Tangled (The Tangled Series)(40)

“I didn’t think cooking in the nude was very sanitary.”

I put my now-empty bowl back on the tray. “Do you like to cook?” In the months we’ve worked together, I’ve learned a lot about Kate, but there’s still more I want to know.

She nods and finishes her cereal. “You grow up over a diner, it kind of rubs off on you. Baking is sort of my thing. I make great cookies. If we can get the ingredients later, I’ll make them.”

I smile devilishly. “I’d love to eat your cookie, Kate.”

She shakes her head at me. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not talking about the chocolate chip variety?”

Remember that gift from God? I can’t let it go to waste. That would be a sin—and I really can’t afford any more of those. I drag her onto the bed and pull the T-shirt over her head.

“’Cause I’m not. Now, about that cookie…”





“Queen to B-seven.”

“Bishop to G-five.”

Games are fun.

“Knight to C-six.”

“Check.”

Games without clothes? They’re more fun.

Kate’s brow furrows as she stares at the chessboard. This is our third match. Who won the other two? Please, like you even need to ask.

We’ve been trading stories while we play. I told her about the time I broke my arm skateboarding when I was twelve. She told me about the day she and Delores dyed her hamster’s fur pink. I told her about the nickname Matthew and I have for Alexandra. (Kate pinched my nipple after that one. Hard. She remembered the day I called her “an Alexandra” in my office.)

It’s comfortable, easy, enjoyable. Not as enjoyable as screwing—but a close second. We’re lying on the bed on our sides, our heads resting on our hands, the board in the middle.

Oh—and in case you forgot, we’re naked.

Now, I know some women have issues with their bodies. Maybe you’ve got a little extra junk in the trunk? Get over it. Doesn’t matter. Naked kicks Modest’s ass every single time. Men are visual. We wouldn’t be f*cking you if we didn’t want to look at you.

You can write that down if you like.

Kate has no problem being naked. She’s definitely comfortable in her own skin. And it’s sexy—damn sexy.

“Are you going to move or just burn a hole in the board looking at it?”

“Don’t rush me.”

I sigh. “Fine. Take all the time you need. There’s nowhere for you to go anyway. I’ve got you cornered.”

“I think you’re cheating.”

My eyes open wide. “That hurts, Kate. I’m wounded. I don’t cheat. I don’t need to.”

She raises a brow at me. “Do you have to be so cocky?”

“I certainly hope so. And talking dirty will get you nowhere. Stop stalling.”

She sighs and accepts defeat. I make my final move. “Checkmate. Want to play again?”

She rolls onto her stomach and bends her knees, so her feet almost touch her head. My cock twitches at the sight.

“Let’s play something else.”

Twister? Hide the Salami? Kama Sutra charades?

“Do you have Guitar Hero?”

Do I have Guitar Hero? The jousting of our millennia? The coolest video game of all time? Of course I do.

“Maybe you should pick something else,” I say. “If I keep beating you like this, it could damage your fragile female ego.”

Kate glares at me. “Set it up.”

Her eagerness should have been a red flag. It was a slaughter. Absolutely brutal. She kicked my ass—from one end of the apartment to the other.

In my defense, Kate knows how to play a real guitar. That and…she made us put clothes on. How frigging mean is that? I kept trying to catch a glimpse of that succulent little ass peeking out from under my T-shirt. It distracted me.

I never had a chance.





So, by now you’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, right? I mean this is me. One ride per customer—no rewinds, no repeats. So why am I wasting away my Saturday afternoon playing Adam and Eve with Kate?

Here’s the deal: I’ve worked for months to get her where she is right now. I’ve spent night after endless night wanting, dreaming, fantasizing about it.

Let’s say you get stranded on a desert island and can’t eat for a week. And then the rescue ship finally shows up with a big plate of food. Would you take one taste and throw the rest away?

Of course not. You’d scarf down every bite. Devour every crumb. Lick the plate clean.

That’s what I’m doing. Hanging out with Kate until I’m…full. Don’t read any more into it than that.





Did I mention Kate has a tattoo? Oh yeah. A slut tag. A tramp stamp. Call it whatever you like. It’s inked just above the swell of her ass, on her lower back. It’s a small turquoise butterfly.

It’s tasty. I’m tracing it with my tongue right now.

“God, Drew…”

After the Guitar Hero disgrace, Kate decided she wanted a shower. And get this—she asked if I wanted to go first.

Silly, silly girl. Like showering single file was even a consideration.

I stand up and tease her from behind. She’s hotter than the f*cking water that hits us on all sides. I move her hair to the side as I feast on that scrumptious neck. My voice is husky as I tell her, “Open your legs for me, Kate.”