Page 55 of Red Hot Roaster

I leaned over and grabbed the scorecard and pen from my stool while Rafe started to describe what he’d tasted.

“Besides the dark chocolate, I picked up notes of something floral. It’s spicy too—I think there’s cardamom. Maybe a dash of cayenne. I also got some coconut—not the actual stuff, but like extract or oil.”

He paused, rubbing his lips together. “Good thing it’s rolled in cocoa powder. Offsets all that sweetness.”

It was a match, almost word for word, with the description of the Lavender De-luscious Truffle. But I couldn’t let his tasting talent go to his head.

“Not bad for your first challenge, Master Roaster. Let’s see how you do on a new one.”

Rafe muttered something about a “tough audience” while I marked “#1” in the blank beside that truffle’s name.

“Before we move on, would you like a shot of espresso or some water to clear your palate?”

“The espresso…no, wait! Only if you didn’t put a fuck-ton of sugar in it—or any, for that matter.”

“Wow, suspicious much?”

“Well, what do you expect? I can’t see a damn thing, and I didn’t pull the shots myself.”

Ooh, somebody was getting testy.

“No worries,” I reassured him in an overly sweet tone of voice. “See for yourself…well, if you could see.”

I handed Rafe one of the espresso shot glasses. While he downed that, I shoved the other truffle half into my mouth, chewed (de-luscious!) and chugged my shot. Could anyone say sugarandcaffeine high?

We put the blind tasting routine on repeat three more times…with one variation for the last one.

Rather than placing the truffle bit on Rafe’s tongue by hand, I positioned it onmytongue and made the transfer.

He grunted in surprise but recovered and attempted a full-on French kiss. I turned my cheek just as fast—although he left a smear of chocolate there—and pulled back to demand a description.

He grumbled a bit but moved on from there. His talented tongue was on a roll, teasing out ingredients that matched the written descriptions.

When I tried to turn back to the table to cut up the rest of the truffles—four down, five to go—I couldn’t.

Was it my imagination, or were Rafe’s thighs caging my hips more tightly? It was getting humid in here too. Maybe I’d forgotten to turn down the heat when I locked the doors?

Or was it the sugar-caffeine-Rafe rush getting me all hot…and bothered?

I didn’t get answers to my questions because Rafe ripped the blindfold off his eyes, grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the table. All in one movement, I swore—although I may have been a little distracted while yelping my fool head off.

He nudged my knees apart so he could stand between them. Leaning to my left side, he swept the truffle boxes and shot glasses away to make room on the table…for me. I didn’t know what happened to his knife, but the shot glasses? Good thing those sturdy little guys would bounce, not break.

“Rose. Lift your arms,” Rafe demanded, all brisk and abrupt.

I was in an obeying mood—or maybe I was getting hotter by the second. The moment I raised my arms, he whipped my T-shirt off and threw it toward the roaster.

Rafe followed this with a “lie back” command, but before I could move, he pressed me gently down, using one hand between my breasts. The other hand cushioned the back of my head. Once I was lying flat, he stood up straight again and made short work of my shoes and socks. When it came to my jeans and my new hot pink cheekies, he yanked them both off in one go.

By this time, I was staring up at the high roastery ceiling and surrendering…to an attack of the giggles. I couldn’t help it.

Maybe I was light-headed or…or…lighthearted, for once in recent memory.

Evidently, I didn’t put out enough serious vibes for Rafe.

“I’ll give you something to laugh about,” he growled. He reached to grab both my arms and pulled them together over my head. The next thing I knew, he wrapped the scarf around my wrists and tied it in a tight, but not painfully tight, knot. Hooking his hands under my knees, he lifted them up so my heels sat on the edge of the table.

Yeah, I felt a little exposed, even though I was still wearing my balconette bra—new and lacy and hot pink because, you know, matching.

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