his grip, and now, now, he was touching her, just as she’d pictured, and she leaned into the touch, into his thumb tracing along her bottom lip, the desire building and building.
Flynn leaned forward. Slow. Tentative. Taking his time. Because he was unsure? Waiting for her response? His gaze never left hers. Then his fingers slipped down to her neck, dancing along the sensitive skin of her throat—
And he kissed her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
F LYNN HADN’T INTENDED to kiss Samantha Barnett—he could honestly say in all the years he had covered the restaurant business that he had never kissed anyone that he had interviewed. But something had come over him, and the temptation to taste those lips—to see if his theory about neither of them being interested in the other would hold up—had overwhelmed him.
He knew it wasn’t her grandmother’s cookies; he hadn’t even eaten any of those. And either way, truth be told, he’d wanted to kiss Sam pretty much from minute one. Okay, maybe minute two. And now that he finally had—
The experience had lived up to his every expectation. And then some. Kissing Samantha Barnett was like coming home, only Flynn had never really experienced a home, just dreamed of one. She was soft, and welcoming, warm and giving, and yet, she inspired a passion in him, a craving, for more.
But that would be unwise. He was a bulldog, the one who got the article at all costs, not the puppy cowed by a sweet treat.
So Flynn pulled back. “That, ah, won’t be part of the article.”
“Good.” Sam let out a little laugh. “I definitely don’t need Bakery Owner Kisses Reporter in Exchange for Good PR as part of the headline.” She traced a line along the edge of the painted green bench. “Then what was that? Research?”
He chuckled. When was the last time he’d laughed, really laughed? Hell, if he couldn’t remember, then it had definitely been too long. Sam was intoxicating, in more ways than one, and that was dangerous ground to tread. “No, not part of the research. Though, if there is a line of work that lets me kiss you as part of my job—”
“Sorry, no. I’m not part of anyone’s resume.”
“Pity. And here I was all ready to fill out a job application, too.”
What was he saying? He needed to grab hold of his objectivity, and not let go.
A smile slid across her lips, and something that approached joy ballooned in Flynn’s chest. The feeling was foreign, new. “You’re turning into a joke a minute, Flynn MacGregor. Before you know it, you’ll be appearing on a late night comedy special.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s me. Flynn the comic.” He chuckled. Again. Twice in the space of one minute. That had to be an all-time personal record.
He watched her join him in laughter, and the temptation to kiss her again rose inside him, fast and furious. Flynn jerked his attention away and began to unlace his skates. “I should probably get back to work.”
“All work and no play?”
He looked up at her. “I could say the same for you.”
“Oh, I play. Sometimes.”
“When?” He moved closer to her, ignoring the warning bells in his head reminding him he should be working, not flirting. “Is there a nonbusiness side to Samantha Barnett?”
It was a pure research question. The kind he could use to delve deeper, expose a vulnerable vein. He’d done it a hundred times—
Except this time he found his attention not on how he would write up her answer, or what his next question would be, but on whether her answer would be something that would interest him, too. Something they could do together.
She brushed her bangs out of her face, revealing more of her heart-shaped countenance. “Well, Christmas, for sure. I love this time of year.”
“I think it’s a prerequisite for living in this town.”
“You might learn to love the holiday, too,” she said. “In fact, if you’re looking for something to cultivate your feelings for Christmas, you could go to the Riverbend
Flynn leaned forward. Slow. Tentative. Taking his time. Because he was unsure? Waiting for her response? His gaze never left hers. Then his fingers slipped down to her neck, dancing along the sensitive skin of her throat—
And he kissed her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
F LYNN HADN’T INTENDED to kiss Samantha Barnett—he could honestly say in all the years he had covered the restaurant business that he had never kissed anyone that he had interviewed. But something had come over him, and the temptation to taste those lips—to see if his theory about neither of them being interested in the other would hold up—had overwhelmed him.
He knew it wasn’t her grandmother’s cookies; he hadn’t even eaten any of those. And either way, truth be told, he’d wanted to kiss Sam pretty much from minute one. Okay, maybe minute two. And now that he finally had—
The experience had lived up to his every expectation. And then some. Kissing Samantha Barnett was like coming home, only Flynn had never really experienced a home, just dreamed of one. She was soft, and welcoming, warm and giving, and yet, she inspired a passion in him, a craving, for more.
But that would be unwise. He was a bulldog, the one who got the article at all costs, not the puppy cowed by a sweet treat.
So Flynn pulled back. “That, ah, won’t be part of the article.”
“Good.” Sam let out a little laugh. “I definitely don’t need Bakery Owner Kisses Reporter in Exchange for Good PR as part of the headline.” She traced a line along the edge of the painted green bench. “Then what was that? Research?”
He chuckled. When was the last time he’d laughed, really laughed? Hell, if he couldn’t remember, then it had definitely been too long. Sam was intoxicating, in more ways than one, and that was dangerous ground to tread. “No, not part of the research. Though, if there is a line of work that lets me kiss you as part of my job—”
“Sorry, no. I’m not part of anyone’s resume.”
“Pity. And here I was all ready to fill out a job application, too.”
What was he saying? He needed to grab hold of his objectivity, and not let go.
A smile slid across her lips, and something that approached joy ballooned in Flynn’s chest. The feeling was foreign, new. “You’re turning into a joke a minute, Flynn MacGregor. Before you know it, you’ll be appearing on a late night comedy special.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s me. Flynn the comic.” He chuckled. Again. Twice in the space of one minute. That had to be an all-time personal record.
He watched her join him in laughter, and the temptation to kiss her again rose inside him, fast and furious. Flynn jerked his attention away and began to unlace his skates. “I should probably get back to work.”
“All work and no play?”
He looked up at her. “I could say the same for you.”
“Oh, I play. Sometimes.”
“When?” He moved closer to her, ignoring the warning bells in his head reminding him he should be working, not flirting. “Is there a nonbusiness side to Samantha Barnett?”
It was a pure research question. The kind he could use to delve deeper, expose a vulnerable vein. He’d done it a hundred times—
Except this time he found his attention not on how he would write up her answer, or what his next question would be, but on whether her answer would be something that would interest him, too. Something they could do together.
She brushed her bangs out of her face, revealing more of her heart-shaped countenance. “Well, Christmas, for sure. I love this time of year.”
“I think it’s a prerequisite for living in this town.”
“You might learn to love the holiday, too,” she said. “In fact, if you’re looking for something to cultivate your feelings for Christmas, you could go to the Riverbend
Similar Books
