The Virgin Sex Queen Page 11

  A noise had her looking up quickly to find Alan closing the door, a carton of Diet Coke on his shoulder, his quizzical gaze on her. “Everything all right, Soph?”

  “What? Yes, of course.” How embarrassing! Had he heard her muttering to herself? Even worse, had he heard the words? She returned her attention to putting the groceries away.

  “Soph.” He appeared suddenly before her, his hands on the bench as he studied her. “Stop.”

  Glancing up, she smiled politely. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I just…” He looked a little lost for words, as though he were searching for the right way to express them, and she froze, mortified.

  Oh no, had he understood what she was saying to herself? Oh sweet mother mercy, let a hole open up right now and-

  “Because if anything’s wrong, you know you can tell me, right?” His gaze pierced her.

  “Oh, I-”

  “I don’t know what you were telling yourself, but you looked troubled.”

  She almost deflated with relief. He hadn’t actually heard the words. Thank you, God! Her wide smile was genuine. “Oh hero of the schoolyard playground, what would I do without you?” When he didn’t smile but just continued to study her with that intensity that he apparently could call up at will, she stopped smiling. “Everything’s fine, Alan. I just give myself a pep talk now and again.”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly.

  Oh right, because he obviously didn’t have to, he wasn’t a sometimes loser like herself. Jesus! There she went again, putting herself down!

  Scowling, she grabbed the lettuce from the bag. “Because I need to sometimes, that’s why.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not perfect, all right?” God, did he have to probe at all her secrets?

  Okay, that produced an altogether naughty, dirty, downright filthy thought, but sidetracking aside, why did he have to pry?

  “Why?” Gaze steady, he looked suddenly older, wiser, so much more than just the funny Cute Boy Next Door. So much like a man with more grit than she’d given him credit for, more insight, more determination. A yummy cop who’d take control, tear away her secrets, a yummy man who’d bare her soul and more-

  Damn him for making her thoughts take a dive into the gutter. Again. And so damned easily.

  Angry at herself for letting her over-active imagination and obviously heretofore unknown late twenties crush tap at her senses, she almost threw the lettuce into the crisper. “Leave it, Alan.”

  Ignoring all signs of her temper rising, he merely asked quietly, “What’s the problem?”

  “You!”

  “Why?”

  “Geez, is that the only word you know?”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need help.” Taking a deep breath, she laid one hand on the bench and rubbed her eyes with the other hand. “I just talk to myself now and again, okay? It’s no big deal.” When he remained quiet, she slid a sideways glance at him to find him watching her unwaveringly. “I’m warning you, Alan, if you don’t want to be picking bits of this tomato out of your hair, you’ll leave the subject alone.”

  His eyebrows rose slightly, then he nodded. “Okay.”

  She breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “For now.” He pushed away from the bench.

  Sophie swung around, but he strode to the doorway and out before she had time to verbally shoot him down. Hands on hips, she blew a puff of air upwards, dislodging the stray tendril of hair that had escaped her ponytail to flop over her forehead.

  “By the way.” Alan’s head popped back around the corner. “You might want to keep that temper under control while Sam’s asleep.”

  Her hands fisted. “My temper?”

  “Yeah. It’s not that time of the month, is it?” He nodded. “Okay, that might be it.”

  It was a good thing he was wise enough to disappear right then, because she was annoyed enough to rip his cute head off and shove it up his nice, tight arse.

  Shaking her head, she looked over the groceries. The drinks she unpacked and placed in the little ‘fridge that Sam kept all his drinks in and the rest of the groceries she put away. Hands on hips, she thought about the night ahead and Sam’s idea of just slicing salad veggies and bunging them on a plate. Men. Time to be a bit more creative.

  Within the hour she had pasta salad, rice salad, coleslaw and a garden salad in the ‘fridge. Alan had bought two Pavlovas along with a can of whipped cream and a hunt through the pantry had produced a tin of passionfruit. Along with the bananas and strawberries he’d bought, presumably for the Pavlovas, they’d make a lovely topping. But that could only be done just prior to serving or the bananas risked going brown and the cream - she shook her head. The canned cream would deflate of air. The silly nong should have bought a container of whipping cream instead, but now last minute prep was called for, however, she could still slice the strawberries and put them in a bowl.

  She was chopping the strawberries when Sam came in yawning and rubbing his hands through his hair, his cargo shorts wrinkled from being pulled out of the drawer and his chest bare.

  Ambling over to the ‘fridge, he opened it, peering in, his eyes widening. “Soph, did you do all this?”

  “Just my contribution,” she replied.

  “Wow.” Reaching out, he filched a pasta shell from the pasta dish and ate it. “Yum. I’ll just have some and check its all tasting fine-”

  “Touch it on pain of knuckle rapping.”

  “Just a little, Soph?” he wheedled. “I’m hungry.” He turned a pathetic expression towards her. “Worked my arse off all night in the A & E, saving lives…”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But only a little.”

  “Right.” Straightening, he got a plate and returned to the ‘fridge, opening the door wide while spooning a bit of everything onto his plate. “Have to taste everything though, I’d be a bad host if I didn’t do a taste test first.”

  Alan strolled through the doorway, hair damp and flopping everywhere, similar cargo shorts to Sam’s and just as wrinkled, feet bare, chest bare, and the scent of his soap wafting through the air to tease her senses. Even worse, his shorts rode low on his hips and he had the best set of abs ever, the muscle running down each side into his shorts and - sweet mother mercy. Think Pavlovas! Think Pavlovas! Only that was worse, because that made her think of cream, and that made her think of licking cream, and that made her think of licking cream from his - Think lemons! Think lemons! Speeding tickets! Ye gods!

  Looking away hurriedly, Sophie’s gaze swung between one half naked male to the other. It was a sudden testosterone overload in the kitchen, one to make any normal woman’s mouth water and mind go into overdrive, but there was only one male who attracted her like that. Sure, she could appreciate Sam’s body as a healthy, muscular specimen, but that was all. Alan’s body however - holy cow, she wanted to lick him like a lollypop and plaster herself against all that yummy, hot skin like a bee to honey.

  Tearing her gaze from Alan, she forced herself to look down at the strawberries she was chopping. Picking up another, she sought for a conversation starter, anything to get her mind off the luscious bod leaning against the bench not far from her.

  “Any ideas about this?” She picked up the spray can of cream.

  Sam looked up from the plate. “What?”

  “This.” She waggled it. “It’s to go with the Pavlovas and fruit, right?” Risking a glance at Alan of the luscious bod, she was surprised to see him staring at the spray can. “Spray cream. You bought it, right?”

  “Yes,” he croaked.

  “You all right?” When he simply stared, she picked up one of the strawberries and waved it at him. “Strawberries and cream? You know?”

  His gaze flew to hers and held, seeming to bore into her.

  “Ummm…Alan?”

  Sam strode across to peer down at the spr
ay can. “What’s the prob?”

  Uncertain what to make of Alan’s weird reaction, Sophie turned to Sam. “The air in this will go out fast once it’s on the Pavlovas. We really need whipping cream.” She placed the spray can down, flicking her finger over the nozzle. “It’s yummy, sure, and works well if you’re going to eat it straight away but-”

  Alan gave a choked sound.

  Confused, Sophie glanced at him. “I’ll go and get some whipping cream, then we can prepare the Pavs early and-”

  “I’ll go.” Alan barked out the two words, swung on his heel and left the kitchen in long strides.

  Sam’s looked at Sophie. “What was that all about?”

  “Not a clue. Hard day at work, maybe?”

  “Huh.” Sam spooned in more rice salad. “Not like him. Maybe he’s got girl trouble or something.”

  Or something was right. The sound of Alan’s car and the garage door going up signalled that he’d gone out the front door instead of the door from the kitchen to the garage.

  Who the hell knew what went through that man’s mind?

  “Well, I better go out and dust the barbie off, get things set up.” Sam rinsed off the plate and left it on the draining board.

  SJ followed him outside to sit and watch and generally get in the way.

  By the time Alan returned he seemed more his normal self, except for the definite glint in his eyes when he handed her the container of cream. Taking one of the cut strawberries, he popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly. “Sweet.”

  “Good to know.” She eyed him closely. “You all right?” What a turn-up for the books that was, she asking him.

  “Never better.” He smiled slowly, inexplicable, making her just a little wary. “You know, Soph, there is a use for that spray cream.”

  “Yeah. You eat it.”

  “Exactly.” With a wink, he walked from the room, going through the kitchen door to the veranda beyond.

  Now what the heck was that all about? Turning, Sophie watched as he approached Sam, who was making sure the tables and chairs were in the shade. What did he mean about eating spray cream? What could he possibly be on about? And he’d looked so strangely at her while eating that strawberry, what was that about? Saying it was sweet and…uh-oh. She blinked. Surely he couldn’t have…did he truly mean…how could he have…oh shit. Her cheeks went fiery red. He’d somehow found that decadent scene from Hot in the Kitchen. That was the only explanation for it.

  Surely not. Surely it was just a coincidence? It meant nothing. How would he have even gotten a copy of the book and why would he read it? No, no, it was just her imagination going into overdrive again. Damn it!

  Placing a hand to her forehead, Sophie blew out a breath. Forget it, she had to forget it and concentrate on having a good time at the BBQ, meeting some old school buddies and just having fun.

  Nodding, she glanced up at the clock. Just enough time to whip the cream, decorate the Pavlovas, and have a shower and change of clothes.

  There was half an hour before the guests arrived by the time she was back in the kitchen, the light summer dress swishing around her knees, her low-heeled sandals clicking on the tiles. Outside, SJ was perched on one of the chairs watching Sam who had the BBQ going, burning the fire down to a more cook-able level. Like everything Sam did, the flames were high. He even had the garden hose by his side just in case, and she had to laugh at the sight of him standing there, one hand in his pocket, a can of Coke in his hand and the hose by his feet, all relaxed and content while watching the fire.

  Alan entered the kitchen pulling a t-shirt on, his head popping out of the top to reveal dishevelled dark hair. He looked her up and down. “Pretty, Soph.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. You don’t scrub up half bad yourself.” No, he scrubbed up bloody yummily, even in cargo shorts and t-shirt. “Nice thongs.’

  “Hey, it’s a barbie with friends. I’m not wearing dress shoes.” He crossed to the ‘fridge and opened it up. “You did a good job with the Pavs.”

  She rechecked the stack of paper plates. “How would you normally do it?”

  “We throw the Pavs, cream, bananas, strawberries, spoons, knife and open can of passionfruit on the table and help ourselves.”

  “Oh, very a la` carte dining. I’m impressed.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Not that you can’t eat it however you want.”

  When silence was still the only answer, she turned around to find him looking at her with that glint in his eyes.

  A very wicked glint.

  A very hot, wicked glint.

  “Alan?” She eyed him warily, something that was fast becoming a habit this afternoon.

  Reaching in, he took the spray can of cream out and shook it, watching her the whole time.

  Wondering what he was up to, she watched as he tipped his head back and sprayed cream into his open mouth, closing it as soon as it was full of cream.

  Waiting for him to swallow, she was surprised when instead he dropped the can on the shelf and swung around to stride across the floor towards her, the ‘fridge door swinging shut in his wake.

  Now the wicked glint in his eyes held something else, something darkly mischievous, something almost sexually teasing, and her eyes widened when she realised that look was focussed on her and no one else.

  Not that there was anyone else in the kitchen, she just couldn’t believe that any man was looking at her like that, much less the yummy man approaching her with determination.

  A combined thrill of alarm and delight slid through her even as she held out one hand to ward him off. “Alan, what-”

  She didn’t have time to say anymore, because he simply caught her up in his arms and pulled her hard against him. In the same swift move, his thumb caught her chin, opening her already slightly agape mouth so that when he covered her mouth with his, the first thing she got was the heat of his lips, the second thing she registered was the taste and silkiness of cream.

  His tongue met hers, slick with cream, marauding through her mouth as he spread the cream between them, sharing it with her in a possessive manoeuvrer that had her meeting him eagerly, her tongue slipping through the cream, taking what he gave her, tasting cream and Alan and male essence all at once.

  It was a heady combination that had her gripping his shoulders, pressing against him, kissing him back and swallowing, wanting more, craving more.

  Suddenly cream was her favourite dairy product.

  She didn’t know how long he held her, kissing her deeply, giving and taking of both cream and essence, invading her senses, but when he drew back she could only open her eyes and stare dreamily up at him.

  Alan wasn’t smiling, no humour in his eyes, a serious expression having swamped the mischievousness that had previously been present.

  Immediately feeling self-conscious, she started to push away.

  “Don’t.” His hold on her tightened. “Soph-”

  A knock sounded at the door, a horn tooting in the driveway and then Sam’s voice as he yelled from the bathroom, “Alan! Can you get the door? I’m in the dunny!”

  Alan swore softly as he let her go. “We’ll talk after.”

  She wasn’t sure there was anything to talk about, her nerves felt shattered - deliciously so - and she barely had time to compose herself before Elsie walked through the door carrying an iced cake, a huge smile wreathing her face.

  “Sophie! What a lovely evening for a barbie. Frank.” She turned to the lean man behind her. “Frank, this is Sophie. I told you about her.”

  Frank smiled easily. “Hi Sophie.”

  “Where can I put this?” Elsie looked around.

  “Oh - um, here, right here.” Forcing herself to concentrate, Sophie patted the bench. “Unless it needs to go in the ‘fridge?”

  “Not at all.” Putting the cake down, Elsie looked at Sophie. “What’s that on your face?”

  “Huh?” Lifting her hand, Sophie felt her cheek.

  “No, on the corner of your mouth.”
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  Wiping at the indicated place, Sophie stared down at the cream on her fingertip. One glance up to see Alan staring right back at her with a hot gleam in his eyes and her blood was suddenly pounding in her pulses. Not to mention her untouched nether regions.

  Talk about an education. Talk about Hot in the Kitchen. That spray cream scene just didn’t cut the mustard compared to what Alan had just done. What he’d just done was so much more intimate.

  Because it had really happened. To her.

  Where was her notepad? Hell, forget the notepad, she wanted to tattoo this sensation on her arm so she’d never forget it.

  Sam came into the kitchen, passing in front of Alan, and when Alan was once again in view he was chatting to another man who had appeared.

  Chelsea came minutes later, her husband, Max, telling everyone loudly that they were late because Chels had changed her clothes three times. Chelsea merely flipped him the bird before descending on Sophie with delight.

  “About time you had more company than these two blokes,” Chelsea declared. “Good grief, sharing a bachelor pad is enough to make even the most patient of girls cry.”

  “It’s not too bad.” Sophie grinned. “Sam cleared out the porn mags and condoms, apparently.”

  “Oh, ew and ew. I don’t need to hear that kind of thing about my brother.”

  Sam leered. “Did I ever tell you about the time Susie Bancock and I-”

  Chelsea put her fingers in her ears. “La-la-la-la-la!”

  Laughing, Max pulled her outside, his other hand catching Sophie’s elbow and taking her with them.

  Several people turned up early and it wasn’t long before everyone was sitting at the table, laughing and chatting politely, Sophie being the grown-up and putting the deliciously wicked episode in the back of her mind to take out later in private and examine.

  Several people she knew, though she didn’t remember Alan’s friend Marty, who had apparently gone to a private school. What was surprising was his wife. The handsome Marty was totally besotted with the generously proportioned woman who stuck close beside him. Belle Lawson was pretty, her eyes laughing as she looked up at her husband, and the love between them was plain to see. He was attentive to her, his arm on the back of her chair, leaning towards her protectively even as his head was turned away to speak to Frank.