Page 25 of Sweet Temptation

He had to intervene. How could he not? He shifted, attempting to move around... What was her name again? Jenna? Jada. The other woman shifted with him.

“How come Meg’s never mentioned she had a hot friend?” Jada grinned, obviously of the opinion that she was cute.

John sighed internally. He didn’t know when or why he’d stopped enjoying the attention from random women, and even some men, but right that second, it was more annoying than anything.

He focused on that annoyance to distract himself from the fact that Meg had never mentioned him. Why would she tell her assistant about him when they were hiding their affair from even her family?

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he replied absently, shifting again. He lifted a hand to help define a little thing called personal space, caught off guard when the barely legal woman grabbed him by the fingers.

“Wha—” he grunted when she flipped his hand over, grabbed a marker from her apron and wrote her name right on his palm.

“That’s my personal number,” she added, and John struggled to keep a polite smile on his face as he finally got a glimpse around Jada’s willowy frame. “Meg will tell you that I have an amazing palate. I have a very talented tongue.”

John managed to snag Meg’s attention for a single moment. Her stare flickered over where he stood, Jada all but pressed against him. Her face was inscrutable as she quickly turned her attention back to Gavin.

“Hello?” Jada waved a hand in front of his face, and he fought back the urge to snap at her. Sometimes being a gentleman was difficult. “I said, I have a very talented tongue.”

“I’m sure Meg appreciates that,” he replied absently. “Nice to meet you. I have to go.”

Pushing gently past the other woman this time, he stepped into the kitchen from the corridor. Meg was wrapping a white cotton apron around her little red dress, and a filthy image of her wearing nothing but that apron flooded his mind.

You are in so much trouble, dude.

His pulse jumped in his throat, and his hands grew sweaty again. As if sensing his eyes on her, Meg turned her head again, and the warning look on her face spoke volumes. She didn’t want him to approach. Didn’t want him to interfere, to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

Okay, this was business. He respected that. With two measured steps, he approached a long table, pulled out a chair and sat. With his eyes still glued on Meg—her hands, specifically, as she used them while talking to Gavin—his breathing grew a little quicker, and it wasn’t from the strange things he was feeling.

No, it was temper, because Gavin Douchebag Aronson wasn’t listening to a damn word coming from her mouth, and Meg deserved a hell of a lot more respect than that.

Don’t interfere.

Turning, Meg retrieved a small white plate with an ornately presented something that John was certain tasted amazing because Meg’s hands had created it. She held it out to Gavin, and the asshole accidentally on purpose overreached, brushing against her full breast.

Oh hell no. Like a spark to dry tinder, a fire erupted in John’s stomach. No one touched his woman unless she wanted to be touched, and the flush he could see on her cheeks right now told him that that touch had been very unwelcome.

Pushing back from the table noisily, John slowly, deliberately approached the island, where Meg and Gavin stood. Meg sent him those warning signals with her eyes again, but this time he ignored them. Meg and Gavin stood across the island from one another, and John chose to make his point by moving to Meg’s side. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and though she glared at him again, she didn’t shrug him off, which spoke volumes about her current discomfort.

Peevish, Gavin opened his mouth, likely to complain about the intrusion, but stopped when he recognized John.

“John Brooke!” He held out a hand for a very manly, backslapping kind of handshake, accompanied by a dude nod, and John barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Here in Boston?” John squeezed Meg’s shoulder, a fake smile pasted on his face. “Or here in this kitchen?”

“I guess I should say, how do you know the lovely Meg Marchande?” The other man smiled, and there was a glint of malicious enjoyment in his eyes. With his next words, John understood why. “Of course, you make a point of finding the prettiest ladies no matter what city you’re in, don’t you?”

Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.

“I do have a taste for quality.” Without thinking it through, he moved just a slight bit closer to Meg. “And Meg makes the best food in the city.”

He chose his words deliberately, to keep the focus off her appearance. He held his breath as Gavin nodded slowly, glancing at Meg, considering.

“That’s quite the compliment.” Gavin turned to John, effectively shutting Meg out of the conversation, which made the fire in John’s gut roar.

“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.” Unable to help himself, John leaned into Meg again, sliding his hand from her shoulder to the small of her back, holding her up as this idiot man tried to shoot her down.

“You’re early, John.” Her voice was resigned. John hated hearing it, knowing that she recognized that this idiot was never going to take her seriously.

“Are you two...together?” Gavin rocked back on his heels, eyeing where John touched Meg. Wishing it was him, not understanding that he wasn’t even close to being worthy.

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