LITMIR.BIZ

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      But as I flitted around the kitchen, ensuring the pasta had cooked al dente, grating Parmesan into a bowl and uncorking a Riesling, I knew that no matter how nonchalant I acted about inviting a gorgeous guy up to my apartment, inside I was a hot mess.

      Tanner had agreed to a fling.

      My ovaries were still leaping at the thought two hours later. Then he’d gone and revealed snippets of his past and I’d moved from viewing him as a fine piece of ass to a guy with a soul.

      Okay, so that sounded shallow. I’d already known he had deeper layers behind that tattooed front, but when he’d told me about him and Remy being close out of necessity...the pain lacing his voice had slain me.

      I’d wanted to wrap my arms around him, to offer comfort I had no right giving. But I’d seen the inner war he waged reflected in his eyes, a kind of personal agony I had no hope of understanding. So I’d changed the subject. Gone back to work. And begged off thirty minutes early to shower and get dinner prepped.

      I hadn’t dated as a teen. Bardley had been my first in every way: first boyfriend, first lover, first partner I’d lived with. He hadn’t appreciated my cooking, had always mocked my ‘homebody tendencies’. He’d preferred to eat out at Sydney’s finest restaurants, or get high-end catering in. So after the first week of married life I’d given up in the kitchen and grown increasingly despondent because of it.

      Whenever I’d been unable to stay away from the kitchen and indulged my penchant for baking, he’d made snide comments and warned me not to eat any of that ‘carb-filled crap’ in case I got fat.

      I should’ve bashed him over the head with a skillet when I had the chance.

      I’d never really had the pleasure of cooking for a guy I fancied before: a guy who’d want me for dessert rather than the lemon tartlets I’d snaffled from downstairs. In fact, as I dished up the pasta and laid the large serving platter on the table, arranging the salad and Parmesan around it, I wondered if we’d even make it through the main course.

      What had happened in the storeroom...indicative of why I’d proposed this fling in the first place. We’d been dancing around each other all day and I’d known his foul mood had been more to do with himself trying to maintain his distance than anything else.

      So I’d challenged him, hoping he’d snap. Because working alongside Tanner after that sizzling night we’d spent together was pure torture. Having him brush past me, inhaling his manly scent tinged with citrus, feeling the heat radiating off him, watching those strong hands wrangling a dodgy oven door... I’d been hyperaware of him all day.

      And craving him like I’d never craved anything in my entire life.

      I’d never been the type of person to want things. I guess having everything I ever needed handed to me on a silver platter did that to a girl. I’d taken it for granted, being spoiled and indulged, even if I didn’t ask for it.

      So wanting Tanner with every cell in my body was new and I’d handled it as best I could: by throwing myself into work and baking like a maniac. Fulfilling every order for the day and then some, Le Miel’s front display overflowing with my signature almond croissants, bugnes and chaussons aux pommes.

      We’d sold out as usual, rarely able to keep up with demand, but today we’d only turned away two people near closing rather than the usual thirty. I’d been high on my success of coping without Remy when Tanner had taunted me, spoiling for a fight. So I’d given him one. Knowing he wouldn’t back down and would follow me into the storeroom. Where he’d snapped.

      I throbbed at the memory, pressed my hands between my legs to stem the insistent wanting. It didn’t work and I knew that when he knocked on the door at any moment, I’d probably launch myself at him.

      That was the thing with having average, infrequent sex. When you got the real thing, you were insatiable. We’d done it five times that night we’d spent together, and once today, yet having him inside me was all I could think about. Fantasising about the next time. And the time after that.

      I’d turned into a man.

      A loud knock made me jump and my palms instantly grew clammy. I swiped them down the sides of the simple cotton dress I’d changed into, wiggled my fingers and shook my arms out. Like a prize fighter warming up for a strenuous bout.

      A bout of steamy, sizzling sex, if I had my way.

      Anticipation made my body zing as I took my time answering the door.

      Yeah, like playing hard to get would work now.

      When I opened it, my breath caught. He’d ditched the long-sleeve shirt he’d been working in all day and wore a fitted white T-shirt that outlined every ridge of his muscular body. I could see the faintest outline of the tattoos beneath, tattoos I’d barely studied and wanted to learn in intricate detail. His shoulders stretched the cotton and, with his hands thrust into his pockets, his biceps bulged nicely.

      I tried not to stare. It wasn’t polite. But as I started at his broad shoulders and worked my way down, I couldn’t look away. When I reached his jeans’ pockets, and noted the sizeable bulge between, my mouth went dry.

      I swallowed, trying to think of something witty to say, something that didn’t sound like, ‘Take me now.’

      ‘Something smells good,’ he said, stepping forward to fill my doorway when all I could think about was him filling me. He lowered his head to brush a barely there kiss on my cheek. ‘The pasta too.’

      ‘Come in,’ I said, my voice sounding strangled as he stepped inside and I closed the door behind him. ‘Hope you’re hungry.’

      ‘Ravenous.’

      One simple word uttered in a low growl that made the hairs on the nape of my neck snap to attention and goosebumps pebble my skin.

      My back sagged against the door as he braced his arms either side of me, pinning me. Like I wanted to move even if I could. He stared at me, his dark eyes glowing with intent and I knew in that instant I’d be reheating dinner later.

      ‘Me too,’ I squeaked out before launching myself at him.

      He laughed and staggered back a step. I didn’t care. I literally tried to climb him as I hooked a leg around his waist and grabbed at his shoulders. Needing him. Wanting him. Desperate for him.

      He chuckled, his hands spanning my waist. ‘We’re not eating first?’

      ‘We are,’ I murmured, nipping his earlobe to show him exactly what I’d be feasting on. Him. Every delectable inch.

      He groaned a little and, emboldened, I wondered how much more of him I could devour. While he’d gone down on me several delightful times the other night, I hadn’t ventured near him with my mouth beyond a tentative lick or two, considering how large he was in my hand.

      But tonight was about me taking what I wanted.

      I wanted him.

      I spun him around and pushed him up against the door. Tugged the hem of his T-shirt out of his jeans. Unsnapped them and lowered the zipper. Slid my way down so I knelt at his feet.

      ‘What are you doing?’ His voice was barely above a growl as he laid a hand on my head.

      ‘Having an entree.’ I flashed him my best cheeky smile, hoping to convey confidence when in fact I’d never given head before.

      Bardley had found oral sex distasteful, so we’d never done it. I was glad. Made it all the more special doing it to a guy I really liked.

      ‘Babe, you’re killing me,’ he said, his eyes round and slightly glazed as he watched me take him out of his jocks.

      He was big and hard in my hand as I stroked from the base towards the head. Leaned forward to lick the tip. Awed by his size up close. Feeling completely out of my depth.

      ‘Just so you know, I haven’t done this before.’

      His

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