apartment often impressed his dates. This would be when the oohs and aahs took place. Phoebe, however, had been here a dozen times. She didn’t gush over the skyline view through the floor-to-ceiling window or the gleaming hardwood floors or the blown-glass sculptures that added splashes of vibrant color against the white leather furniture. Instead, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply—Heath couldn’t help noticing the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her top.
“Mmm. I love the smell of fresh basil.”
“Hope you like the way it tastes, too.” He led her to the kitchen, which was separated from the living room only by a marble-topped counter. “My plan is to sear scallops and serve them alla caprese.”
Taking a seat atop one of the bar stools, she sighed happily. “It’s so decadent having someone cook for me. When you’re a chef, you’re used to doing the food preparation, not just at work but for family and friends.”
“Cam’s an executive chef. Didn’t he cook for you?” The question was an automatic response to her words, but he regretted asking. The last thing he’d intended was to bring up the guy who’d jilted her, not when she was looking so relaxed and happy.
“Frequently. But it was...” She paused, considering. “When he had me try new dishes, it was a matter of wanting my professional opinion on how to make his creation better. He called me his muse. It sounded romantic,” she said in a small voice. “But maybe it was just a glorified term for taste tester.”
For a second, Heath hated his business partner almost as much as he hated the self-doubt on Phoebe’s face. “Well, I don’t have any ‘creations’ I need to perfect. All I have is a limited culinary repertoire I use in a feeble attempt to impress women who turn me on.” He reached across the counter, tipping her chin up with his finger. “Gorgeous redheads, for instance, who kiss like pagan goddesses.”
She blinked at that, but then shook her head. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
“Have you met me? I have no shame. I do, however, have excellent taste in wine. Can I pour you some of the pinot gris I have chilled?”
“Yes, please. In a really large glass.”
“Thirsty? Or nervous?”
“Trying to drown out my roommate’s voice in my head. Gwen thinks this is a terrible idea, my asking for your help.”
“Just because you asked doesn’t mean you’re committed to accepting it. You can leave anytime.” The words scraped against his throat—he wanted her here—but he made himself voice the disclaimer. He was willing to take advantage of the situation that had presented itself, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her.
“I know.” Her eyes locked with his.
Did she feel the same blast of heat that surged through him? The cold bottle of wine was a welcome respite. He poured two glasses, obligingly filling hers almost to the rim.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Not just for the wine or dinner, but for all of this. It’s not like I can make Cam jealous by myself, right?”
“So you’ve decided you definitely want to win him back?” He reached for one of the skillets hanging over the kitchen island and smacked it down on the burner.
“I don’t know. My emotions are all jumbled up. But there was a married couple who came into the bar last week to celebrate their tenth anniversary—the man had the pianists serenade his wife with a song from their wedding. When I see people like that, part of me still imagines me and Cam ten or fifteen years from now. I thought he was my future.” She sipped her wine. “I suppose you never think about the future.”
“Sure I do. All the time.” He turned on the gas burner, then poured olive oil into the skillet. “Most of my waking hours lately have been spent thinking about scouting restaurant locations in Miami.” He’d made some excellent contacts over the past few years attending the South Beach Food and Wine Festival, and he’d identified several flourishing neighborhoods that might be a good fit for his and Cam’s second venture.
“I meant a romantic future,” Phoebe said. “Do you think you’ll ever want more than hot one-night stands?”
“Some of those are hot weekends. I can go longer than a single night.”
For a change, she didn’t blush at his teasing. Instead, she wagged her finger at him. “You aren’t as shallow as you let people believe.”
“Wanna bet?”
There was a stubborn glint in her eye, but rather than argue, she took another sip of her drink. “Maybe I spend too much time trying to plan for the future. Gwen thinks I need to live in the moment and...have adventures.”
He grinned. “What kind of adventures?” Knowing her roommate, Gwen wasn’t suggesting scuba diving or hot-air-balloon rides. Sex on a hot-air balloon, maybe.
Now Phoebe did blush, a rosy stain spreading across her face. She glanced past him at the stove, where oil hissed and sizzled in the pan. “You should turn down the heat.”
He obligingly flicked the control knob before adding the scallops. “I thought our purpose was to turn up the heat. You wanted to know if you could be more seductive, right? Exciting?” Those had been her exact words. Heath had the sudden urge to offer her all the excitement she could handle. “What’s the most exciting sexual thing you’ve done?”
“Lose my virginity? Although exciting isn’t the first adjective I’d pick to describe that encounter.” Frustration pinched her expression. “People like you and Gwen don’t get it—some of us aren’t exciting. That’s why I’m here.”
If her love life hadn’t been exhilarating enough, then her sexual partners were also to blame. But he didn’t point that out, not wanting to reintroduce Cam in the conversation. “All right, what adventurous things have you thought about doing? ’Fess up. If you didn’t have a wicked streak, you wouldn’t have sought my help.”
“I guess that’s true.” After a moment’s consideration, her lips curved in a small secret smile that left him hard. It was the naughtiest expression he’d ever seen on her face, a glimpse at the mischievous Phoebe he’d known was there but who was seldom allowed to come out and play. Damn, she was sexy. If Heath’s shirt hadn’t been untucked, the situation might be embarrassing.
“Phoebe Mars. What dirty thing are you imagining?” And are you in need of a volunteer?
“When Gwen and I first moved into our apartment, back before I met Ca—back when I was single,” she amended, “we lived across from a guy who worked at a local gym. He was so toned.” She paused for a moment, appreciating the memory. “Anyway, my desk is pushed up against my bedroom window—almost blocking it, but not completely. I was searching recipes on the computer and when I glanced up, I realized his blinds were partially open. He was undressing in his room, and he was, um, erect.”
Yeah, there was a lot of that going around.
“Before he disappeared from view, I saw him reach down and grip his erection.” Her breathing was audible, her face flushed.
“And you wanted to watch him get off?”
“No—well, maybe,”
