Did the woman know what she was doing to him?
“Seems like a lot of trouble for a quesadilla.” Something he’d always thought of as kid food. Ellie, Travis, and Grady lived on them.
“Even simple dishes should be elevated to be the best they can be, according to you, Mr. Cowboy Know-It-All.”
“Well, this cowboy know-it-all is starved.” Starved for something entirely different than food.
He continued to watch her work, gliding through his kitchen in that stretchy top that left little to his imagination. Damn, he needed to date more. Have sex more. He wanted to tell himself that his infatuation with Gina was due to his dry spell. But he had a strict policy of never lying to himself.
Their chemistry was off the charts. Apparently, he had a thing for self-indulged smart-mouthed women whose lives were falling apart. Or maybe he just had a thing for Gina. And that wasn’t going to work.
Just a taste.
“Pass me the spatula.”
He leaned across the counter and swiped the cooking tool from a crock Aubrey had artfully arranged on his island. Instead of tossing it across the kitchen to her, he came up behind her while she heated a skillet over his six-burner range.
“Here you go,” he said so close to her ear that he could smell her shampoo. Something botanical.
She turned. “Thank you.”
Their eyes met and held. And that’s when he knew he was screwed.
He slid her away from the cooktop, boxed her in against the counter, and covered her mouth with his. She tasted like whipped cream, strawberries, and wine. Starved for more, the kiss became frenzied. She fisted her hands in his shirt, going up on her toes for more.
He pressed into her, his erection straining against his button fly. She moaned. It was the single best sound he’d ever heard.
“More?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t reading things wrong.
She tilted her head back. “God, yes.”
His hands roamed, first cupping her ass to pull her tighter against him. Then to her stomach, where he inched his way under her shirt. Her skin was warm and soft and he wanted more of it. He dragged her top over her head and tossed it away, leaving her in a black lace push-up bra that reminded him of the pinup girl calendars in Buck’s garage.
Sucking in a hard breath, he explored, working his hands up her rib cage. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and tugged.
“What?” he whispered. “You want them off?”
Her head fell back. “I—uh—please.”
He lifted her onto the countertop and undid the front clasp of her bra. She let the straps slip down her shoulders while he took his fill of looking at her. Beautiful. Not the sex kitten chef she played on TV. Real flesh-and-blood woman.
Ravishing woman.
He slowly pulled her straps the rest of the way down and tossed the bra in the same vicinity as her shirt. His hands reached for her breasts, weighing each one in his hand. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, watching them pebble to hardened buds.
“Sawyer,” she said in a breathy voice.
He kissed her again, letting his lips trail down her throat to the valley between her breasts. Then took each perfect globe into his mouth, sucking and laving until she nearly came off the counter.
He moved over her stomach, kissing and swirling his tongue around her belly button. Her skin tasted like a mixture of salt and perfume.
“You’re killing me.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He cocked his head to the side and looked up at her. “Don’t die.” His hands slipped under her skirt, filling his palms with two bare ass cheeks.
Ah, mystery solved. A thong.
He dragged the scrap of lace down her legs and kissed the inside of her thighs. “Mmm, you taste good.”
