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“So, I should sleep with you because…” Samantha teased
Nick smoothed his palms along her cheeks, weaving his fingers into her fragrant hair, tilting her gaze to meet his. “Because I’m offering you one night, just for us.” He pressed his lips against her cheek. “One man.” He kissed her chin, then placed a tender peck on the tip of her nose. “One woman.” His hands trailed down her neck, dipping into the open collar of her robe. “One insatiable hunger.”
Samantha’s bold stare never left his. An expert negotiator, Nick appealed to what he knew she wanted most. “No strings, Sam. No expectations. Just one night of incredible pleasure.”
Her gaze narrowed as she slipped her hands between them to work the knot on his robe. “You left out the most important detail, Nick.”
She nuzzled close, grazing her lips over his bare chest. Instantly he knew what he’d forgotten. “Oh, you mean the part where I promise to make all your erotic fantasies come true?”
She stood so close, he could feel the thrill shimmy up her spine and light her eyes with hot fire.
“I didn’t forget, Samantha. There are just some things that go without saying….”
Dear Reader,
Food—now, there’s a topic I know and love. There’s nothing more sensual than experimenting with new tastes and textures…okay, almost nothing. But combining my love for all things delicious with all things sexy seemed perfect for my first book in Temptation’s new HEAT series!
When I finished writing Pure Chance (Temptation #814), I knew that Serena’s sister, Samantha, was too irreverent, too sassy, too primed for a man to deny her a story of her own. Besides, I love New Orleans far too much to abandon the city after only one book. But Sam was a tough heroine to find a match for because she’s so, well…tough.
Enter Dominick LaRocca. He’s gorgeous. He’s Italian. He’s wealthy, powerful and trying hard as hell to achieve his goals. Poor man. Poor, poor man. Just when the last thing he needs is a beautiful, headstrong woman, Samantha practically pushes her way into his life and turns his careful plans upside down.
Sound like fun? I think so. Please let me know if you agree. You can drop me a line at P.O. Box 270885, Tampa, FL 33688-0885, or visit my Web site at www.julieleto.com.
Salute!
Julie Elizabeth Leto
Insatiable
Julie Elizabeth Leto
For my wonderful aunts—Rose, Fae and Anita, women I admire and love with all my heart. I count myself incredibly lucky to have been born into a family that includes you.
And for “Nana” Caroline LaRocca and “Nanie” Velia Leto. You showed us all what love and family loyalty are all about. I miss you both.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
1
“COULDN’T YOU just eat him up?”
If Samantha Deveaux heard the question one more time this morning, she was going to puke. After two weeks on the job at Louisiana Superdome security, her assignment at the SuperMarketing Expo was testing her mettle most. Last week’s Wrestlemania had been a cakewalk next to this. At least there she’d known what to expect. Screaming. Cursing. A tussle or two. Just enough unpredictable rowdiness to keep her busy.
But since the Supermarketing Expo’s eight o’clock opening, she’d gone from rolling her eyes to groaning aloud at the increasingly bad puns. In four hours, every female in the Dome, and a few men for that matter, had strolled through the wide section of wall-less, corporate-sponsored booths and eventually stopped to make a comment in front of the display by LaRocca Foods. Their snickers and sly remarks relied on a combination of food imagery and naughty sexual innuendo.
All for the man looming across from her position at the end of the aisle. Not in person, fortunately, but on a gargantuan aluminum and enamel replica of LaRocca Food’s best-selling pasta sauce in a jar—the centerpiece of their display—complete with a huge label stretched across the middle.
In the label’s center, a bare-chested man, sketched with lifelike precision, glistened with sweat as he toiled in the middle of some Mediterranean olive field. He had all the classic features of a Sicilian supermodel: ebony hair worn long and windblown, eyes tinted the color of green Italian marble, and a chest, arms and legs that would put Michelangelo’s David to shame.
He’s hotter than his marinara sauce.
He can toss my pasta anytime.
And then the succinct, but equally charged, Mmm, mmm, good.
Samantha had seen his type many times before, but even her jaded attitude didn’t deter her gaze from roaming back to that label.
His eyes drew her. Not just because of their Kodachrome color, but because an elusive, alluring emotion charged his emerald gaze with power, intensity. The man had attitude. Presence. Even in still life, he demanded attention.
His grin, sly enough to be sultry and subtle enough to make her wonder what he was really thinking, said, “Eat this, I dare you. And if you do, I’ll give you an equally delicious reward.”
As if the man on the label had leaned down from his rustic field and murmured his challenge only to Samantha, a spark of awareness flared as a fantasy formed in her mind. A wicked tryst. A delicious dalliance. Her thighs clenched, instinctively attempting to sate the hot tickle deep inside her, an all-too-frequent reminder that she hadn’t had a man in her life for way too long. She closed her eyes for an instant, battling to block the flash of flesh and folly that haunted her lately. Day and night. Asleep or awake.
Unfortunately, her once-indistinct fantasy lover now had a face and a body—a face and a body she obviously couldn’t resist. She closed her eyes to block his image, reminding herself that he was nothing more than the artistic rendering of some obviously anatomically obsessed artist, but the sensual stream of heat continued its course upward, quivering in her belly then tightening her breasts. Her self-imposed celibacy, enforced for almost a year, had taken its toll. Sam pressed her lips together and fought
