Page 14 of That Kiss

“Fine, I’ll take that challenge, but you have to eat it.” I know it’s a bad idea asking her over, but my cock has clearly taken over my mouth.

“You’re going to cook for me?”

“I guess I am.”

“Can I at least pick the wine?” she asks with excitement.

“Of course.” After opening our Slade Wines division a few years back, it’s exceeded our expectations and led to us having access to some amazing vintages thanks to my cousin Trent marrying into the famous Blanc wine family.

“I actually need to grab a few more things, if that’s okay?”

We walk side by side through the store, chatting about our week. She reaches for some laundry detergent and I step closer to place it in her cart. Then we check out and head to our cars.

“So I guess I’ll just meet you at your house?” She looks up at me from her driver’s seat.

“Yeah, see you there.” I walk over to my truck and climb inside, heading toward my house as I tell myself over and over again that she and I are friends, nothing more—just friends.

A nervous energy flows through me as I pull down the long driveway of my house. My fingers bounce against the steering wheel as I pull my truck into the garage and shut off the engine. I grab the bag of groceries and make my way toward Juniper’s car.

“Let me take your refrigerated items inside so they don’t get warm in your car.”

“Oh, good idea!” She spins around and yanks open her back door, leaning inside to grab a bag that slipped onto the floor of her car. I try not to look . . . well, that’s a lie. I don’t even attempt to look away as her denim shorts ride up her ass. She jostles something, causing her cheeks to jiggle and my jaw to clench so tightly, I feel a headache starting almost instantly. Part of me wants to spank her and grab a handful of her ass, telling her no man but me should be getting an eyeful like this. The other part of me wants to fall to my knees and worship her, burying my face between her thick cheeks.

“Here.” She spins back around with a smile on her face, swiping away a tendril of hair that’s fallen over her eye.

“Thanks.” I let out a long breath, trying to bring down my blood pressure as I walk toward the front door.

I drop everything on the kitchen island, placing Juniper’s items in the fridge before turning around to see her peeling the flannel—which once covered most of her upper body—down her arms.

“Wow,” she says, glancing around the large custom kitchen, “I feel like I haven’t been to your house in years.” She cocks her head for a second. “I guess it has been over a year. I think it was a going-away party for you.”

“Listen,” I avert my gaze from her breasts, which are now fully on display in her tight tank top, “I haven’t had a chance to shower since work. Is it okay if I clean up real quick?”

“Yeah, take your time,” she says, thumbing over her shoulder toward the wine cellar. “I’ll go find a good vintage and prep the salmon.”

My body screams at me for release in the shower, my hand finding its way down to my shaft to grip myself more than once. I audibly groan as I release myself, with thoughts of Juniper just a floor below me in her barely-there shorts and her tight shirt.

By the time I make it back downstairs, the house is filled with the indulgent aroma of garlic and black pepper. I run my hands through my still-wet hair, Juniper spinning around to greet me with a glass of wine in her hand. I take a long sip, the deep flavor of ripe berries and bourbon lingering on my tongue.

“Smells amazing,” I murmur, taking another sip of the wine. “What can I do to help?”

She points toward the cutting board, which has a knife, asparagus, and lemon on it. “You can cut up the asparagus; it’ll be ready to go in soon.”

I step toward the board just as she turns away from the oven. Her hand goes to rest against my stomach as she catches herself against me. “Oops!” She giggles as I jump back. I know we’re both aware that I overreacted, and I turn my attention to the vegetables as silence settles between us.

“You know I don’t bite, right?” she finally says.

I still my chopping movements and glance over my shoulder. Her back is still toward me as she stirs the risotto. I turn back to the asparagus, my voice coming out in a much deeper register than I intended.

“Yeah, maybe that’s the problem. I want you to.”

The soft, rhythmic scraping sound of the spoon stills, and I swear I hear a sharp intake of breath. A second later, I hear her place her wine glass back on the counter and a jolt of excitement shoots through me.

Good to know I can still get to her.

“How did I end up cooking dinner for you? I thought we’d agreed to the opposite?” She pokes my side, completely ignoring my comment.

“I blame you. You took charge when I went to take a shower.” I step aside as she gathers the chopped asparagus and folds it into the risotto. “And we both know you’re not the type to listen to a man.”

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