Free Her Secret Thrill by Donna Kauffman Page A

hadn’t been turning back to the door. She’d merely been looking for a waitress…or something.
    Then he stood and smiled, and she forgot what was left of everything she’d ever known.
    â€œNatalie.”
    God, he was perfect. Gorgeous as all get-out—and that voice, that hint of a drawl. It was all good and just as she remembered it. Maybe even better.
    â€œJake.” Damn, she sounded way too breathless. Not good. She held out her hand, just in case he was planning on hugging her. Hugging him would be total sensory overload. She wasn’t even certain she’d make it through the handshake without a telltale little moan slipping past her lips.
    She should never have done this. But then she caught the twinkle in his eye, as if he’d noted her slight hesitation in actually taking his hand. Don’t chicken out.
    Hardly.
    She took his hand in a firm shake, as she would that of any worthy boardroom opponent, and promptly let it go. Good, good. Except, just feeling those thick fingers brush over hers had soaked her panties. Wham, just like that.
    She moved past, careful not to touch him, and slid into the booth. As he sat back down, she quickly opened her menu and glanced over the colorful words in front of her, not seeing any of them. Well, it wasn’t every day she had breakfast with a guy she’d spent a wild night with. In fact, it wasn’t any day she did this.
    She smiled brightly, still not looking directly at him. She could pull this off. Then get the hell out of here before she did something really stupid. Like end up in bed with him again. Only problem was, at the moment she was hard-pressed to remember exactly why sex with this man—phenomenal sex, if memory served, and she knew damn well it did—was a stupid thing.
    â€œSo, they make great oatmeal here, huh?” She dared a quick glance. “Not exactly your normal business breakfast spot.” Although a quick look around proved her wrong. The place was packed, and most of the men and women were in suits.
    â€œI found this place a few years ago. I think a lot of us miss that good bowl of stick-to-your-ribs oatmeal our moms used to make us.”
    Natalie laughed. “My mother never made me a bowl of oatmeal.” Her mother would have had the cook do it for her. Except, oatmeal would never have graced the Holcomb table when something more elegant would look ever so much lovelier in the everyday china. “The only time I had it was in boarding school, and then only when I had no choice.”
    â€œWell, you’ll never think about oatmeal the same way after you taste this.”
    Natalie sighed in relief that he hadn’t picked up on her unintentional revelation and questioned her about her family. Now she did focus on the menu. “Who knew there were so many varieties?”
    Jake gently lowered her menu, forcing her to look at him. It wasn’t hard at all. The problem was…stopping.
    â€œI hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering for us.”
    A part of her was a bit put off by his take-charge action. But it was a really tiny part. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d pinned her hands to the bed and taken charge of her then, how he’d made her hold onto the headboard while he took even more delicious charge of her.
    â€œNo.” She had to stop and clear her suddenly dry throat. “I don’t mind.” Not then, not now.
    Just then a waitress popped up and took her drink order, and was back in a blink with tea and juice. “Your tray should be out shortly.” Jake smiled and winked at the older woman, who saucily winked right back at him. “I’ll hurry it up, sugar,” she said.
    Natalie bit back a smile, but Jake caught it.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNothing. Just leave it to you to find the one Southern belle in all of L.A.”
    His eyes widened. “What did I do?”
    â€œYou’re a natural