Andy looked like a god in his tight black jeans. He didn’t have a shirt on and the muscles moving under his mocha skin made Tanya forget about chocolate cake.
She expected him to kiss her as soon as he had opened the door. Instead, he led her into the bungalow’s kitchen. It felt domesticated, and somehow more intimate than kissing.
The kitchen turned out to be a kitchenette. Tanya appraised the tiny space with mounting panic. No double boiler. No stove. And no oven. How on earth was she going to bake a cake if there was no oven?
“Second thoughts?” Andy stood in the doorway. His smirk was audible. “You could always forfeit the bet and ask Isabelle if she has more of her birthday cake left.”
“Very funny. Not. Did you get the ingredients from the restaurant?”
“Yup.”
“Good. Are you going to stand there the whole time, watching?”
“Yup.”
Tanya longed to touch his mouth again, to feel that hard roundness with her fingers and on her lips and under her tongue.
“I guess I’ll skip the step that says to preheat the oven, then.”
Andy nodded. “Just as well. Your oven looks hot enough to me.” His face was deadpan.
Tanya cleared her throat. “Where is the butter?”
“On the counter.”
“In this heat?” Tanya poked her index finger into the pale-yellow block and felt it slither all the way in. Pure velvet. Like a very ready pussy. Tanya swallowed hard. The craving for Andy’s fingers glided down her spine all the way to her knees. “Here, you do it. Grease the baking pan.”
Andy’s hand dug into the silky surface of the block. He took his time paying attention to the innermost folds of the baking pan, caressing until every inch was perfectly lubricated.
Only in "Fiji on Fire, Fiji on Ice" by Eve Summers, Red Rose Publishing, July 2009
Chapter Five
Kiss Me Slow
The Kiss Me Slow Cocktail Recipe
4 oz white rum
2 oz triple sec
1 oz lemon juice
Stir ingredients together into an old-fashioned glass, and serve.
When they got to Andy’s over-the-water bungalow, however, all he pulled out was a bottle of whisky.
Disappointment hit Tanya in more ways than just one. If he was going to offer whisky, the least he could do was produce something truly decadent. Oh well. It served her right for forgetting her principles of dating. How could she expect a mere boy to know his stuff?
“Surely you don’t mean the Johnny Walker?” She tasted the chilly shards in her own words. “That’s not even single malt.”
“It’s blue label though. Crème de la crème. Taste it.”
I’d rather taste you, thought Tanya. But the spicy liquid glowed with a divine fire in her throat, sweet and toasty and chocolaty, and when she heard a moan of pleasure, it took a second to realize it was her own.
Andy watched her, his eyes burning into hers. “That good, huh?”
She felt the heat spread from her throat down. “Mmmm.” Yeah, really well done. Ten out of ten for nonchalant.
“How inappropriate do you think it would be if I kissed you right now?”
Her throat was thick. With the whisky? With longing? He was younger than her. “Totally inappropriate,” she managed.
“Cool.” He flashed her a predatory smile. “Because I have my Bad Boy reputation to maintain, you know.”
With two long strides, he covered the space that separated them. He was so close now; she could sense the heat of his skin. If she moved a millimeter, she would feel the corrugated muscles of his stomach against her.
She curled her toes. “‘Get thee behind me, Satan.’”
“Behind you?” Andy feigned surprise. “You fancy doing it doggy-style, then? Just arch your back and you have a deal.”
