Just One Taste Read online

  “HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

  Kat’s lips tipped into a triumphant smile that tasted twice as decadent as it felt. “I just applied a little direct pressure right here”—she darted a glance at his shoulder, where her fingers met the cotton of his T-shirt—“in the nerve center where I felt the most tension. You kind of did the rest.”

  With his forearm cradled in one palm and his shoulder still pressed beneath the other, Kat could easily feel Jesse’s pulse thumping against her skin. The scent of rainstorms and clean earth sent a straight shot of heat between her hips, and she breathed it all the way in like a memory.

  “No,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “It was you.”

  The tight angle of Jesse’s jaw loosened over the words, his lips slightly parted as he dipped his chin to look at her more fully. Kat’s breath turned shaky and shallow in her lungs. Impulse dared her closer, then closer still, until her eyes shuttered in dusky anticipation of just one taste....

  Read all of Kimberly Kincaid’s Pine Mountain series

  The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

  by Donna Kauffman, Kate Angell,

  and Kimberly Kincaid

  Turn Up the Heat

  Gimme Some Sugar

  Stirring Up Trouble

  Fire Me Up

  just one taste

  KIMBERLY KINCAID

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  “HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

  Read all of Kimberly Kincaid’s Pine Mountain series

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Teaser chapter

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  To the men and women who serve

  in the United States military,

  and the families who love and support them.

  You are true heroes.

  I am humbly grateful for your service and sacrifice.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Each book I write is a collaborative effort in some way or another, and Just One Taste is no exception. My name may be on the cover, but this story simply wouldn’t exist without the following people.

  To my editor, Alicia Condon, without whose enthusiastic support this book would have never become a reality, thank you for giving Kat and Jesse a chance over hurricanes in New Orleans. My agent, Maureen Walters, who always lets me run with the ball, I couldn’t do this without you both.

  Profound thanks and respect go out to retired Major Chris Marchese, who fielded and answered my many questions about the Army and graciously shared his experiences of being stationed overseas. Any errors or liberties taken are purely my own. All the knowledge and bravery belongs to Chris. Likewise, sincere gratitude goes out to the men and women at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas who kindly hosted a group of fifty romance writers (with me among them!) on a tour of their Army medic training facilities. Their firsthand accounts made the ideas in this book possible. I am grateful beyond measure.

  To Michelle Zarnegar, who willingly shared her professional knowledge of physical therapy (and chopping wood), thank you. To plot pandas Robin Covington and Avery Flynn, who convinced me to let Jesse be who he is, you’re the best friends a girl could ever ask for. And of course, to my daughters and the ever-patient Mr. K., “I love you” just doesn’t seem enough.

  Lastly, to you, lovely readers. Without you, I cannot do the job that I so dearly love. Thank you for clamoring for more stories, for your e-mails and Facebook posts, for always wanting “just one taste”. You make it all so much fun (even when it’s tough). I love you guys!

  Chapter One

  Jesse Oliver hadn’t even opened his eyes to greet the morning before he realized with 100 percent certainty that something was very, very wrong. Although the extensive training he’d received courtesy of the United States Army dictated that he remain perfectly still as he gathered intel, every one of his senses went from zero to wide-freaking-awake from his spot beneath the covers.

  Someone was in his bathroom. And since his one-bedroom efficiency was roughly the size of a dinner plate, that meant whoever had been dumb enough to creep into Jesse’s space was also only six paces away.

  Time to rise and shine.

  He pulled in a shallow breath, calibrating his awareness to the sounds filtering in through the bathroom door he’d left cracked open last night. The rush of movement wasn’t loud, but it was definitely constant and definitely out of place. Jesse froze, focusing past the strong and steady thump-thump of his heartbeat to laser in on full recognition.

  The sound wasn’t a who, but a what. As in, running water.

  Lots of it.

  Jesse’s eyes flew open, taking only a few stop-frame seconds before adjusting to the early autumn sunlight slicing past his bedroom blinds. He got two steps into the six-stride tour to the bathroom before his bare feet registered the sloppy, wet surface that had been his carpet only hours before.

  “Shit.” Jesse’s gut boomeranged toward his tailbone as he wheeled his gaze in a methodical arc from left to right, taking in the larger-by-the-second puddle on the floor with growing dread. Water pushed beneath the bathroom door in a steady stream, soaking the bottom of the laundry hamper lined up by the closet and zeroing in on the heavy-soled boots he’d left neatly lined up at the foot of his bed. His feet slapped against the solid inch of water turning his carpet into a swampland, splashing the hem of his low-riding basketball shorts with his last step toward the door.

  Turned out his carpet was just a preview for the tsunami rolling through his bathroom.

  Jerking back with a renewed curse, Jesse watched helplessly as the wave that had been held mostly at bay by the barrier of the door came rushing out over the tile threshold. But the growing sense of doom that would incite panic in a civilian kicked him into gear, and the grace-under-fire calm that ran his circuitry like a reflex pushed him into action.

  Jesse dropped into a crouch, swiftly scanning the plumbing behind both the toilet and the bare-bones pedestal sink anchored next to it on the wall. Water jetted out from the space where the pipes in the sink met the drywall behind it, and Jesse reached out to crank the shutoff valve all the way closed.

  He might as well have tried bailing out the Titanic with a shot glass and a Hail Mary.

  When a few flicks of his wrist failed to move the valve on the toilet, Jesse sprang to standing. Water continued to stream into the bathroom, and his assessing stare traveled up the stretch of plain, white drywall toward the ceiling.

  Holy hell. They were both coated with a heavy sheen of water too.

  Jesse swiped a hand over the sweat dotting his brow, skimming his fingers all the way over his skull trim before angling himself back through the door to his bedroom. A handful of well-placed steps had him in his kitchenette, which was little more than a five-by-five section of aging linoleum lined with battle-tested cabinets and the oldest stove-and-cooktop combo known to man.

  Annnnd since the counter with his kitchen sink shared a wall with the bathroom, the kitchenette was also buried under an inch and a half of water. Jesus, whatever pipe had burst back there had to be hauling the main water supply to his apartment. Nothing else would explain a flood of this magnitude.

  The only prayer he had of stanching the gushing water was to kill the main
shutoff valve in his utility closet. With purpose replacing the adrenaline in his bloodstream, Jesse whipped the narrow door open, shouldering his way past the splintered wood framing in the unfinished space. The chipped red wheel marking the valve stood at eye level on the left-hand wall, and he wasted no time spinning it as tight as it would go.

  Muffled shouts and thundering footsteps rang out beyond the walls of his apartment, gathering his full attention. Jesse jammed his feet into the boots now sitting in a murky puddle by the end of his bed and autopiloted his way onto the outdoor landing to his apartment, where he nearly crashed into his next-door neighbor, Marcy Teasdale.

  “Jesse! Oh my God, where is all this water coming from?” Clad in only a nightgown and a panic-stricken expression, tears filled the young woman’s eyes as she balanced a frightened toddler on her hip.

  “I don’t know. Are you hurt?” The question flew out automatically, followed quickly by the sharp, metallic aftertaste of fear. But Marcy shook her head, sending a blast of relief through Jesse’s chest.

  “No, but there’s water all over the place. I can’t even tell where it’s coming from, there’s so much.”

  “Did you turn off the main valve in your apartment?” he asked, already methodically moving toward her wide-open front door. A shit storm, he could handle.

  A shit storm with casualties? Not so much.

  “N-no. I don’t know how, and Brian’s working the early shift.”

  “Okay. Stay here. I’ve got it.”

  Jesse paused for a nanosecond to deliver Marcy a reassuring look, although the whole situation was growing more FUBAR by the second. Her apartment was a mirror image of his in both layout and status, with oversized puddles taking over the floor in her kitchenette and main living space. Deciding to skip the pleasantries of the individual appliance valves, Jesse went straight for the Teasdales’ utility closet, repeating the same action he’d taken in his own.

  The flow of water into the apartment slowed, but killing the switch was like putting a Band-Aid where a tourniquet should be. God only knew how long it would hold.

  Plus, Jesse thought as he stepped back to survey the damage, the cleanup was going to take a whole lot more than a couple of towels and a good airing out.

  He returned to the landing, the bright sunlight and trill of chirping birds completely discordant with the ruin behind him. “I think I’ve got it, for now, anyway.”

  Marcy nodded, drawing in a shaky breath as she turned her attention to the concrete ceiling above them. “Most of my water was coming in from the bathroom ceiling, and I heard a lot of yelling from upstairs just now. I think 2A and 2B are having the same problem we are.”

  Jesse shot a stare at the open-air stairwell leading to the two apartments over his and Marcy’s. 2A was an elderly couple and 2B was the pretty blonde he’d seen on the running trails around the building from time to time. Although the blonde always seemed fairly confident, even money said she wasn’t a licensed plumber, and Jesse’s feet had covered half the space to the stairs before he was even aware of the movement. “I’ll go make sure they turn their water off too. Do you have your cell phone?”

  Marcy eked out another nod. “I grabbed it right after I got Joey out of his crib.”

  “Good. Can you do me a favor and call the landlord?”

  Jesse flicked one last glance toward his apartment, his hope flatlining into reality as he tacked on, “And you might want to call your mother to see if you can stay with her. I doubt any of us will be living here for a while.”

  The first sign that all wasn’t well in Kat McMarrin’s world were the two—no, three—Pine Mountain utility trucks clustered around her tiny apartment building. The place might be aging, but come on. Everything had been business as usual when she’d left for her run an hour ago.

  The second sign of things not right came by way of a torrent of water rushing down the concrete stairwell, and oh God, was that her landlord and the property manager standing on the other side of that red caution tape?

  No way. No way. Kat always made it a point to do right by the universe, bringing her neighbors fresh veggies from the farm stand and participating in projects to clean up Big Gap Lake.

  Her karma was spotless. Impeccable. Flawless.

  And also possibly flooded.

  With a troop of butterflies taking flight against her rib cage, Kat yanked her earbuds from beneath her two low pigtails. From her vantage point about thirty feet from the building, she caught a decent visual of both floors of the open-air unit. Her palms went cold and slick as she registered that not only were all four apartment doors wide open to their respective outdoor landings, but the water she’d seen spilling over the stairs seemed to be coming from within both her place and that of her neighbors.

  The Albertsons.

  Kat balled up both her fists and her courage as she sprinted toward the small crowd of people amassed on the sidewalk. A tendril of relief unfurled in her rib cage at the sight of her elderly next-door neighbors standing by the curb, and she met Mrs. A’s shaky embrace with one of her own.

  “What’s going on? Are you two okay?”

  “Oh, Kat! Thank God you’re here.” The tiny, gray-haired woman splayed a hand over the front of her housecoat. “It all happened so fast. Sam and I had just gone into the kitchen to make tea for breakfast when water started coming in from under the sink. It flooded the kitchen floor in no time flat, same thing in the bathroom. We tried to stop it, but—”

  “No, no. It looks like a pipe must’ve burst, so it was smart to get out of there. You’re not hurt, are you?” Kat slid an arm around the woman’s thin shoulders, splitting her gaze between both of her neighbors. She assessed bone and muscle and movement, gauging any possible injuries just as she did every day at the physical therapy center.

  “We’re okay,” Mr. A confirmed, taking his wife’s hand even though his own was far from steady. “Jesse came up from his apartment to help us. Such a nice young man.”

  Kat’s chin lifted in surprise. “The quiet guy from 1B?”

  She’d seen her reserved yet ridiculously good-looking neighbor a handful of times in the seven months he’d lived above her, but he wasn’t around much like everyone else. On the rare occasion Kat crossed paths with him either in the parking lot or on the running trails behind the complex, he’d acknowledge her with a stiff nod, then keep to himself.

  Mr. A nodded. “Yes. He turned off the main water valve and helped us get down the stairs safely.”

  “Sounds like he knew just what to do in a crisis,” Kat said. Speaking of which . . .

  She turned her focus to the apartment building, an icy chill running the length of her spine despite the September sunshine. Two workers wearing bright orange vests emblazoned with PINE MOUNTAIN UTILITY COMPANY manned the second floor, calling clipped directives into their walkie-talkies. Puddles of water collected around the entryways to both first-floor apartments, and dread leaked from Kat’s chest to her belly as she caught the utterly grim expression of her landlord on the other side of the building.

  “I’m going to go talk to Mr. Watkins to see if I can get more information about what’s going on. You two sit tight, okay? I’ll be right back.” She turned on the heel of her running shoe, only instead of setting her sights on her landlord, she smacked directly into the guy from 1B.

  “Oh!” Startled, Kat winged her gaze upward, reaching out to reclaim her balance. 1B stared down at her with eyes the exact shade of polished bronze, and holy macaroni, he had biceps that would stop crime and punishment all in one go.

  She knew, because she was clutching them like an idiot.

  “Pardon me.” His response was quiet and cool, and it gave Kat a much-needed nudge back to the problem at hand.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Probably because he’d made zero noise, but still . . . “Do you know anything about what’s happening with the building?”

  He nodded, just one dip of his clean-shaven chin. “Looks like the main
. The utility company just shut down the water supply to the entire building. But there’s a lot of damage.”

  Anxiety and alarm collided in Kat’s veins, but neither emotion stopped her from asking, “How much is a lot?”

  A flicker of unease cut across 1B’s otherwise unreadable expression, and he stepped back to share the answer with both her and the Albertsons. “Watkins is suggesting we all find temporary housing.”

  Kat’s heartbeat went haywire beneath her thin, black running hoodie. Her apartment might not be big or fancy, but it was hers. Her space, with her energy, her things. She’d lived in Pine Mountain for nearly three years, and for the first time in her life, she had no plans to leave.

  But if there was one thing being the daughter of an Army colonel had taught her, it was how to pack up and move on. Even when she didn’t want to.

  Mrs. Albertson shifted on the sidewalk. “Oh, my. Well, our daughter lives in Philadelphia, and we are past due for a visit.” She turned to look at Kat, her expression full of concern. “But what about you, dear? Do you have a place to go?”

  Kat pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, hoping like mad that triggering the pressure point there would deliver a bright idea to her brain. Her brother Gabe was her only local option, and he and his adorable wife had just brought home baby number three, not to mention the crazy hours he worked in Riverside Hospital’s emergency department. Even though she knew he’d find a way to put her up, she wouldn’t dream of asking, especially on thirty seconds’ notice.

  Her brother. Her brother. Wait a second....

  She and Gabe still had the deed to the old summer house on Big Gap Lake. The place was borderline ancient, and she hadn’t stayed there in what felt like a century. But she helped Gabe pay for annual maintenance, and she’d promised him she’d fix the place up a bit this year anyway. The keys were right there on her key ring. It might not be her space, her apartment, her home, but she needed a landing spot, and she needed it five minutes ago.