Page 44 of Recipe for Temptation (Madewood Brothers 4)

“And pineapple fried rice.”

In another predetermined move to get him hard—mission accomplished—she kneeled, then crawled across the giant pillow, turning to settle in the center with her back against the wall. She made no attempt to close her legs. They remained wide open for his viewing pleasure. She crooked her finger at him, begging him with her eyes to come over and ravage her.

But there was ample time tonight to do what they did best. First, he wanted to take their relationship to the next level. Wanted it to be built on something more than sex. Yes, once they set foot on home soil everything they had built here in Hawaii would end. But he needed to let her in and share this with her, because once they got home, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

But then she traced her finger up the inside of her thigh. The knife he was holding dropped to the cutting board.

“You are so not playing fair.”

She smiled coyly.

Well, two could play that game.

He strode over to her. His erection throbbed in his linen pants. His pulse had doubled, and he had no doubt that his need for her was written all over his face.

He dropped to the floor, his knees hitting the softness of the pillows. He crawled up her body, planting light kisses on her feet, her calves, her thighs. Tickling his nose along her warm, sweet skin until he was face-to-face with the sweetest part of her. She pulled up her dress so she could see what he was doing, exposing her entire lower half. He flicked out his tongue and ever so light

ly grazed over the lace of her thong. She moaned, and her head fell back against the pillows.

“You’re not hungry?” he whispered against her core.

She moaned again. “You’re all the food I need.”

He didn’t stop there. His mouth moved up, pressing a kiss to her stomach, then the peak of each breast through her dress, until he reached more exposed skin. He laid open-mouthed kisses on the swell of her cleavage. He kissed her collarbone, her neck, her nose, and forehead. And finally, when she was panting and her fists were curled around the pillow under her, he placed his lips to hers. With the same rhythm, he ground his hips between her legs, letting her know just how hard, how ready, he was for her. And just when she whimpered into his mouth and reached for the fly of his pants, he retreated.

She whimpered again, not in ecstasy but frustration. Her bottom lip jutted out, and she looked up at him with disappointed eyes. “You’re so mean.”

He pressed one last kiss to her lips, then backed away from the bed, shifting his pants as he returned to the grill.

When the food was finally prepared, she moaned over every bite. Needless to say, between that and the way she’d teased him from the bed while he was cooking, he’d had an erection for the last hour.

He was on his third Jack and Coke. The more time that passed, the closer he got to having to start his confession. Telling her things he didn’t really want anyone to know. But his brain had just the right amount of buzz going, and his nervousness settled more with every sip.

“Everything was so delicious. Thank you.” She wiped her mouth gently with the white cloth napkin. “Not that I would expect anything less.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. He loved cooking, loved making people happy with his food, but never knew what to do with the compliments.

This was the perfect opportunity. He had a solid buzz. Solid enough to drown out the persistent don’t do it that pleaded with him from the back of his mind to keep her from knowing exactly why he was the way he was, and give her the opportunity to bolt. Or worse, feel sorry for him.

He needed more time. His heart pounded against his chest, and his arms were actually twitching with nervousness.

She backed her chair away from the table and locked her eyes on his. “I think it’s time for me to thank the chef.”

He gave her a smile. “You just did.”

With a grin, she dropped to her knees and disappeared under the table.

“Um… I thought we could talk.”

But she was intent on doing anything but talking. He heard the sound of his zipper lowering. He felt the warmth and moisture as she tongued him through his boxer briefs.

“Why? You never want to talk,” she mumbled around licks to the tip of his cock, which was now exposed.

“I thought you wanted me to talk more—oh, shit.”

Her mouth engulfed his cock in one long swallow.

Fuck talking.

---