Page 61 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“They have lobster rolls, lobster mac and cheese, and—wait, lobster cupcakes?”

Avery makes a beeline for the next food stall, laughing in disbelief. We’re exploring the LobsterFest event down the coast, and every food truck and local vendor on the Cape has come out to compete with their wildest lobster recipes.

Including, apparently, cupcakes.

Avery turns to me, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “We have to try them.”

“Go crazy,” I say, amused. I’m already toting a tray overflowing with various lobster confections, but Avery is still going strong.

It’s funny, she must have been to a hundred fancy red carpet events, and luxurious five-star restaurants, but here she is, going wild over a small-town festival packed with families, tourists and weird lobster tchotchkes.

“Can we get two please, with the… buttercream frosting?” Avery asks the vendor, bouncing on her heels.

“You’re like a kid in a candy store,” I smirk.

“Lobster-flavored candy,” Avery jokes. “Wait, I bet you five bucks we could actually find some here.”

“No bet,” I say immediately. “C’mon, let’s go try some of this stuff before the soup gets cold.”

“It’s bisque,” Avery corrects me airily, as I steer her over to a free spot at one of the picnic tables overlooking the harbor. She takes a spoonful, and tastes. “And… you’re right, it’s cold.”

“Try some of these.” I push a lobster roll over, and Avery digs in, sighing with pleasure.

“Oh my god, this is heaven!”

I’ve got no complaints, that’s for sure.

I sit back, wondering how things turned around so fast. Last week, this woman was driving me crazy– in all the worst ways. I was so sure that she was a spoiled, stubborn, selfish piece of work.

Now, I’m watching her lick melted butter off her fingers, and wondering how long I can hold out until I taste her again.

Because damn, the way she pressed against me in that supply closet… that wild, breathless look in her eyes…

The sounds she made when she came clenching on my fingers…

I didn’t get a moment of sleep, that’s for sure.

But today is a different story.

I gulp my water, trying to get a grip. What happened between us was hot and furious, a damn explosion of pent-up desire. But we’re walking a fine line here with the whole fake dating set-up, and I don’t for one minute want to make things more complicated for her by giving into this red-hot craving.

PG-13, that publicist told us. Which means I’m going to be a gentleman, even if it kills me.

Avery looks up. “I’m making a mess, aren’t I?” she laughs self-consciously, grabbing a handful of paper napkins to wipe at her face.

“Not at all. Go wild.”

I glance around, on alert for those damn photographers to come ruin the good mood, but the festival is so packed, it’s like natural camouflage. Everyone is too busy having their own fun to notice the two of us over here.

Good. I’m still figuring out where Avery’s acting skills end, and this thing between us turns real. But one thing’s for sure: there’s no faking the carefree smile on her face as she samples every last lobster dish we picked.

“OK, OK,” Avery finishes her first plate, and sits back, taking a deep breath. “Round one is over, now I can take my time.”

I chuckle. “You’ve got to pace yourself,” I advise her. “Take it from a local, these festivals are a marathon, not a sprint. We haven’t even gotten started on desserts just yet.”

Her eyes catch mine across the picnic table, and she smirks.

“And there I was, thinking I got a sample the other night,” she coos, and I just about choke on a lobster hush puppy.

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