Page 2 of Sweet Fantasies

But that’s not what happens. He’s slamming his lips down on mine before I can say a word…or blink. I mumble into his perfect mouth and his tongue finds mine, tangling, rubbing and sliding. Making love to my tongue like it’s its job.

My hands fist and I wrap them around his neck, my fingers flexing into the sinewy muscles of his upper back and neck, tangling in his hair and wrenching hard at it.

He grunts and steps into me, pushing me back until I’m slammed against a wall, my body snug against his, all his shifting muscles pressed right into my sagging body.

And the hard bar of his cock pressing into my belly, making my pulse skitter like a midnight prowler running into someone in the dark.

This cannot be happening. I cannot be kissing Ryan Barker, ego chef.

I need help. So much help.

RYAN

What the hell am I doing?

She moans and moves against me and fire sizzles along my nerve endings, short-circuiting my brain cells until I can think about is how much I want the warm woman leaning against me. My hands trace the indent of her waist and follow the lush curves of her round hips and ass. She moans and my dick strains against my work pants.

I run my hand up her back and around to cup the plump, round breast pushed against my chest. She sucks in a breath and I growl, my finger taunting her nipple until I feel the little point begging for my attention.

Her hips writhe against me and I run my hands back down and then around to her ass, cupping the round flesh in my hands until I lift her and her thick thighs wrap all the way around my hips and I feel the damn heat of her center pressed against my weeping cock.

Fuck!

I can’t think about anything but her thick curves spread out against me and it takes all my strength not to strip her right here and slam my aching rod into her slick heat.

“Whoa! Sorry, chef!” The door slams and I lift my head from her throat, panting, my vision gradually clearing from my lust-induced red haze.

Her cloudy brown eyes stare up at me dazed, gradually filling with horror as she comes back down.

I step back and drop her down to the ground like she’s on fire. I turn away, running my hands through my hair and tugging at it hard.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I mutter under my breath. My hands still tingle from her skin under my fingers. My body feels like it’s electrified. I can’t suck in a full breath of air. It’s like she’s sucked half of my soul out of my body.

“What the hell was that?” She whispers, her face flushing as she straightens her own work clothes. Her body behind that fucking chef’s coat is making my brain spin out of control and I don’t like it one fucking bit.

“That was a fucking mistake,” I growl under my breath.

She straightens and all the color leaches out of her skin, leaving her wan and pale. But her eyes flash whiskey fire. She stomps up to me and jams her finger in my chest. Fire flashes where she touches me and I suck in air slowly, trying to control my raging body, my chest rising and falling under her finger. She shoots me a wary look and backs away. I know one damn thing from just that one touch.

I cannot touch this woman again.

“I hope you realize that that was on you, buddy! That was your mistake. I…”

I shoot her a wry look. “Don’t tell me. You weren’t a fucking willing participant. You didn’t wrap those long legs around me and grind your pussy on my dick. None of that, right?”

She backs away, her mouth falling open. “You are a damn bastard!” She slams her way out of the cooler and I stand there for a minute, stunned.

I honestly don’t know what the hell happened. One minute we were discussing a shit-ton of grievances and then we were wrapped around each other like we were never going to let go. Like we couldn’t survive without each other.

And I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t like her. I don’t want any woman.

Coming home and finding my fiancé fucking my best friend in our bed with my ring flashing on her finger did something to me. Something is permanently broken in my heart and head.

Or at least I thought it was. Now I’m not so sure.

I can still picture Anna Arnold standing there with those damnable curves, the wicked sparkle in her whiskey eyes. The way she bit her bottom lip when she looked at me from under her thick, dark lashes.

She’s so damn tempting. And I don’t need or want it.

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