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Her lids fluttered.It was easier to obey.But her mouth opened—to argue, right?To get in some air?Not because she wanted to let him in.
Yeah, right.
It was a moment before he made contact, a moment in which she fought to restrain her body from meeting his.Because frankly her lips were on fire and if he didn’t touch his to them soon she couldn’t be responsible for her actions.Her reason, her rationality, seemed to have gone on an extended lunchbreak.
But Blake didn’t take what she was offering, not in the way she wanted.He didn’t plunder and ravage, didn’t press his mouth hard on hers even though she half longed for a kiss that demanded everything, that simply took right from the start.Instead he touched her gently.The contact was slow and almost annoyingly sweet.His lips over hers were firm and warm and he tasted, damn him, of a hint of cucumber—all cool and in control.
Then the sweetness became less annoying, more intoxicating and more inviting.She squeezed her fingers harder on the cold steel of the bench—not going to reach for him.Not going to.
She couldn’t help her tongue, though, from seeking out his depth and the essence, teasing him all by itself.And suddenly the kiss changed and his plunder element surfaced.Satisfaction coursed through her as the pressure increased, as did the demands—for both of them.His Saturday morning stubble rasped on her soft skin and she wanted to feel more of his hair roughened body against her—like all of it,now.With a barely audible moan she opened more to him and he leaned closer to take full advantage, going deeper, lusher.Still not close enough, not for Cally.Finally his lips left hers and she felt his breath hot and fast on her face and she doubted the degree to which he was cool and in control.
She felt the space between them grow as he quickly pulled away.
‘A very willing little slave.’
His confident drawl hit her.He was the boss, huh?She didn’t think so, not from the way he was gulping in the air.Slowly she raised her lashes and looked at him as coolly as she could.‘Just who do you think was the slave then?’
His brows lifted.‘Did I say five?I think we’ll make it six.Let’s really prove that exact point.’
He’d almost exited the room and she’d almost slid to the floor to assume the recovery position when he stopped, Turning back to her, he spoke, no hint of a grin, just the edgy, angry model-man look.
‘I should warn you.I never make promises I can’t keep.’
Four
First thing Mondaymorning there was an email.
9am.Monday, one hundred dollars.
5 p.m.Friday, let me know your total.
You know the prize.
Cally did and she also knew she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of beating him at this game.Sixth sense told her no matter how she played it he’d go one better—as he had every step of the way so far.She’d run a Google search on him two seconds after reading the email, and looked at only the first few hits of the many that came up—the bio on his company website, plus a few articles in which he was portrayed as a major mover and shaker in the business world.Hell, she’d had no idea; all she knew was soup.How insulting had she been?He knew how to make money—serious money—and, while Callyhadserious money, she wasn’t so good at making more.Sure, her company did okay, but it was niche and she knew if she really wanted to expand she needed leverage and expert advice.But she wasn’t sure expansion was the way to go.It would be nice to keep it the size it was even though she could hardly keep up with it.She worked round the clock, seven days, and still couldn’t seem to keep on top of it all.Her beloved time experimenting in the kitchen was suffering major erosion.
And now, instead of getting on with the job, she turned her back on the overflowing in-trays and panicked about their stupid competition some more.It was hardly sausage-sizzle and cake-stall stuff.She had no time to organise anything.Fundraising did not mean asking her wealthiest buddies for a handout—anyway, how could she possibly explain the real reason behind it?And what could she ‘do’ to raise sponsorship?Again there was no time and, as far as she was aware, there weren’t any marathons being run between now and Friday.Not that she’d manage even half a mile…
Besides, if she was honest, did she really want to win?Didn’t she want to win in the best way possible—to be there for the weekend andnotgive in to him?
That one was a fantasy—seriously delusional and she knew it.Just the memory of that kiss—the one that had been on auto-replay ever since, despite her best ‘delete’ efforts—had her burning up to such a degree it was a wonder she was still whole and not some speck of cinder being blown on the breeze.It would take less than a second of contact and she’d be his.
So, she’d better win the competition because sherefusedto be another easy conquest for him.The only hope she had was her business.She went down to Mel in the shop at the front of the small factory where she had five workers making the soup.
‘Every pottle we sell this week we donate fifty cents to charity.’She worked up a sign.‘Put it in the window.Put a jar beside the cash register alongside the tip jar for the staff.’
‘Are you sure?’Mel looked sideways at her.Already Cally’s Cuisine donated a percentage of profit to charity.Cally could understand the question.
‘Yes.I need to really raise some funds for this charity.It’s important.Just this week—a one-off fundraiser.’
‘What charity?’
The ‘save Cally from utter humiliation’ charity—not that she told Mel that.‘The usual.’
Mel had lost interest in the topic anyway and now had a cunning smile on.‘How was your weekend?’
Cally had been putting off this moment for as long as possible by hiding out upstairs and pretending to be super busy and not up for chat.‘He cleaned my car and then left.’As crisp and matter-of-fact in delivery as she could manage.
It was enough.Mel shook her head.‘You’re a lost cause.’
