And then there was her grandmother in Puerto Rico, who’d been trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. A man who’d never apologized until she started the rumor that she’d cursed his package, ensuring he would have to move out of their San Juan neighborhood to find a mistress who was willing to risk it. Her abuela didn’t believe in divorce or infidelity, so she’d been forced to raise her children alone, spend her life alone, until her husband passed away when she was in her late sixties.
She had a boyfriend now, a cute, bent-over old man who brought her flowers and sat on her porch making her laugh. But it still made Tasha sad when she looked at old pictures of her beautiful, vibrant grandmother and imagined the life she’d never gotten to have.
Tasha wasn’t going to end up like that. She lived in the moment and gave in to temptation whenever possible. She’d explored her sexual desires, never skipped dessert and danced outside in the rain every chance she got. She was honest with her lovers, upfront and outspoken and determined to keep things light and fun. She wouldn’t have bitterness haunting her in her old age. She would live with no regrets.
No regrets?
Well, none she was willing to dwell on. Not today. All she needed to do now was bake her damn muffins and get ready for the big performance.
And remember that it was only a performance.
She heard footsteps on the stairs and took a deep breath, plastering a smile on her face.
Stephen stepped into her line of vision and then laughed softly, scratching his bare chest and stretching lazily. What was he doing down here in sweatpants and nothing else? Where were all his buttons? His tie? He wasn’t wearing anything to distract her from his damn abs. What kind of government employee had abs like that?
“Thank God. For a minute there I thought Mom had shown up for a surprise Sunday visit. She’s the only one who ever uses the kitchen.”
Tasha smiled at his words, remembering when Ellen would invite her over for brunch on Sundays after church. She’d always praised Tasha’s baking skills, and even shared a few old family recipes while the men watched sports in the living room. Tasha’s mother had been so busy looking for a man, she’d never even taken the time to learn how to fry an egg. “This is a new world, Senator. Men who can cook are sexy and get more votes.”
“More votes, huh? Then I’ll have to learn.” He came closer, watching her with an intensity that was unnerving at this hour. Or any hour. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”
Tasha straightened and pushed the timer around on the counter. “Someone was hogging the covers, and I couldn’t stop thinking about who might show up this week. I need to get my story straight for the people who know me.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re baking. It helps you think.”
She batted her lashes at him playfully. “He remembered. No wonder you’re the most sought-after bachelor in town. I’m glad our study session stuck with you.”
Before she realized what he was doing, Stephen had her pinned between his bare chest and the cool counter. “I remember everything, Natasha. Every sound you made, every time you came. Everything.”
His hands dropped beneath the shirt to caress her thighs. “I like this look on you, but I would rather have woken up with you naked and next to me. Under me. I wanted another lesson.”
Tasha moaned softly when one of his talented hands found its way inside her underwear and started to press and fondle her clit. “Stephen…”
“Baked goods and orgasms,” he reminded her. “You need both to clear your head. And in exchange for breakfast, I’m more than happy to help. Get down on the floor, Natasha. Hands and knees.”
Oh God. “My muffins are almost done.”
He stepped away from her. “On your knees.”
He was definitely in the right headspace for this vacation, she thought weakly as she dropped to all fours on the stained concrete floor. She heard a drawer open and close, and then cold steel brushed against her hip. An instant later, her underwear was clinging to one thigh, leaving everything it was supposed to be covering exposed to his gaze.
“Did you just ruin another article of clothing? With a steak knife?”
He set it above them on the counter and kneeled behind her, squeezing her hips. “Spread your legs. Wider.”
She should laugh him off. Tell him to save it for their audience. But she was already aching, so turned on by his behavior that she couldn’t have told him no if the house was on fire.
“Last night...” His voice was so low she struggled to hear him over her pounding heart. “I never imagined you would react like that to the things I did to you. That I would…”