Page 25 of One Baddie for Three Daddies

She looks up at me, her eyes softening. "I missed you too, James."

She steps closer, and I can smell the faint hint of vanilla in her hair. My arm wraps around her waist, pulling her tight against me. The tension between us is electric, almost tangible.

My eyes dip to her mouth. "You know, it's like no time has passed at all."

"Yeah?" She raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "I was worried you'd forgotten about me."

"Impossible." My thumb brushes against her hip, the warmth of her skin radiating through the fabric of her dress. "How could I forget someone who haunted my dreams?"

Her breath hitches, and she leans in closer, our foreheads nearly touching. "I guess I'm unforgettable."

"Damn right," I murmur before closing the gap between us. Our lips meet in a rush of heat and familiarity. It's like coming home after years of wandering.

She tastes like memories and promises unkept. My hand slides up her back, tangling in her braids as I deepen the kiss. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I press her against the railing, our bodies aligning perfectly. My hands explore the familiar terrain of her curves, gripping her waist, sliding up her back. Bianca moans into my mouth, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging slightly. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity down my spine.

"James," she gasps as I pull back slightly, just enough to catch my breath. Her lips are swollen from our kiss, her eyes dark with desire.

"I've missed this. Missed you," I murmur, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumb.

Her eyes soften for a moment before the heat returns. "Show me how much."

With a growl, I capture her lips again, our tongues battling for dominance. She bites my lower lip, and I respond by lifting her onto the railing, pressing her hips against mine. The boat sways beneath us, adding to the heady mix of sensations.

"You're driving me crazy," I say against her mouth.

"Good," she replies breathlessly.

I pull back again, both of us panting, our foreheads resting together. "How about we take this somewhere more private?"

She raises an eyebrow. "And where would that be?"

"My place," I suggest. "I'll cook for you."

She laughs, the sound bright and teasing. "You? Cook? You were terrible in college."

I smirk, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. "I’m serious. I've learned a few things since then."

She eyes me skeptically but can't hide her amusement. "Alright, Mr. Chef. Let's see if you've really improved."

"I promise you won't be disappointed," I say, helping her down from the railing.

As we sail back toward the harbor, the tension between us doesn't dissipate—it simmers just below the surface. Every brush of our hands as we work together to dock the boat sends sparks flying.

Once we're securely tied up, I help Bianca off the boat and into my car. The drive to my place is filled with easy conversation and stolen glances that promise more than words ever could.

By the time we arrive at my apartment, I'm practically vibrating with anticipation. As soon as we're inside, I turn to face her. "Welcome back to Casa de James."

She chuckles. "We'll see if your cooking skills match your confidence."

I pour a generous glass of wine and hand it to Bianca, who accepts it with a grateful smile. She takes a sip, her eyes watching me as I move around the kitchen.

"So, Mr. Chef, what’s on the menu?" she asks, leaning against the counter, looking far too comfortable and beautiful.

"Steak and risotto," I reply, winking at her. "A little something I picked up in New York."

She raises an eyebrow. "Risotto, huh? That's ambitious."

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