Page 13 of Billionaire's Bookworm

I turned to my own booth, meticulously laying out my ingredients like it was the Iron Chef finals. The sun beat down, chasing away any hint of winter’s chill—typical Florida. Good thing I opted for board shorts and a tee.

I could feel Emma’s eyes on me, stealing glances when she thought I wasn’t looking. Made me grin like a fool. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to me as she pretended.

“So,” I began, leaning casually over the divider between us, “what’s the magic ingredient in your chili? Or is it top secret?”

She gave me a withering look—well, tried to. The amusement in her eyes gave her away. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Fair enough,” I chuckled. “Bet I could figure it out, though.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Big talk from someone who probably thinks paprika is spicy.”

I laughed. “Hey, I’ll have you know I can handle the heat.”

“Prove it,” she challenged, stirring her pot with a flourish.

“How about we make this interesting?” I leaned in, dropping my voice conspiratorially.

She paused, spoon hovering over the pot. “I’m listening.”

“If I win, you agree to have dinner with me. You can even bring that mutt of yours along if you want. If you win, I’ll disappear from your life—at least until you miss me.”

She snorted, tapping her spoon thoughtfully. “Confident, aren’t we, Playboy? And what makes you think I’d want dinner with you?”

I gave her my best smoldering look. “Call it a hunch.”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “Fine. But when you’re drowning your sorrows alone tonight, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, grinning.

The afternoon buzzed along, filled with sizzling chili, good-natured banter, and more than a few heated glances. We traded jabs like seasoned sparring partners, the friendly competition only stoking the flames.

I couldn’t help but be drawn in by her—her quick wit, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her bookstore, the way her laugh made something in my chest tighten.

She was... something else.

A force of nature wrapped in a petite package. One minute, she was slicing me down with that sharp tongue, the next, laughing freely and lighting up the entire square.

I was intrigued. No, more than that.

As the judges approached, the atmosphere shifted. Our playful banter faded, replaced by a palpable tension. My heart beat a little faster—not that I’d admit it. This wasn’t just about a small town chili cook-off anymore.

It was about her.

Emma stood a little taller as the judges tasted her chili, a confident smile playing on her lips. I stood next to her and watched her from the corner of my eye, admiring that competitive spunk.

A smiled played across my lips when they tasted mine, nodding their heads at each other with surprised looks.

“Enjoying your moment of glory?” Emma teased, a wicked glint in her eye.

“Always,” I replied smoothly. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Ms. Michaels.”

Laughter colored her voice as she retorted, “Oh, you can bet I’m counting ‘em, Playboy.”

I blame her throaty chuckle. Driven by a reckless impulse and the undeniable pull between us, I leaned close and captured her lips with mine.

She froze for a heartbeat, then softened against me. Her lips were warm, a tantalizing mix of sweetness and spice. The world seemed to blur around us, fading into nothing as I deepened the kiss.

When we finally parted, her dazzling green eyes stared up at me, wide and searching. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted slightly in surprise. I was just as startled by my own audacity—and by the depth of hunger that kiss had stirred.

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