Read Online Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen) by Kate Meader - Free Book Online Page B

snuck a stealthy glance into the shadowy valley of her cleavage. White cotton bra, none too exciting, but those breasts…yes. They plumped up over the edges like succulent, golden peaches. His lips skimmed close to her ear, and he paused to breathe in her hair’s scent as if he could store it for another day. Rosemary and mint.
    “What kind of needs do you have, Lili?” he whispered.
    “Oh, a guy with all his own teeth who’s good at foot rubs and can give earth-shattering orgasms. Nothing special.”
    Ask a stupid question… Drawing back, he responded to her salvo with his most penetrating gaze. She held it for a moment, but then a shiver of doubt crossed her face. Ducking her head, she took a long draught of her beer.
    That little exchange told him two things.
    It had been far too long since he’d had sex.
    And he was officially in trouble.
    The silence drew between them like a piñata poised to be hacked down, and he hesitated, knowing he was sending her mixed signals. When you devour a woman with every look, it’s understandable she might have certain expectations. He wanted her, but he also wanted something he couldn’t put a label on. Not yet.
    Several thudding heartbeats later, she slid off the stool and pressed her body against his, her soft breasts teasing his ribs and prompting every nerve to revolt. With her hand flat on his chest, she tilted her face up and gave him the full benefit of those baby blues.
    “Okay, I’m out,” she said.
    “You’re what?”
    “I’m out.” Drawing back, she crossed her arms, which plumped up her cleavage to hazmat levels. “Jack, I’m not one for playing games.”
    “Neither am I.”
    She cocked a generous hip, projecting the don’t-fuck-with-me thing perfectly. “Have you or have you not been staring the bejesus out of me since I brained you with that frying pan?”
    “Well, yes—”
    “And wouldn’t any girl in my position interpret that as an indication of your interest?”
    “I suppose so, but—”
    “So you’re all hat, no cattle. Or maybe we got our signals crossed.”
    “I thought we were having a nice chat,” he said, sounding like a little old biddy in a tea shop. A nice chat?
    She’d already checked out of their nice chat and was now surveying the crowd.
    “Is Laurent still here?” she asked, her gaze taking inventory of the bar.
    “Yes, he is but—” His heart stuttered. “Are you taking the piss?”
    She fanned her waist with both hands. “Take a good look, Kilroy.”
    He took.
    “I owe it all to spaghetti.”
    “Good line.”
    “Sophia Loren,” she said, then added, “She’s an Italian actress,” in case he’d been living under a rock for the last thirty years, he supposed. She gave a wobbly, likely tipsy, pirouette, delivering a taste of all the angles. It was a very, very pleasant view.
    “You had your chance, but you blew it. I think your sexy French minion will be more than willing to tap this.” She turned and it took every iota of his strength not to reach out and stroke her very tappable arse. Cup it and squeeze it. Slap it so she cried out in surprise.
    “Au revoir,” she said with a racy smile over her shoulder, taking another step away from him and his raging hard-on. Then two more steps and she was out of his immediate orbit on her way toward the jukebox and…shit. Laurent.
    That had not just happened.
    A knot of negativity unraveled within him but he wasn’t ready to call it jealousy. Laurent would be too drunk to know what to do with her, anyway. He followed that bobbing cloud of hair, plowing his way through the wall of bodies that opened and closed behind her like quicksand.
    Her little exclamation of disbelief when he grabbed her hand sent warmth spreading through his gut. Without looking at her, he dragged her toward the dim corridor near the restrooms and caged her against the wall, his hand still locked in hers. Not as private as he would have liked but he’d worked with worse. Much worse.
    “Now,