“Oh, no,” she said as she shook her head, instantly unnerved if the alarm in her voice was any indication. “I don’t need help. Go work in your office if you can’t sleep.”
Rafe laughed. “What’s the matter, Jen? Kitchen getting too hot for you?”
She sneered at him. “Please. You can’t dare me into a corner. Besides, I’m almost done here. Go away and let me finish.” She waved a hand to shoo him out the door.
“It is my kitchen, remember?”
“Which your cousin gave me free rein of this evening. Remember?”
Rafe slipped the last disc from its hole and his shirt fell open. Jenna’s gasp was a soft, lusty one this time as her gaze snapped to his pecs and abs, a magnet to steel. Her breathing picked up again.
She wasn’t the only one breathing heavy. Rafe felt the effects of her reaction to him to the depths of his soul.
Somewhat vindicated to have evened the playing field, not to mention spurred on by the flicker of sheer feminine appreciation in her eyes, he slipped out of the shirt and tossed it aside. She continued to stare at him, as though mesmerized. Her jaw even slackened.
Biting back a cocky grin, Rafe went for the top button at the waist of his jeans.
This brought her around.
“Whoa!” Jenna cried out. The hand she’d used to try to shoo him out of the kitchen jerked up again to halt him in his tracks. “Pants stay on, sailor!”
Rafe chuckled. He hadn’t planned to strip down. Just wanted to see how she’d respond to the indication he might. Ruffling her feathers was an exciting game. Granted, two strong constitutions didn’t exactly make for sensible rationale, but this unanticipated flirtation offered the most stimulation he’d experienced in longer than he could recall. So what the hell, right?
She made a move to slip from the table, but he placed a hand on her thigh to stop her. Touching her was another risky endeavor. His erection throbbed as he thought of gliding his palm over her supple skin. Brushing his fingers a little higher until he grazed that soft, inviting spot at the apex of her legs…
“Relax,” he said in a low voice. “I’m just messing with you.”
Sort of.
She gave him a smirk of her own. “Think twice about that. Two can play this game.”
How he knew that to be true! And she was damn good at it. A warning he ought to heed.
Sliding onto the stool next to where she still sat, he surveyed the eight dishes lined up along the far side of the table. She’d already nibbled on the first seven food samples.
“Looks like you’re ready to move onto the lasagna bolognese.”
“Saved the best for last,” she said as her gaze returned to his chest. Her teeth sank into her lower lip for a moment. Her voice was low and provocative as she added, “Though, I had lobster risotto and oysters earlier, two aphrodisiacs that make my toes curl.”
“Have you forgotten I’m Italian? All food is an aphrodisiac to me.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his and she seemed to contemplate their current predicament as the air crackled between them.
Eventually, she said, “Guess it’s a little late in the day to keep this arrangement on a professional level.”
“That ship has sailed,” he agreed. “But I can take it if you can.”
She nibbled her lip again. Telling him, without saying a word, she knew as well as he did they should tread lightly. But like him, he suspected she knew that was impossible.
Jenna picked up her fork and dug into the lasagna. Rafe watched her savor the cuisine, his gut clenching. At first, he reacted to the fact that she was eating his food and might find fault with it. But as she squeezed her legs together and her nipples puckered behind the black lace of her bra, his body tightened in a nearly unbearable way. Her eyes closed and she let out a long sigh.
“Delicious,” she mumbled in a dreamy voice. “I’ve waited three years to taste this again. It’s even more spectacular than I remember. Tangy sauce, zesty meat. And the ricotta… So creamy, it melts on my tongue.”
Rafe groaned as he watched her practically orgasm over his food. Needing something to douse the flames that flared in his stomach again, he set two wineglasses before him.
“What’d you intend to pair with the lasagna? Cabernet Sauvignon?” His voice was gruffer than usual. As strained as his cock against the fly of his jeans.
She opened her eyes and her gaze appeared slightly unfocused. “Um, no. The Cabernet Franc.” She shook her head, as though to dislodge naughty thoughts rambling around in her mind. How he wished she’d just say them out loud. He was more than capable of fulfilling any requests she might have, to hell with the consequences.