Page 34 of Love to Hate You

Suddenly, it was about more than just winning a bet. It was about proving to Summer that he wasn’t this monster she’d made him out to be. And he needed time to do that. Time to turn her opinion of him in his favor.

They were going to be working next door to each other—at least until he moved on to the next project, which would be Los Angeles. It would be nice to live in harmony. Even better would be to take the feud between the sheets and argue it out in bed. He’d meant what he’d said, they’d shatter the sheetrock. He was sure of it.

But while he knew she wanted him, he was pretty sure she still hated him. Which meant he needed a plan. And a good one. He only had a week to prove to her that they’d be great together—physically. Emotionally, they were like oil and vinegar. But if he could just occupy her mouth for two minutes, he knew he could get into her bed.

“Go on, love. Take a bite,” he encouraged.

She took a sniff and then crinkled her nose at him. His stomach dropped. Then those lush lips of hers parted and she put the fork in, and he knew the minute she realized that he wasn’t bullshitting about his cooking prowess. Her extraordinary eyes went wide with genuine surprise and then something resembling panic flickered there. This wasn’t going to be the sweep she’d expected.

“So?” he asked. “Too much olive oil?”

“It isn’t terrible. A little overcooked, but not terrible,” she said quietly, and he laughed. “I’d give it an eight out of ten.”

“It’s a winner and you know it.”

“We’ll have to see what the judges say,” she said primly. “But don’t get your hopes up, you still haven’t tasted mine.”

“Then let’s rectify that.” He picked up his fork and spoon and twisted up a small bite of noodles, twirling it against his spoon so that it didn’t splatter everywhere. He took a sniff and examined the noodles.

“For God’s sake, this isn’t a wine tasting. Just eat the damn pasta,” she whispered, exasperation in her tone.

“Nervous?”

“Irritated.”

“Turned on?”

“You wish. Now take a bite.”

He catalogued the nerves tugging at her lower lip. Interesting.

To put her out of her misery, Wes took a bite, andbam,it was like a food-induced orgasm. Perfectly cooked, the right firmness, and the exact right ratio of flour to egg yolks. Perfection.

He took his time chewing, really dragging it out to piss her off. She sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest with impatience. He licked his lips.

“So?” she asked when he was done with the big display.

He took the cloth napkin and dabbed the corners of his mouth. “In one word?”

He leaned in until their thighs were brushing and he could smell the faint scent of jasmine, sea air, and parsley on her skin. He ran his nose down the shell of her ear and whispered, “Orgasmic.”

He could hear her breath catch and see the pulse at the base of her neck race. She slowly turned to look at him and her eyes dilated with desire. They fell to his lips and slowly tracked back up, and when their gazes locked again he could have sworn she moaned.

Yup, she felt it. He wasn’t in this craziness alone.

“What are you two talking about over there?” Autumn said, with brows raised and suspicion in her words.

“Noodles,” Summer said casually, but her voice was pitched.

“From here it looked like the topic was closer toca-noodling.”

Summer shot Autumn a murderous look and Autumn just smiled. The rest of the family exchanged looks of their own, as if having a conversation about him and Summer without including him and Summer—and he didn’t think he’d like what they were saying. It was one thing for him to shag her, it was another for her family to play Cupid.

“Now that you mention it,” Blanche said, “they are sitting quite close together.”

Summer moved so fast to the other side of her chair that she nearly fell off. Wes reached over to steady her with a hand on her thigh and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Cecilia pressed a palm to her chest. “Oh my.”

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