Turning Up The Heat

His fingers stroked up her arm to her shoulder, the touch electric. “The question, Phoebe, was about your bra.” Hooking his index finger beneath her tank top, he tugged on the slim bra strap beneath. Then he sat back with a nod. “Black cotton. Not a bad start.”

She stood, feeling suddenly restless and defensive. “I’m sure you’ve had experience with many bras, but I don’t think you can actually tell that much about me from—”

“It has nothing to do with my opinion. No judgment, remember? It’s about your self-image. Charisma is confidence—or at least being able to fake confidence exceptionally well.” Getting to his feet, he held out his hand. “Come with me.”

“We’re not going lingerie shopping, are we?” Most stores would be closed, but there was always online retail. Besides, she’d bet next month’s rent that he could charm a female manager into keeping a store open late for him.

“No. Although, if you want an expert opinion the next time you—ow.” He made a show of rubbing his ribs where she’d jabbed him. “Was that really necessary?”

She gave him a sunny smile. “It really was.”

“Brute.” He walked to the opposite side of the room and at first she thought he was heading down the hallway. Toward his bedroom?

Her heart fluttered wildly, and she couldn’t pin down whether the reaction was panic that Heath might make a move on her, or hopeful excitement. She knew he would never try to talk her in to something she didn’t want to do. The problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted. A wicked inner voice whispered, Rebound fling. Wasn’t that a time-honored response to breakups? But flinging with a longtime friend—one who was Cam’s business partner, no less—would be fraught with complications she didn’t need.

Then she realized Heath wasn’t going into the hall. He’d stopped in front of a large oval mirror in a gold-leaf frame that hung in the corner of the living room.

She raised an eyebrow. “Full-length mirror in the living room. Narcissism?”

He laughed. “Good feng shui, supposedly. It was a gift from an interior decorator I briefly dated.”

Naturally. If Phoebe had a dollar for every woman he’d “briefly dated,” she could open her own bakery in Paris.

Motioning her closer to the mirror, he changed the subject. “Did I tell you I’m one of this year’s Over-Under honorees?”

It was an annual list of five people in the city’s restaurant industry playfully deemed “overachievers under thirty.”

“No! I can’t believe you haven’t mentioned it until now.” She was thrilled for him, but a little embarrassed they’d spent so much time on her issues that it hadn’t come up. “Congratulations, that’s fantastic news.”

He hitched one shoulder in an uncharacteristically modest shrug. “I appreciate the free publicity for Piri, but this award has always felt a bit like a popularity contest. It’s not the most valid recognition out there.”

“Of course you’re blasé about popularity contests,” she teased. “You’ve probably been winning them since kindergarten.”

“Ha! Shows what you know. I—” He frowned. His abrupt halt was unlike him. In the event that he lost his train of thought, he was usually smooth enough to cover it.

“You what?” she prompted.

He flashed a brief smile. “I’ve been winning them since preschool. Now focus.” His hands settled on her hips all too briefly as he slid her to his right so that she took up most of their shared reflection. “The reason I brought up being an honoree was because I wanted to tell you about the beautiful woman I’m asking to the awards luncheon.”

“Oh.” Disappointment left a sour taste in her mouth—so much for his being willing to curtail his romantic activities long enough to let people think they were dating.

He tapped a finger against her forehead. “You, Mars. Take a look and tell me I wouldn’t be the luckiest guy there if you went with me.”

His words melted away the disappointment, yet left a tiny kernel of guilt in its place. Despite his dismissive comment about popularity contests, the Over-Under luncheon was considered prestigious in their community. He should take a real date, not just someone trying to make an ex jealous. Her gaze flew to his. “Are you sure you—”

“How did you manage culinary school? You don’t follow instructions.” He stepped behind her, cupping her shoulders and turning her back toward the mirror. “You’re supposed to be looking there.”

“I feel silly.” That was only half true. When she concentrated on her reflection, like she was supposed to be chanting a mantra of “I’m good enough, I’m pretty enough,” she did indeed feel silly. But when she concentrated on how close Heath was standing, on how good he smelled and the warmth of his strong fingers curving over her bare skin...her pulse quickened, and longing sizzled through her.

This was more tangible than the shivery tingles she’d felt earlier; now it was a full-on craving and she couldn’t stop herself from slightly leaning into him. The movement was small, so barely perceptible he might not have even noticed. But then his eyes arrested hers in the mirror, his pupils dilated, his gaze intensified. He noticed.

His voice was a soft growl in her ear. “What do you see in the mirror, Phoebe?”

An incredibly hot man more than capable of giving her a sexual adventure.

That’s probably not what he means.

With their bodies so close, could he feel the quiver that went through her? She was turned on, and the longer they stood together, the more the ache of arousal intensified. She was tempted to shut her eyes, as if that would provide some escape, yet she couldn’t look away from the picture they presented. He was broad shouldered and tall, but not enough to loom over her—a good height for kissing without craning her neck or having to stand on her toes. His naturally tan skin was a strong contrast to her pale complexion; their bodies tangled together would be like caramel-swirled cheesecake. Not that she planned to say any of that out loud.

She gave herself a mental shake, trying to regain her composure. Heath was giving her his time and effort to help her develop sensual confidence, and whether she thought this was the way to go about it or not, she owed him her cooperation. She obediently studied her reflection. “I see an attractive—”

“Beautiful.”

Her lips twitched. “I thought this was about what I see.”

“Well, since your vision is obviously fuzzy, I’m helping. Like glasses or contact lenses. Try again.”

“I see a beautiful redhead with light brown eyes—”

“Your eyes are like antique gold, treasure capable of making men lose their minds.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered, but it was difficult not to smile at his extravagant words. Was there any truth to them, or was all of the embellishment strictly to elevate her self-image? She looked hard at the mirror, attempting to view herself the way he described, to block out the chipped nail polish on her toes and the five extra pounds she didn’t need and the way her bun had been knocked crooked from resting her head on the couch.

She reached for the rubber band that held her hair back. “I should have worn my hair down.”

He caught her fingers. “I would normally agree with you—you have great hair—but you have a graceful neck, too.” As he spoke, he trailed his knuckles across the curve of her neck. “Gives a man ideas. About doing this.”

Transfixed, she watched him lower his dark head toward her, anticipation coiling tighter until his teeth grazed an excruciatingly sensitive spot below her jaw. Her legs buckled, and his hands came to her hips, holding her steady. The woman in the mirror was flushed, her lips parted, her hardened nipples visible through the silk of the tank top. The skirt she’d judged as practically conservative earlier in the evening now seemed like a tantalizing length. She couldn’t help imagining Heath dropping his hands to the hem, inching the fabric upward so that his fingers could skate over the delicate flesh of her inner thighs. She trembled. He turned his head, his gaze momentarily meeting hers in their reflection, then he trailed openmouthed kisses down the slope of her neck, stirring pleasure inside her that was almost dizzying in its intensity.

Her eyes slid shut, her total focus on the dual sensations of his mouth hot on her skin and the rock-hard erection pressed against her. She shifted her hips, unable to resist rubbing against him. His grip on her tightened, and he sucked in a breath before nipping at her collarbone. She might not be an experienced seductress, or the type of woman who had leather in her lingerie drawer, but she’d sure as hell aroused Heath.

You and how many other women?

The unwelcome thought chilled some of her ardor. “Wait.” Her eyes opened, and she swayed forward, not quite moving out of his embrace, but no longer subtly rocking against him. It wasn’t that she disapproved of Heath’s affairs; his love life was between him and the women who’d eagerly shared it. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to become one of their number.

His hands fell to his sides, and he rested his forehead lightly on her shoulder, not meeting her gaze in the mirror. She was grateful. She felt too raw to face him just yet.

But she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Wh-why did you do that?” Even though she’d asked for his help, she didn’t want those kisses to be an act of charity. “I know we’re pretending to date, but there’s no audience here.”

“The more accustomed you are to me touching you, the more comfortable you’ll be when there is an audience. That’s not the main reason I kissed you, though.”

“No?”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Selfish hedonist, remember? You felt damn good in my arms. But I’m not so selfish that I don’t realize it’s been a long day for you.” He stepped away. “First a shift at work, then coming over here. I should let you get home to bed.”

Just hearing him say bed caused her to feel achy and overheated. She nodded hastily. “Yeah, I should probably go.” Tonight had given her a lot to think about.

“But I’ll see you Thursday?” he asked. “For lunch?”