Last First Kiss by Lia Riley

Author:Lia Riley [Riley, Lia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00P6U68K0
Publisher: Avon Impulse
Published: 2015-06-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

DINNER WENT BETTER than fine. Sawyer proved himself an eager sous chef, rolling up his plaid shirtsleeves to reveal powerful forearm muscles that flexed as he diced. Despite his height and powerful build, he moved around her kitchen with surprising grace, happy to take direction. His willingness to trust her was as sexy as his Wrangler-clad ass, and that was really saying something. Gregor always second-guessed her choices; confident he’d improve upon them. Sawyer didn’t flinch when she requested that he separate the egg yolks, stir them into the creamy Parmesan cheese mixture, and then pour the whole concoction over the linguini.

“The raw eggs cook on the hot pasta,” she explained, coming up behind him to sprinkle in parsley, just so he’d be reassured a semblance of a plan existed. “I omitted the pancetta, hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds good,” he said offhandedly, sucking cream off his fingertip.

Her breath audibly hitched. If she said the word, he’d lick her with that tongue, touch her with those fingers. She’d forgotten the way desire created a free-falling, vertigo sensation, as if the bottom dropped from her own personal Gravitron.

It felt good. God, it felt good. Part of her was terrified, and another part wanted to throw her head back and laugh with sheer dizzy glee.

The meal held a few awkward silences, but the wine and long looks smoothed everything over, even if all the crossing and uncrossing of her legs made it impossible to eat much.

After dinner, he rose to clean up.

“No, no,” she said as she waved her hands. “Sit.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got this covered. Your job is to relax and finish that glass.”

She took a sip of the pinot. He hadn’t brought over a fancy bottle. The Brightwater Save-U-More only carried the big, mainstream brands. Gregor would scoff at it, but the flavor was perfect, deliciously robust and strong, like the man washing her dishes.

After he finished drying, again at his insistence, she invited him to the back porch swing to enjoy a mason jar of homemade lemonade. “It’s made with agave,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“A succulent that creates a syrup that’s sweet like honey.”

His brows knit. “Why not use regular honey? You’ve got the apiary for it, down in the far west corner.”

“Is that still there?” She hadn’t even ventured to that part of the property yet.

“Sure is. We’ll go visit it soon.”

The swing’s chain creaked slightly as they watched the moon rise over the range. Her bare knee grazed his thigh as he rocked them back and forth. The denim roughed her skin, soft and worn, like he was a man who worked hard.

And played harder.

A mosquito buzzed and she reflexively slapped the side of her neck. “Dang, it bit me.”

“Here, let me help,” Sawyer reached into his jar, plucked an ice cube, and ran it over her neck. A bead of water trailed down her skin, disappearing under her collar. The cold tightened her nipples and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Better?”

“Does that really help?”

“Depends how badly you need to scratch an itch.

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