Page 16 of Turning Up the Heat

“Very cool. You make me sound like I’m a disease.”

“You’re an infatuation.”

“That’s better?”

The server came back and poured them each a glass of wine. When they were alone again, he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. He looked at her as if he was looking into her. She reached for her wineglass to break the eye contact. The crisp, cold white wine quenched her thirst.

“So, you’re telling me that you haven’t thought of me since we were together.”

Had she ever. “It’s only been a couple of days,” she reminded him. “But you might have crossed my mind. Once or twice.”

“Is that right? Care to tell me when?” He grinned, and his voice lowered. He leaned closer. “Lonely in your bed before you go to sleep?” He reached across the table and covered her right hand with his. “Did this hand find its way between your thighs? Did you close your eyes and pretend it was me touching you?” He dragged his middle and forefinger over her own to the table.

“It might have, but I’m left-handed,” she told him with a smirk.

Tom poured her another glass of wine, and a water for himself, and looked at the woman who sat across from him. His short, surprise trip to Miami had been one of his best ideas, and as he sat across from Gemma, he was only disappointed that he didn’t have more time there.

Gemma Rexford wasn’t just a smoking-hot woman he’d slept with in Jamaica. She was funny, sharp, astute, with a biting wit and a tongue just as keen. The woman gave as well as she got. She was one of the most impressive women he’d ever met. They’d talked all night over their food, and he felt a real connection between them. It made it easy for him to forget that they were professional rivals.

When the server returned with their bill, he was sad that the evening was coming to an end. He’d expected to come down to Miami, find Gemma and ravish her, to get her out of his system, and be back on a plane home. But the minute he laid his eyes on her, her hair up, no makeup, in her tattered coveralls—he knew it would never be that easy. He’d been hooked.

He handed his credit card to the waiter. “So, what now, Gemma? Dinner’s over. Do we just say our goodbyes now, or can that wait until tomorrow?”

With her wineglass halfway to her lips, she froze and looked at him. She didn’t answer for a moment, and he wondered if he’d pushed too hard, misread the evening or the fire and promise he’d felt between them. She finally finished her wine and lowered her glass. She was wearing a smile on her face. “I think we can put that off until tomorrow morning.”

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