Wicked Impulse

Chapter 3

BEAR

I pushed the empty plate away and rubbed my belly. "That was so damn good, Franny. I don't remember the last time I had a meal this great."

She beamed at me with the biggest smile. I couldn't recall when I'd seen her so happy. "I like spoiling you." The woman could cook like any of those fancy-ass chefs on the television. She didn't just make a dinner, she made an entire meal. Course after course, she carried out of the kitchen, dishing it out onto my plate before I could protest.

"Spoil me anytime, babe." I caught myself and didn't say anything else because I was already verging on flirting, and Morgan would have my balls.

"Cooking relaxes me, but you know I'm really no good at it. Right? I mean, I'm no Maria."

"Well, you must really be stressed." I glanced around the table filled with dish after dish of different foods. "As for being a good cook, I don't remember the last home-cooked meal I ate, so it tasted delicious."

She burst into a fit of laughter. "No one likes my cooking, not even Morgan. Want a drink?" She stood quickly and headed to the tiny cabinet against the wall. "I need something strong to get through this."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling guilty about putting her out. "We could do this another time."

"Sit down," she commanded me without a thought. "I want you here. I need to talk about it. Alcohol helps. Want one or not?" Her bossiness was definitely a turn-on.

"Yeah, I'll take a gin and tonic."

Her dark, shoulder-length hair parted as she reached into the cabinet and grabbed three bottles. The tiniest patch of exposed skin on the back of her neck peeked out, and my cock started to stir. Off-limits, Cujo. Don't even think about it.

"Ice?" she asked with her back to me.

"Two cubes, please." My eyes traveled down her body, focusing on her ass and trying to see the outline through the flimsy material of her blue tracksuit. Why couldn't the woman wear jeans like other people? Her outfit did nothing for her body and made it so hard for my imagination to run wild. I couldn't even tell if she had on panties, but in my mind I pictured her without.

She set the drink down in front of me and caught me off guard. "Are you feeling okay? You look flushed."

I chuckled softly and hoped she hadn't caught me staring at her ass. "I'm fine. Just a bit warm," I lied my ass off.

"Want me to turn on the air?" she asked and started to move her track jacket away from her skin. "It is a bit warm in here." She stood quickly, removing her jacket and placing it on the chair before heading to the hallway.

My eyes zoomed in on her chest instantly. The white T-shirt was partially see-through, and all I could focus on was the outline of her black lace bra. Why did it have to be black? It didn't match the tracksuit. I highly doubted that the ladies in the Golden Girls wore black lingerie underneath their clothing.

"You should feel better soon. I turned it down a bit." She sat, moving the umbrella around in her pink drink. "Sex on the Beach," she said innocently.

I started to choke on my drink at the mention. "What?" I asked in a strangled voice.

"My drink. It's a Sex on the Beach."

My mouth formed an "O" before I started to cough again. All of a sudden, I pictured Fran running around in the sand with beads of water dripping off her while she was clad in a string bikini. What the fuck was wrong with me?