Tanya Michaels - Turning Up The Heat

“I know.” Her eyes locked with his.

Did she feel the same blast of heat that surged through him? The cold bottle of wine was a welcome respite. He poured two glasses, obligingly filling hers almost to the rim.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Not just for the wine or dinner, but for all of this. It’s not like I can make Cam jealous by myself, right?”

“So you’ve decided you definitely want to win him back?” He reached for one of the skillets hanging over the kitchen island and smacked it down on the burner.

“I don’t know. My emotions are all jumbled up. But there was a married couple who came into the bar last week to celebrate their tenth anniversary—the man had the pianists serenade his wife with a song from their wedding. When I see people like that, part of me still imagines me and Cam ten or fifteen years from now. I thought he was my future.” She sipped her wine. “I suppose you never think about the future.”

“Sure I do. All the time.” He turned on the gas burner, then poured olive oil into the skillet. “Most of my waking hours lately have been spent thinking about scouting restaurant locations in Miami.” He’d made some excellent contacts over the past few years attending the South Beach Food and Wine Festival, and he’d identified several flourishing neighborhoods that might be a good fit for his and Cam’s second venture.

“I meant a romantic future,” Phoebe said. “Do you think you’ll ever want more than hot one-night stands?”

“Some of those are hot weekends. I can go longer than a single night.”

For a change, she didn’t blush at his teasing. Instead, she wagged her finger at him. “You aren’t as shallow as you let people believe.”

“Wanna bet?”

There was a stubborn glint in her eye, but rather than argue, she took another sip of her drink. “Maybe I spend too much time trying to plan for the future. Gwen thinks I need to live in the moment and...have adventures.”

He grinned. “What kind of adventures?” Knowing her roommate, Gwen wasn’t suggesting scuba diving or hot-air-balloon rides. Sex on a hot-air balloon, maybe.

Now Phoebe did blush, a rosy stain spreading across her face. She glanced past him at the stove, where oil hissed and sizzled in the pan. “You should turn down the heat.”

He obligingly flicked the control knob before adding the scallops. “I thought our purpose was to turn up the heat. You wanted to know if you could be more seductive, right? Exciting?” Those had been her exact words. Heath had the sudden urge to offer her all the excitement she could handle. “What’s the most exciting sexual thing you’ve done?”

“Lose my virginity? Although exciting isn’t the first adjective I’d pick to describe that encounter.” Frustration pinched her expression. “People like you and Gwen don’t get it—some of us aren’t exciting. That’s why I’m here.”

If her love life hadn’t been exhilarating enough, then her sexual partners were also to blame. But he didn’t point that out, not wanting to reintroduce Cam in the conversation. “All right, what adventurous things have you thought about doing? ’Fess up. If you didn’t have a wicked streak, you wouldn’t have sought my help.”

“I guess that’s true.” After a moment’s consideration, her lips curved in a small secret smile that left him hard. It was the naughtiest expression he’d ever seen on her face, a glimpse at the mischievous Phoebe he’d known was there but who was seldom allowed to come out and play. Damn, she was sexy. If Heath’s shirt hadn’t been untucked, the situation might be embarrassing.

“Phoebe Mars. What dirty thing are you imagining?” And are you in need of a volunteer?

“When Gwen and I first moved into our apartment, back before I met Ca—back when I was single,” she amended, “we lived across from a guy who worked at a local gym. He was so toned.” She paused for a moment, appreciating the memory. “Anyway, my desk is pushed up against my bedroom window—almost blocking it, but not completely. I was searching recipes on the computer and when I glanced up, I realized his blinds were partially open. He was undressing in his room, and he was, um, erect.”

Yeah, there was a lot of that going around.

“Before he disappeared from view, I saw him reach down and grip his erection.” Her breathing was audible, her face flushed.

“And you wanted to watch him get off?”

“No—well, maybe,” she reflected. “But for a second, I thought he might have seen me through the window and my imagination ran wild. I imagined him catching me naked. Imagined what it would be like for him to watch me...touch myself.”

Working in a kitchen required being good with one’s hands. Heath had seen her knead and stir and frost countless times. Now his gaze flew to those talented hands, and he was assailed by the erotic image of her fingers cupped over the red-gold curls between her thighs, furiously working her sex. Or would she take her time with leisurely caresses, drawing out her pleasure? He’d thought he was hard before? His dick was like steel.

She bit her lip, and he tried not to imagine the scrape of her teeth across his skin. “I shocked you, didn’t I?”

Hell, yes. In the best possible way. “Of course not. This is me. I’m unshockable.”

“Really?”

“It’s not uncommon to have exhibitionist or voyeurism fantasies.” He would be having several later tonight.

Her expression brightened with so much joy that one would think she’d just been named the ACF Pastry Chef of the Year. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. But I’m not sure what I did to deserve gratitude.”

She looked down, concentrating on her wineglass rather than meeting his gaze. “My mom got pregnant as a teen, and she worked really hard to make sure that never happened to me. Most of my life, I was half convinced kissing was evil, never mind fantasies about...”

“Masturbating in front of a sexy stranger?”

The blunt words heightened the color in her cheeks, but she nodded. “You’re a relief to be around. I mean, you’re cocky and frequently a pain in the ass—”

“Guilty.”

“But you aren’t judgmental and I don’t constantly worry that I’m going to disappoint you. You’re a good friend, Heath.”

A better friend would help her win back the man she loved without picturing her naked. “No, I’m a selfish hedonist. But the benefit of having no shame is that I don’t let it bother me.”

Her lips twitched, and she raised her glass. “To shameless pleasure.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

PHOEBE LEANED BACK against the cool leather of the couch, her feet tucked beneath her while her sandals lay askew on the floor. Dinner had been yummy and their discussion hadn’t been quite as charged as she’d feared. After what she’d revealed earlier, she hadn’t known what to expect and had experienced a moment of apprehension when they sat down together.

Almost as if sensing her nerves, Heath had kicked off an innocuous conversation about how they’d tweak the Braves lineup if they had the power to trade players. Later, when she’d brought up wanting to add some new savory pastries to James’s menu, Heath had waggled his brows and teased her about experimentation. But, by Heath standards, he’d behaved. Now she was enjoying the nighttime view through the window while he washed dishes, which he’d insisted on doing himself. The city lights twinkled, combining with the two glasses of wine she’d had to make her feel utterly relaxed.

Liar.

If she were honest with herself, she’d acknowledge the buzz of awareness that crackled beneath the surface of mellow contentment. When Heath’s green eyes landed on her or he moved close to refill her glass, it was not relaxing. She felt tense—not in the stressed-out, frazzled kind of way, but high-strung just the same. All her senses were on full alert, and her skin tingled. It was a reaction that had caught her off guard when she arrived earlier and continued to take her by surprise, even though one would think she’d have adjusted after the first time. But it was disorienting to react so strongly to Heath. Sure, he was attractive—maybe one of the best-looking men in Atlanta—but he always had been. They’d worked together for over a year and she’d never felt this way.