The Chef's Choice: The Chef's Choice. Kristin Hardy

moistened her lips, never taking her eyes from his. “I don’t know what to think about you.” “Do you have to?”

      It was imperative, somehow. But his hand was slipping back to curve around her neck, leaving a trail of heat that turned all her muscles liquid. She was sinking into lassitude and heat and wanting.

      And wanting.

      “I need to know,” she murmured as he bent his head to hers. “I need …"

      “What?” he whispered.

      And then his mouth was on hers.

      They had no business kissing out here in the parking lot where anyone could see them; Cady knew it but she couldn’t make it matter. It wasn’t the time, it wasn’t the place, but the whole notion of right time and right place didn’t seem important anymore. They could have been in a million different places at a million different times and still all she would have been able to register would be the heat of his mouth on hers.

      He had a reputation as a volatile genius, as an unapologetic player. She’d never expected gentleness from him. Yet it was gentleness he gave; sweet, persuasive caresses that undermined her defenses and left her helpless to do anything but sink into the warmth and the pleasure.