Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(42)

stand to set it down. But her arm wasn’t long enough so I took it from her, setting it aside, then I swept her up and carried her to the freshly made bed and laid her on the plush white comforter.

Memphis clung to me as I gave her my weight, pressing her into the mattress and wishing like hell I’d thought to close the door.

This woman made me hungry. Ravenous. Her tongue tangled with mine and I let loose a low moan into her mouth.

She tasted like sweet coffee and vanilla.

She was the best damn time I’d ever had and so far, all we’d done was kiss.

In the past week, I’d barely managed to keep my hands off her. I’d had to put at least one hotel floor between us to get any work done, but even then, I’d constantly found excuses to leave the kitchen and hunt her down. And I’d kissed her as often as she’d let me.

But as soon as I’d been on the cusp of tearing her clothes away, I’d stopped. And for a week, my showers had run as cold as the early November air.

Fuck, but I wanted her. If kissing her was any indication, we’d be goddamn fire in bed. But she wasn’t ready.

Memphis needed slow. Steady. Maybe I did too.

But I’d been real with her last week. I knew what I was stepping into. With her. With Drake. And it was time to let go of the past.

She whimpered as I nipped at her bottom lip. That sound shot straight to my aching cock so I tore my mouth away and let out a groan, dropping my forehead to hers as we breathed.

“Knox?” Eloise’s voice carried down the hallway.

Memphis gasped, trying to shove me away, but I didn’t budge. “Knox.”

“What?”

“She’s going to see us.”

“So?” My sister was either going to see me on top of Memphis or she’d see me standing with a larger than normal bulge behind my jeans.

Memphis shoved harder so I stood, swiping her hand and tugging her to her feet. She pushed the hair out of her face as I wiped my mouth dry and adjusted my dick. Her cheeks were flushed. She scurried away to the bathroom as my sister reached the threshold.

“Oh, there you are. What are you doing?”

I nodded to the coffee cup. “For Memphis.”

“Ah. That was nice.” She gave me a smirk, like she knew exactly what I was doing in this room. Maybe she did.

Memphis came out of the bathroom with a can of glass cleaner and a rag. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Eloise smiled. “I just came to get Knox. There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

Eloise shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t give me his name.”

Maybe it was a happy customer. Or a pissed-off one.

“’Kay. Where is he?”

“The lobby. I’ll point him out.”

I nodded and glanced at Memphis, giving her a wink. “See ya.”

That wink made her cheeks flame brighter. “Bye.”

I chuckled and walked with Eloise out of the room, following her down the hallway to the stairway door. Behind me, Memphis was beside her cleaning cart, her eyes glued to my ass.

When she realized I’d caught her staring, she simply shrugged and smiled.

I grinned and hit the stairs, following my sister to the lobby.

Eloise pointed to the man standing beside the roaring fireplace, taking her seat at the front desk while I went over to introduce myself.

The guy stood with his back to me, his frame covered in a tweed blazer and his neck wrapped in a thick plaid scarf.

“Good morning,” I said, maneuvering around the couch to stand by his side. “Knox Eden.”

“Morning.” He pulled off his brown felt hat, revealing his dark, bald scalp. He clasped the hat by the brim as he turned, his hand extended. “Lester Novak.”

Lester Novak.

Fuck. Me.

I shook his hand, taking in the mustache above his lip.

That mustache was the logo he used in his magazine articles and on his website.

Lester Novak, a wildly popular food critic, was standing in my family’s hotel. And he wanted to talk to me.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, my steady voice betraying the racing of my heart.

“Same to you.” He motioned toward the couch. “May I have a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

Lester didn’t ask if I knew who he was either because he expected a chef to know his name or he’d seen the recognition on my face. Probably both.

We settled on the leather couch, twisting to face each other.

In the hearth, the fire roared, chasing away the late-fall chill that blew in whenever the lobby’s doors opened.

The scents of coffee and cedar and charred pine filled the room. Scents that would normally give me a sense of peace.

But I was sitting across from Lester Novak and his dark eyes gave nothing away.

“I believe we have a mutual acquaintance,” he said. “Cleo Hillcrest.”

“We do. Cleo was a guest here a couple years ago. She, uh . . . well, she took over my kitchen one morning and made enough breakfast pastries to feed the entire county.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like Cleo. Her bakery is a favorite stop of mine whenever I’m in Los Angeles.”

“She’s damn talented.”

I’d wanted to strangle Cleo the day I’d found her in my kitchen. Matty had let her in to do a little baking. She’d used more flour and sugar in a morning than I did in a month. But one bite of a muffin and another of a cinnamon roll and I’d gotten over my irritation. Then I’d stood back and just let the woman bake. It was her gift.