My teeth sink a little harder into my lip.
Max lets out a rumbling groan and drags one hand across his stubbled jaw.
Oh. Oh no. That should not be as sexy as it is.
The curve of his mouth. The rough shadow of stubble framing it. The way his thumb brushes along his lower lip before dropping away.
My stomach somersaults, and I can’t help but clench my thighs together.
His full lips move, and I automatically start nodding.
Could he be some kind of magickal creature I’ve never heard of before? Something rare and big and muscled and delicious. A supernatural being whose primary ability is standing around half naked and slurping the common sense right of women’s brains. If he’s interested, I have more body parts that need slurping.
My pulse flutters between my legs, and my grip tightens on the cake stand. If I bite my lip any harder, I’m going to draw blood.
“I’m a judge,” he says slowly.
“Yeah, you are.” I blink, his words taking a second to register.
His delectable lips twitch. “You have cake.”
“Yes. I do. Cake. I have cake.”
Wonderful. What am I, a caveman?
Be more articulate, Lila!
“I, uh, I made it for you.” I lift the cake slightly before thinking better of it and balancing the stand firmly back against my chest. “As a sneak peek for the Summer Festival’s upcoming competition.”
His attention drops to the cake stand pressed into the soft mounds of my chest, his gaze lingering long enough to make my stomach flip before returning to my face.
“Like an amuse-bouche.” His voice is as rich and silky as buttercream.
I didn’t realize a man casually using French culinary terms could be so hot.
I swallow. “If you can eat it all in one bite.”
His lips part around a breathy laugh, and the horny little gremlin who’s taken over my body wants to dig my fingers in the cake just so he has something to lick off.
“Oh,” he says, voice dipping lower, “I can eat up every drop.”
Heat climbs my neck and floods my cheeks before spreading through my limbs like sunlight.
Max’s eyes don’t leave mine, and the air between us tightens until it feels like we’re the only two people on earth. Everything else—the birds, the flowers, the ridiculous gift basket, even Candi—fades into the background. I’m hopelessly lost in those impossible green eyes, lulled into a perilous sort of softness by that crooked smile, absolutely dripping for the broad, sculpted expanse of man chest taunting me with its nakedness.
As sunlight glides over every hard line of muscle, my horny gremlin goes absolutely feral, conjuring all sorts of lascivious images:
Me as the pastry, bent over the kitchen island and getting my own cream filling.
Him on his knees in front of me, that crooked smile all wet and glistening.
Me on my knees in front of him, choking down whatever cannoli those loose shorts are hiding.
My mouth waters with the thought.
Goodness gracious. I didn’t think my hormones could ambush me in broad daylight as a full-grown adult, but I’ve never been so turned on by meeting a neighbor in my life. Granted, most of my neighbors have known me since I was eating tiny fistfuls of sand at the beach.
Max’s nostrils flare almost imperceptibly. The easy smile slips from his face, and his jaw tightens. His pupils dilate, his expression turning from playful to primal.
