Her fantasy is less about football and more about Cary Grant…
Chloe Zuniga, veep of GIRL GEAR’s cosmetics and accessories divisions, needs a man to save her reputation… even though her enjoyment of the opposite sex and her potty mouth is what got her into trouble in the first place. Her old friend Eric Haydon agrees to be her date for three company events… if she grants him three wishes.
Eric knows that he and Chloe are going to end up as lovers sooner or later. He simply has to figure out when, where, and how. And once he’s done that, there’s nothing left to wish for… except Chloe’s heart along with her body.
“This battle of the sexes will delight, tantalize, and entertain with Kent’s indomitable style. Delicious! Very highly recommended.” — Cindy P., WordWeaving
“The heat generated by Chloe and Eric kind of takes the mind off anyone else’s problems. Chocolate and whipped cream are involved. Need I say more?” — A Romance Review
“If you want me to clean you up with my tongue, you’ll have to provide a more appetizing enticement.” She couldn’t help herself. And even after she’d delivered the dare, she felt no need for repentance or for taking it back.
So when Eric once again reached beyond her into the fridge and came away with the same bottle of chocolate syrup that had starred in her earlier fantasy, she didn’t say a word. She only lifted a brow and glanced from the bottle, which Eric set on the counter, to his guilelessly wicked blue eyes, before returning her attention to the contents of the fridge.
Without a word, she added a can of whipped topping and a colander of freshly washed strawberries to the syrup sitting on the countertop. That ought to do it, she mused, breathless, finally closing the refrigerator door. After all, she’d always wanted to act out her own food fantasy à la 9½ Weeks.
Eric briefly took in her additions to his enticement, then leaned his backside against the counter, his hands curled over the edge on either side of his hips, his feet crossed at the ankle. “Strawberry shortcake?”
Chloe took more than a slight pleasure in the labored rise and fall of his chest. Eric was doing his best to appear calm and collected, at ease, but she wasn’t fooled. His hunger was stirred, and the terry wrap at his waist no longer lay flush against his thighs. His excitement was evident, and her belly clenched and released. Her thighs grew warm and heavy.
She reached for the can of whipped topping, shook it longer than required. But then the point of taking her time was not about ensuring the texture as much as it was about making Eric wonder and wait.
She squeezed a dollop onto her finger, then licked it clean with the tip of her tongue. Her gaze remained locked with his as she repeated the process, only this time she offered the dessert to him.
He parted his lips and she dragged the flat of her finger down his tongue, leaving the sweetness behind. His eyes flashed at the contact, and again as she returned her finger to her mouth to lick it clean.
She moved closer, putting her body directly in front of his. Wetting first her top lip, then the bottom, she finally squirted a shot of the creamy froth into the bowl of her curled tongue. She pressed the cold foam to the roof of her mouth, where it melted at the contact with her body heat.
“Mmm,” she hummed and held up the nozzle toward Eric. He stuck out his tongue; she swirled a small peak onto the tip. And then, while the cream dissolved in his mouth, while his gaze remained focused on hers, steady and fixed, yet simmering, she shook the can again and drew a half moon over his chest, from collarbone to collarbone.
The chocolate syrup came next.