Page 23 of Daring the Bad Boy

She turned towards him, the sight of him head on and properly lit – the staggering face, the ruffled hair, the hot appreciative gaze – made her lungs squeeze tight. Goodness, he was as breathtaking as she remembered. But even more so.

This already felt like too much and they weren’t even naked yet.

“You’re not wrong. Like most red-blooded American men I consider take-out pizza one of your five-a-day.”

She filed the morsel of information away under the heading ‘questions you shouldn’t want to know the answer to’.

“But I also like to cook,” he continued. “And this is nothing fancy, just a recipe for chicken cacciatore I picked up a couple of years back in Florence.” The easy grin only made him more irresistible. “As long as you like to eat, and you eat meat, we’re good.”

“I love to eat,” she said, remembering how often Vince had told her she liked to eat too much. She lifted her arms to give him a better view of her curves, impossibly pleased when his eyes flared with approval. “Can’t you tell?”

The grin hitched up. “Every mouthful looks great on you.”

“And I am also an enthusiastic meat eater.”

r /> His grin widened at the deliberate double meaning and the sizzles settled lower in her abdomen while her somersaulting stomach careered into her heart.

Don’t read too much into that grin. This is flirtation 101. No more, no less. It’s all good. And a meal will give you sustenance for later, when you get to the wall-banging-sex part of the evening.

But as he dished out the aromatic stew and poured them both a glass of red wine—she wondered how much she was going to be able to swallow round the huge lump in her throat. And the blips of panic kicking under her breastbone. Then she took a bite of the succulent chicken dish spiced with herbs and tomatoes, and her taste buds exploded with the rich mix of flavors. She swallowed and sighed. Fine, the lump of anticipation wasn’t going to be a problem. “It’s delicious.”

“Good. Then dig in.” He picked up his own bowl to shovel in a mouthful.

She ate in earnest, savoring each bite, and the way his gaze strayed to her mouth. A drop of sauce escaped and she flicked her tongue out to capture it, delighted by his husky groan. The lump of anticipation grew to the size of a boulder, a hot molten boulder of magma which sank lower as the meal continued, and she began to revel in her new found power.

Who knew eating could be so sexy? Best foreplay ever.

Once she’d mopped up the last of the meal with some crusty French bread, he picked up the bowls and set them in the sink. He poured her another glass of wine.

“That was fabulous,” she said.

“Thanks.” He watched her over the rim of his glass. Was he waiting for her to make the next move?

She held the bowl of her wine glass in her palms, and took a long sip, suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous. Hell, she’d come here with the specific intention of jumping him, so what was she waiting for? Every part of her was primed and ready to explode.

But instead of saying what she wanted to say, she took another quick sip of the fruity wine, and something entirely different came out of her mouth. “Yesterday night, in the bar, why did you look so sad, Cal?”

His eyebrows rose a fraction, the question obviously surprising him, but he hid it quickly. His expression became remote for a moment, before he placed his glass on the table and stood up. Taking her glass, he placed it on the table beside his.

“I wasn’t sad, I was horny,” he said, but the flirtatious smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time and she knew he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

She stifled the prickle of hurt. Why would he confide in her? They hardly knew each other. Except in the Biblical sense, and that was the way they both wanted it to remain.

“I’ve had more than enough foreplay for one evening,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “How about you?”

She placed her fingers in his palm, letting the surge of pheromones obliterate the pinprick of hurt at his evasive answer.

“Personally, I’m of the opinion you can never have enough foreplay,” she teased, channeling Rosie the Flirt – and kicking Rosie the Nosey into the long grass.

Not your business.

Strong fingers wrapped around hers as he hauled her out of her chair.

“That’s because you’re a girl…” His arm banded around her back to yank her snug against him, forcing soft curves to yield to the hard lines of his body.

She placed her palms against his cheek, loving the way the muscles tensed. “Men don’t like foreplay?”

“They love it, but sometimes you can have too much of a good thing.” Warm lips nuzzled her collarbone, sucking on the pulse point.

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