Just one taste . . .
The only thing worse than a food addict falling for a chef is a food addict falling for a chef with a sex addiction. And yet somehow that’s exactly what I’ve done. With his tall, fit body, mischievous smile, and sexy Australian accent, Liam is double-chocolate gelato: a sinfully satisfying dish I can’t stop craving. He says we’re good together, that we can make each other better. But what if he’s wrong? What if we’re just feeding each other’s addiction? What if just one taste of Liam is too much?
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He rose from his seat, his naked torso in full view. “We should probably go.”
“Okay, fine,” I said. Out of nowhere, my heart had been sucked into a vat of quicksand. In the past two minutes alone, my emotions had vacillated between happy and scared and defeated so quickly I should have had whiplash. Everything felt so loaded between us now that we had opened up to each other. Yet the conversation had been so natural and fun, I had imagined us staying here on the rooftop until the sun came up, watching it rise together like a couple of wayward kids at summer camp. Now I was nearly convinced he hated me.
As Liam stood dripping by a deck chair, I realized there was nothing to dry him off. “Oh, we forgot to get towels!” I said. “I’ll go down and grab one.”
“That’s fine. I’ll just follow you.” Liam’s voice was hard to read. He left a watery trail as he shuffled behind me into the elevator and stood there, holding his clothes in a bundle at his waist.
“You know… I dreamt about you too,” he said with a straight face as we arrived at the second floor, the doors opening before I could respond.
“Were we having a threesome?” I asked, desperate to steer things back toward flirting.
“No. Just the two of us. I don’t think I’d like to have a threesome with you.”
“Why not? Because I’m a ‘good girl’?” I rolled my eyes for him to see.
“Because I wouldn’t want to share you,” he said.”
Inside the men’s shower room, I flipped on the lights. Instantly, I was reminded how gorgeous Sasha’s spa was throughout. She had modeled it, room by room, after some spa at an insanely expensive Greek resort where she’d spent her second honeymoon. This room included two massive eight-headed showers, a dry sauna, a steam room, and a large marble bench in the middle. The lighting was warm and bright, like a sunny afternoon without the sunlight.
“All right, you can take a shower if you want. We’ll just have to steal the towel you use so no one notices.” I was pretending to be very lax about the whole thing, but inside I felt the inevitable worry I had whenever I broke any rules. When Gracie had asked to use the showers, I had told her no way.
I started to leave Liam there, with plans to raid the second-floor mini-fridge and try to forget the last few awkward moments of conversation on the roof, but before I knew it, he was grabbing my wrist to stop me. “Wait,” he said in a pleading tone, dropping his clothes so that his naked body, tanned and taut, stood before me, completely exposed.
“No, Liam. We’re keeping each other out of trouble, remember?”
“But this isn’t trouble. This is different,” he whispered, plunging his hand into the hair that dangled at the nape of my neck, sending tingles up and down my spine as he moved in to kiss me.
About the author:
Amelia Betts was born in the South, where she grew up on soap operas, sugar cereal, and Judy Blume. She learned the thrill of the secret crush when her older sisters started bringing boys home, and has been a hopeless romantic ever since. She now resides, and dreams up happily ever afters, in Los Angeles, California.
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