Sleeping With Her Rival

She swallowed and then made a pleasured sound, like a soft, sweet, bedroom murmur.

Amused, he reached for his beer. “Say it,” he said.

She glanced up. “Excuse me?”

“My name. Say my name.”

She gave him a curious look. “Flint.”

Enjoying himself, he bit back a grin. “That was pretty good, but it wasn’t quite right. You need to moan after you say my name, like you did after you ate the bread.”

Finally aware of his little joke, she shoved the basket toward him. “Stuff it, Flint.”

He flashed the grin he’d been hiding. “I couldn’t help it. I mean, here’s a woman who gets orgasmic over bread and butter.”

“I wasn’t orgasmic.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I was not.”

She glared at him from across the table, but her haughty expression fell short. When he stared at her, she became flustered, toying with the napkin on her lap.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

He studied her features, struck by those violet eyes and that full, lush mouth. “But you’re beautiful, Gina.” And he couldn’t stop the attraction, the heat, the sexual spontaneity rising in his blood.

She drew a ragged breath, and a shimmer of silence ensued.

Rain pounded against the building, and the flame on the candle danced between them, intensifying the moment.

Flint sent her a small, sensual smile. She was perfect for the scandal he had in mind.

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