Just One Taste. Victoria Dahl

and good looks. He wasn’t just a corporate lawyer in a slick suit. Away from the rich and powerful crowd where he’d both blended in and stood out, his allure only grew stronger, the mystery of where he’d come from only deepened.

      Vanessa set her glass on the ledge and stepped closer to him. “You’re trying to warn me off.”

      “I’m not. At all.”

      “But you’re deliberately acting dark and mysterious.”

      “I am dark and mysterious.”

      “Ha! You’re an open book.”

      “No kidding.”

      “You’re from Louisiana,” she began, watching his eyes widen as she obviously hit the mark. “I’m thinking New Orleans. The place is steeped in Creole history. The family homestead is probably in the Garden District. Your grandmother would be the matriarch—as is proper in all of New Orleans society. There’s a scandal in your family’s past, probably something to do with a riverboat gambler or pirate. I’m betting the family money started in agriculture—rice or sugarcane probably—but at some point somebody wise invested in manufacturing or real estate. And you, since you have a bit of the rebel in you, decided not to toe the family line completely and studied law. At Tulane, I’m sure. Where you didn’t pledge the proper fraternity, but instead bought a motorcycle and got a tattoo. With your wild days behind you after law school, you went into a well-established practice back home. But after a while you decided you needed a new challenge and came here. Where I found you, being bored to smithereens by the hunting stories and name dropping of the Atlanta Country Club.” She paused and studied his blank expression with interest. “Pretty close, huh?”

      Roaring with laughter, he hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against him.

      “I’m right, aren’t I?”

      His body continued to shake. “Absolutely. One hundred percent. That last observation was dead-on.”

      She laid her hands against his chest and glared up at him. “Why do I have the feeling I’m more wrong than right?”

      “Mmm.” He smiled broadly. “Well, let’s just say I’m not going to ask you to read a jury anytime soon.”

      It was the smile that did it.

      Her annoyance fell away. He was even more beautiful when he smiled. All he had to do was touch her, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so interested in her story as she was in the feel of his body against hers. The magic they generated. The warmth emanating from his skin. The spicy scent of his cologne.

      His throat, just at eye level, begged for her touch. His lips, no doubt sweet and smoky from the drink, glistened. His erection, pressing against his pants, certainly had its own pleasurable agenda.

      He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then set his glass aside and didn’t make a move to get more. She could already taste him on her tongue.

      With charm, money and looks like his, he was undoubtedly used to women throwing themselves at him. She was certainly one in a long line. But she didn’t care.

      She had a package of condoms in her purse.

      “I like the taste of whiskey better like this,” she said, then she cupped the back of his head and pulled him toward her waiting mouth.

      3

      AS VANESSA’S TONGUE SLID PAST his lips, Lucas pulled her hard against his chest, barely able to believe he finally had her alone. She at his mercy; he at hers.

      She was glorious and beautiful. Smart and funny. Sexy and sassy. She tested his hard-won control, pushing him to impatience and recklessness. He’d overcome those weaknesses. He had to remember he’d moved beyond his ugly past. Though the intensity of his need for her scared him, he had no intention of turning back. Probably couldn’t even if he wanted to.

      He wondered if she’d ever dreamed about the man she’d just described. He wondered if she cared about his money—or how he’d made it.

      One night would never be enough, he knew that now, even if he’d tried to deny it when he’d first seen her. But when morning came, when she learned about him as he wanted to know her, would she understand? Or would she snub him?

      Somehow, he didn’t think snubbing was in her. Certainly not because she was the hired help—she hadn’t started life that way. She’d bought his veneer of sophistication, as many had before, so she recognized the type of person he’d become. Without a doubt, there was a trust fund in her past. Maybe she was a caterer due to passion or hard times, but he had no doubt he’d find blue blood if she cut her finger.

      Unlike the lovely Vanessa, he knew how to read people. And read them well.

      He wondered whether she’d laugh or recoil if she knew how he’d become successful. He wondered if she’d appreciate or pull away from his need for control. Inevitably, he also considered whether she’d tangle her tongue with his quite so enthusiastically if she knew his true story. His true self.

      “Nervous?” she asked as she pulled back with a gasp.

      His gaze locked on her lips. He wanted them on his again. Had to have them. Had to have her.

      And she wanted to talk.

      She doesn’t know you. The whispered words of his conscience fought their way through his baser desires. Women—even a lovely rebel in a red dress—needed connections. He had to listen to the instincts that had served him well for so many years.

      Making an effort to focus, he cupped her backside, pulling her tight against his erection. “No, I’m not nervous.” I’m dying.

      Her gaze searching his, she gripped the back of his neck. “But you were.”

      Vaguely, he remembered telling her that just before they’d left the country-club parking lot. A lapse, he realized now, though at the time he’d simply been trying to put her at ease. She’d been understandably uncomfortable about leaving with a stranger, and he’d wanted her to know his own nerves weren’t quite so calm.

      Because I wanted you to like me.

      He could hardly say that. Admitting a weakness, as he’d learned many times in the past, was always a mistake. “I’m not now.” Rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip, he added, “Let me show you.”

      He trailed kisses along her jaw, reveling in the softness of her skin, inhaling the seductive aroma of strawberries and chocolate. Was that scent in his head, or did she really smell so sweet?

      He fought the building tide of need coursing through his body, the ache that started between his legs and shimmered outward in waves of trembling desire. He’d made himself into something more than trailer-park trash, and he intended to prove it.

      Slow down. Seduce her gently.

      If he aroused her with enough skill, she wouldn’t think clearly enough to question their chemistry, to wonder if she might be making a mistake. He didn’t want her to think and question. He wanted the openness he’d sensed in her from the beginning.

      He wanted her hot. Needy. Panting.

      He flicked his tongue over her earlobe, and she gasped.

      Mmm…progress.

      “What, what are you feeling now?” she asked, her breath hitching.

      “Hard.” He scraped his teeth against the soft skin behind her ear. “Impatient.”

      More than impatient. He wanted to drown in her, to forget the past and the future. His need for her touch, her sighs of pleasure, had become vital.

      Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. “I want you, Lucas.” She slid her thigh between his legs, pressing up against his hardness. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”

      His erection pulsed almost to the point of pain. Having her was a