not enjoying fame and fortune?”
Jasper grins, “I wouldn’t say that. It has its perks — sexy journalists cooking dinner for me springs to mind,” he winks and I feel myself blushing.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Clearly not. You bring out my rakish side, darling.”
I puff out an exasperated breath with a smile, “I’m not sure you have another side.”
“But we know that you have alternate sides. So, what’s a nice girl like you doing drinking straight tequila?”
“I think I’m supposed to be the one asking questions.”
He nods, “You’re also supposed to be searing those lamb chops, not burning them.”
“Shit,” I grumble at the smoking pan, cautiously flipping the lamb to see just how bad the damage is.
“They’re not beyond salvation,” he says encouraging me.
“Right,” I say, pulling them from the heat. “When I was in college, a bunch of my girlfriends and I took a week-long trip to the Keys. Just endless days at the beach, snorkeling, and drinking tequila. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I want to run away and get an old house there like Hemingway had… Kind of silly.”
“What would you do?”
“Hm?”
“If you ran away to the Keys. What would you do there?”
“I…” I think about it for a moment as I start to deglaze the pan with some wine. I shrug, “Maybe write fiction?”
“Hmm, daring romances with roguish British chefs?” He smirks, standing from his seat to walk around the bar to my side.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I jab even as my voice hitches in my throat.
He’s so close to me now — just inches behind me, watching my every movement, making me more nervous than ever.
“You’re deglazing a pan, luv, not churning butter over here,” Jasper says, closing his hand over mine on the spoon.
“I thought you were gonna let me do this,” I say in a husky whisper, surprised by myself.
Jasper’s other hand is on the counter, his arms caging me against the stove with his hard body pressed against me.
“Yes, but you’re just following the recipe,” he says.
I frown, turning to look him in his intense blue eyes, “What else am I supposed to do?”
His hand trails up and down my arm, the other settling on my hip as he presses his lips to my neck, making me shiver.
“Cooking a great dish is about more than ingredients and recipes,” he says, stirring to life a blazing need inside of me.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I hear myself purr, leaning back against his chest, pressing myself against him so that his hard erection nestles in the cleft of my ass.
I bite my lip, resisting a moan as he slowly moves my arm, kissing each side of my neck before husking, “Passion, luv.”
He takes the pan off the heat and turns the stove off before taking my wrist and turning me to face him.
There’s no escape. I’m trapped by the chiseled marble of his body. Forced into a prison of my own making. Not that I want to escape. My body is hot, flushed and alive with the nearness to him. Desire thrums through my veins and I feel light-headed. Overwhelmed. Delirious.
“Passion can take it from good, to great.”
Jasper’s fingers thread through my hair, grasping the back of my neck and I gasp as he pulls me in for a kiss.
This is nothing like the tentative kiss he gave me in the restaurant. This is hot and hungry, demanding and fierce. I’m clutching at him, tugging at his clothes in an instant. We move away from the stove and Jasper’s hands go to my ass, lifting me to the counter without ever pulling his lips from mine.
“Jasper,” I pant, but he’s pulling my shirt off, soon followed by my bra and then he’s got my nipple in his mouth and all thoughts fade from my mind, giving way to pure toe-curling pleasure.
“Save your better judgment for another time, luv,” he growls, capturing my lips again in a bruising kiss.
I answer him by clawing at his pants, sending them down his hips as I grasp at his thick
Jasper grins, “I wouldn’t say that. It has its perks — sexy journalists cooking dinner for me springs to mind,” he winks and I feel myself blushing.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Clearly not. You bring out my rakish side, darling.”
I puff out an exasperated breath with a smile, “I’m not sure you have another side.”
“But we know that you have alternate sides. So, what’s a nice girl like you doing drinking straight tequila?”
“I think I’m supposed to be the one asking questions.”
He nods, “You’re also supposed to be searing those lamb chops, not burning them.”
“Shit,” I grumble at the smoking pan, cautiously flipping the lamb to see just how bad the damage is.
“They’re not beyond salvation,” he says encouraging me.
“Right,” I say, pulling them from the heat. “When I was in college, a bunch of my girlfriends and I took a week-long trip to the Keys. Just endless days at the beach, snorkeling, and drinking tequila. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I want to run away and get an old house there like Hemingway had… Kind of silly.”
“What would you do?”
“Hm?”
“If you ran away to the Keys. What would you do there?”
“I…” I think about it for a moment as I start to deglaze the pan with some wine. I shrug, “Maybe write fiction?”
“Hmm, daring romances with roguish British chefs?” He smirks, standing from his seat to walk around the bar to my side.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I jab even as my voice hitches in my throat.
He’s so close to me now — just inches behind me, watching my every movement, making me more nervous than ever.
“You’re deglazing a pan, luv, not churning butter over here,” Jasper says, closing his hand over mine on the spoon.
“I thought you were gonna let me do this,” I say in a husky whisper, surprised by myself.
Jasper’s other hand is on the counter, his arms caging me against the stove with his hard body pressed against me.
“Yes, but you’re just following the recipe,” he says.
I frown, turning to look him in his intense blue eyes, “What else am I supposed to do?”
His hand trails up and down my arm, the other settling on my hip as he presses his lips to my neck, making me shiver.
“Cooking a great dish is about more than ingredients and recipes,” he says, stirring to life a blazing need inside of me.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I hear myself purr, leaning back against his chest, pressing myself against him so that his hard erection nestles in the cleft of my ass.
I bite my lip, resisting a moan as he slowly moves my arm, kissing each side of my neck before husking, “Passion, luv.”
He takes the pan off the heat and turns the stove off before taking my wrist and turning me to face him.
There’s no escape. I’m trapped by the chiseled marble of his body. Forced into a prison of my own making. Not that I want to escape. My body is hot, flushed and alive with the nearness to him. Desire thrums through my veins and I feel light-headed. Overwhelmed. Delirious.
“Passion can take it from good, to great.”
Jasper’s fingers thread through my hair, grasping the back of my neck and I gasp as he pulls me in for a kiss.
This is nothing like the tentative kiss he gave me in the restaurant. This is hot and hungry, demanding and fierce. I’m clutching at him, tugging at his clothes in an instant. We move away from the stove and Jasper’s hands go to my ass, lifting me to the counter without ever pulling his lips from mine.
“Jasper,” I pant, but he’s pulling my shirt off, soon followed by my bra and then he’s got my nipple in his mouth and all thoughts fade from my mind, giving way to pure toe-curling pleasure.
“Save your better judgment for another time, luv,” he growls, capturing my lips again in a bruising kiss.
I answer him by clawing at his pants, sending them down his hips as I grasp at his thick
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