not that I know of. She’s…wait a minute,” Miguel said, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you want to know, Valencia?”

  “No reason. I…I was just curious, that’s all.”

  Miguel leaned forward, with his forearms pressed on the table. “Listen, just because we’re cool now, doesn’t mean everything is the same as before,” he said, his voice hard and stern. “I’m okay with you doing the remodel but I’m not okay with you going anywhere near my sister.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Pretend she doesn’t exist? Isn’t she at the bakery all the time?”

  “You can talk to her if you happen to run into her, that’s fine. But things will be much better for everyone—especially you—if you keep your hands to yourself, get it? This is serious, man. I need you to promise me that you won’t try anything with Amara.”

  If it had been anyone else asking, Eric would’ve laughed in his face. But he owed Miguel, especially now, when he was offering him a job. He figured it was a reasonable request, and the motivation he needed to stick to his plan to stay the hell away from her. Sure, he’d meant everything he’d said the other night, about being willing to fuck her when she was ready. That didn’t mean he’d die if he didn’t. He’d been attracted to women before and eventually that attraction wore off. It was bound to happen with Amara, too. So sacrificing one night between her legs was worth it if it meant he’d be one job closer to fixing his sorry life.

  “I promise I won’t try anything with your sister,” he told Miguel.

  Then he tapped his glass against his former friend’s beer to seal the deal.

  Chapter Six

  Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, thirteen, fourteen.

  Wait. What?

  Amara looked at the tray of eggs and tried to remember where her counting had gone wrong. Realizing the eggs weren’t going to tell her anything, she scratched out the pencil marks on her notepad and sighed. She despised taking inventory, but she needed something to keep her busy and keep her mind off the fact that Eric was in the front of the bakery talking measurements and paint colors with her dad. They’d been there only about half an hour, and in that time, she’d counted lemons (five), bags of walnuts (two), cans of coconut milk (nine) and now the eggs. Well, not really the eggs, because every time she’d get to sixteen or seventeen, she’d lose her concentration.

  She’d been out of sorts all week and hadn’t been able to focus on much of anything except what Eric had said and done to her on the night of the party. At first, she was still pretty embarrassed and angry. Once those emotions simmered down, though, naughty rebellious ones rose back up. Especially when she found out that Miguel had met with Eric, and then had somehow convinced their dad to hire him.

  Over the past few days, in between frosting cakes and rolling out tortillas, she’d thought of ways to approach Eric and casually mention that she was ready, willing, and able to have sex with him. But all those ideas went out the window as soon as he walked into the bakery that morning with her dad. He’d barely acknowledged her presence, let alone shown her that he was still interested in her that way.

  Ugh. Men could be so frustrating some times.

  She shook off the frustration and stared earnestly at the purple cardboard tray filled with eggs.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

  “We don’t need to do too much in here. Some drawers need fixing and maybe you can put in a new ceiling fan, but nothing else. Es todo. No one is going to be coming in here except Amara. And she doesn’t care how the kitchen looks, right mija?”

  Apparently it was a rhetorical question because, after chuckling to himself, her dad showed Eric which drawers needed repairing. Good thing he hadn’t expected her to answer. Her pencil and her ability to talk froze as soon as she heard them walk in. She continued looking at the eggs, but in the corner of her eye she could make out Eric’s worn blue jeans and black work boots.

  One, two, three, four, five, six…

  “Okay, that should be it. You stay here while I run across the street to the house to get my wallet. Then we can go in your truck to Home Depot to buy the supplies.”

  Her head shot up just in time to see her dad heading back toward the front of the bakery.

  “Sure. I’ll wait here for you,” she heard Eric say. “I think I’m going to buy one of those banana muffins. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

  Her dad waved him off. “Amara, go get Eric whatever he wants. He’s giving me a good deal for this job, so his money is no good here, entiendes?”

  She nodded and followed her dad out of the kitchen. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck signaled that Eric followed behind her. Willing herself not to shake like a wet dog, she carefully took the plastic tongs hanging on the side of the counter and retrieved a muffin from the top display rack. He had moved to the other side of the counter to face her. She cleared her throat.

  Play it cool, Amara. If he wasn’t going to bring up the other night then she wouldn’t either.

  “Do you want it in a bag or on a plate?” she asked, hating the slight tremble in her voice.

  “In a bag is fine. I’m going to eat it while I’m driving your dad to the store.”

  She met his eyes and she thought she saw something flash behind them. Probably just hunger, she thought, as she dropped the muffin into a small white bag. She didn’t hand it to him, though. She didn’t want to risk any contact, so she placed it on top of the counter. “There you go. Enjoy.”

  As she made a move to leave, he stopped her by calling out her name.

  “I think we need to talk,” he said.

  Stuffing her hands into the side pockets of her beige cargo pants, Amara moved closer to the edge of the counter. “I don’t have anything to say.”

  He shrugged back. “Fine. But I do. What happened at the baptism party was—”

  Amazing. Hot. Something she’d like to do again.

  His stiffened posture and solemn expression hinted those weren’t the same words he was going to use. It was what she had feared. He’d changed his mind. So she wanted him to think that she had to.

  “That night was a mistake,” she blurted before he could continue. She waited for him to argue back.

  “Yes, it was,” he said instead. His eyes didn’t betray a bit of emotion. Neither did his tone. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of and I’m trying really hard to make up for those things by being a decent guy. And decent guys don’t act the way I’ve been acting around you, so I’m going to stop. Especially now that Miguel’s convinced your parents to give me this job. I can’t risk messing this up. And I think that if something were to happen between us, well, that would be a distraction we both don’t need right now.”

  Her legs wobbled. She moved her hands out of her pockets and gripped the counter to steady herself.

  When she didn’t answer back, he continued. “
Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear that while I’m working here you don’t have to worry about me doing anything…inappropriate. I probably won’t even see you that much since I’m doing most of the work at night, but when I do, I promise to keep my hands and, um, other body parts to myself.” He coughed out the last words and then shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  She’d been telling herself not to look directly at his mouth as he talked, so of course that’s all she did. Even now, she couldn’t stop.

  So they stood there staring at each other. No words. No noise. She heard only the tick, tick of the bakery’s wall clock and her own heart pounding in her ears. Then, heavy breaths. First hers, then his.

  The A/C clicked on. A fan whirred in the background. Someone’s breathing deepened. Probably hers, as she continued staring at his lips—not too thin, not too full—just perfect. Perfect for kissing. And sucking. Her mind flooded with images of those lips on hers—and not the ones on her mouth. It was her turn to shift her legs.

  “God damn it, Amara,” he groaned, almost as if he could see the images inside her head. “We need to forget what happened that night and move on. It’s the right thing to do.”

  The gruffness of his voice surprised her. So did her own increasing disappointment. Unlike the night of the baptism party, she decided to hold it together and let him think she didn’t care either way.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said.

  “I am right.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “Trust me, Amara. I’m a bastard. My life is fucked up. And as much as I would love to know how it feels to plunge my cock between your thighs, it’s better for both of us if I never find out.”

  He turned and stalked out the front door, leaving Amara staring after him with her jaw on the floor.

  Heat radiated from her chest and neck, so she dashed over to the refrigerated case and stuck her head as far in as she could get it. Maybe she’d cool off before someone walked in.