Free A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2) by Cara Nelson Page A

only her. It was intensely intimate. As he began to move, she held his gaze, determined. She wanted to give to him, to let him take pleasure from her. His skillful hands brought her to the peak again before his rhythmic, powerful movements came to a crest and he shuddered within her. She held him close, kissing him for what seemed like hours afterward. When her flesh cooled and relaxed, he held her in his arms, warming her, wrapping her in his black jacket.
    Sleepily, she looked up at him.
    “The timer never did go off on your oven.”
    “I never turned the oven on. I don’t like to make love on a timer, Annelise. You’ll have to live without dessert this time.” He kissed her lazily and she nestled against him.

Chapter 6
     
    When Annelise woke up, it was well past midnight and her hip hurt from laying on the marble counter. Stiffly, she disentangled herself from Desmond and got up. He was asleep, and she was grateful that she could find her clothes and sneak out before he woke. Her underpants were on the floor by the refrigerator; her bra was hanging from a drawer pull. Gathering her stuff and putting it back on quickly, she hastened out of Aux Delices.
    On the dark street, she sat in her car for a minute, catching her breath like she’d made a lucky escape. She didn’t want to see him, talk to him. If possible, she’d like to avoid him forever. It had been too intimate, too much too soon. This was supposed to be a fling, pure pleasure and no emotions . She knew when he’d laid her down and kissed her mouth that she was in way over her head. He was playing for keeps, and it wasn’t any kind of game she could hope to win. Speeding away toward the office, she rationalized that she couldn’t stay out ‘til one in the morning and then terrify the cafeteria lady by coming in so late. She parked and rode the elevator up to her office, then determined the place was empty except for security on the main floor. She slipped into her boss’s bathroom and showered. She had brought some clothes in from her car, and she sat down at her desk, clad for work, and went over the RSVP’s again to calm herself.
    Annelise completed a lot of work and then composed an email to Desmond Blair.
     
    Dear Desmond,
    It was a lovely evening but you must forgive my indiscretion, my breach of professionalism. I hope we can work together to make this event a success and collaborate as professionals. Please consider this a friendly conclusion to our personal involvement.
    Annelise Hollingford
     
    She was well satisfied with it, but added a postscript about sourcing the mushrooms from a grocery supplier she’d found. They would doubtless be of dubious quality, but if Jasper Cates was going to be stubborn, she figured he could eat shitty pink mushrooms. Never mind that she felt sick at her stomach sending the message. Never mind that she wanted to open her mouth and howl out her sorrow.
    Desmond Blair had been the best sex of her life, but more than that, he had awakened feelings in her that she’d thought were gone, consumed by bitterness and hurt. Pain twisted in her chest, knowing she’d let herself get carried away. She never should have slept with him, never should have talked to him about Roger and the hookers and the apartments and her granny. It was too personal . She backed away from it like a bonfire that had got out of her control.
    Flowers arrived on her desk at eight thirty, a square crystal vase with tight-packed calla lilies, sensuous curves that reminded her of last night, of his hands and their shadows on the wall. She put them aside and ignored them. She also ignored the text messages and the calls. He didn’t respond to the email, although she knew he had to have read it. If he could disregard her explanation, her gesture of friendship and her tidy escape hatch to what had become a very messy entanglement, then she could ignore his goddamned flowers. Every time she glimpsed them, her heart leapt like some stupid teenager