Page 32 of XOXO, Valentina

My gaze drifted over his towel-clad body. “Are you saying all men in Costa Rica look like they belong on book covers?”One ticket to San José, please.

“You think I could pull off an axe and a flannel shirt?”

I blushed at the mention of my naughty romance reads. No one except my closest book club friends knew about my guilty pleasure or my secret identity as Valentina. Mossy Oak was small enough that I knew I couldn’t stay hidden forever, but denial was my best friend. I would never admit my identity, even if someone figured it out. Valentina was my little secret.

And now I had another one. A six-foot-tall secret with a sexy accent. I squinted at Joey, pretending to consider the idea of him on the cover of a romance novel, as if I hadn’t pictured his face the entire time I’d been readingThe Axe Man Cometh.

“You’re more of the beach type,” I said, letting my imagination run away with the idea of Joey shirtless on a sunny beach.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, reminding me I didn’t need to use my imagination. I had the real thing right there in front of me. In. A. Towel.

Joey’s kisses reminded me how much I missed the intimacy of kissing. The feeling of being so close with someone else, breathing their air, tasting the exotic flavor of their tongue. Kissing Joey was like stealing a moment in time. I didn’t want it to end.

It helped that Joey was the king of kissing.

Joey went back to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later carrying a tray. The smell of cinnamon and fried bread wafted into the room.

“I hope you like it, even if it’s not pancakes.”

Pancakes were the furthest thing from my mind as Joey sat on the bed. The towel stretched across his hips, leaving nothing to my imagination. I tore my gaze from his body and glanced at the tray, expecting cinnamon bagels or frozen waffles. To my surprise, the plate was piled high with thick slices of browned French toast topped with powdered sugar.

He picked up a fork and loaded it with a bite. “Eat it while it’s hot.” He held my eyes as he lifted the fork to my lips.

Longing rocketed through me as I leaned forward and opened my mouth. Joey’s eyes dropped to my lips as they closed over the fork. He paused for a second as I chewed and swallowed, then loaded up a bite for himself.

“Mmm,” he said around his mouthful. “I’m good in the kitchen as well as against the front door.”

I pictured my earlier fantasy involving the kitchen counter and Joey’s hands on my thighs. He forked up another bite, still smiling.

“You’re very cocky,” I told him.

“Cocky?” He asked, glancing down at the obvious outline of his male appendage beneath the towel.

“Not that kind of cocky,” I said. “You know, like…” I searched my Spanish vocabulary. “Un pollo!”

One dark eyebrow rose, and the hint of a smile curved his mouth.“Un gallo,”he corrected, offering me another bite.

I took the food off the fork, but what I really wanted was another kiss from him. My eyes must have given away my thoughts because he put the fork down and leaned forward to give me what I wanted. He kissed me long and slow, his tongue licking the sensitive skin on the inside of my bottom lip. There seemed to be a magnet connecting our mouths. I needed to catch my breath, but when I did, I couldn’t let it go. Breathing meant not kissing him again.

He tasted of earthy coffee and cinnamon. He smelled like sex.

His mouth left mine, and I shamelessly chased it.

“Are you still hungry, baby?”

I wasn’t sure if he meant food or sex, but the answer was yes. I nodded. He fed me a bite of toast with his fingers. As I chewed, he tugged down my towel, exposing my peaked nipple. He dipped his head, took my nipple in his mouth, and sucked.

I moaned and slid down the bed, suddenly feeling boneless. Joey pushed my towel aside and sucked my other nipple into his mouth.

I gasped. “Oh!”

He lifted his head and nodded at the nightstand. “Hand me the syrup,” he said.

I obeyed. A moment later, I felt the thick, warm liquid spread up and over the curve of my breast. Joey’s tongue lapped at the syrup, licking my nipple clean.

His eyes darted up to meet mine. “I’m starving,” he said.

He poured a thin line of syrup across my chest to my other nipple. His tongue chased the thick syrup and darted over my nipple. I shuddered and clutched the quilt. I wanted him again, but was it too soon? My experience with the men in the last dozen years had been a series of one-night stands and awkward hookups in the dark.

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