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“It’s a shame it’s not June,” Matthew says, and we both stop to look up at the wintry sky, the color of slate. Gloom-filled clouds have claimed the once-blue real estate.
“Because it would be warm and wonderful and we could wear shorts and tank tops?”
He rakes me over with his blue eyes, lingering on my chest in a way that would bug me if he were a random guy on the street, but that instead heats my body given that he’s not. “Tank tops are a big yes. That, and summer fruit,” he adds. “I love coming here in June and July.
They have the most amazing peaches. Honey-kissed peaches,” he says, as if he enjoys the way those words take shape on his tongue as he’s looking at me. My chest feels hot, and I bite my lip absently, barely even aware I’m doing it. But he picks up on my signals, the cues that my body’s giving off. He leans closer and brings his mouth to my ear, his breath warm against my skin, sending shivers through me. “Isn’t that a great description for peaches?”
I sway slightly, and he steadies me with a hand on my elbow. There’s a table full of bread behind me that I may topple into if he keeps doing this. “You need to stop talking to me about fruit as if it’s foreplay,” I say breathily.
“I do?” he asks, far too innocently to be believed.
“Yes. You do.”
“Because,” I say in a jagged whisper.
“Because it makes me want more,” I admit, even though there’s a part of me that’s terrified to say that, but another part of me—probably the part controlled by this sharp, sweet ache in my body—is demanding as hell.
“They’re incredible peaches, though,” he says, never taking his eyes off me, as he continues seducing me in the alley at the market.
“Juicy and sweet. And they have cherries. Summer cherries. I’ll buy a carton and stand by my sink and eat them all. I can’t help myself. They taste delicious. And sun-ripened apricots,” he says, shaking his head several times as if he’s savoring the memory of the taste on his tongue. “I’ll have one, then another, then more please…” He lets the last words linger between us, deliberately burning me up.
I pull at my sweater, as if it’s summer and it’s sticking to my skin. And suddenly, it’s no longer cold outside. It’s hot and the sun is beating down on me and I want to strip away my layers of clothes. I want to lift my face to the sun. I want to inhale the smell of ripe, tantalizing fruit. I want to pin my hair up, let my skin turn warm, feel Matthew’s lips on the back of my neck, his arms wrapped around my waist, my body tangled up in his.
“You like torturing me,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t like it. I love it.”
Excerpt from FAR TOO TEMPTING ©2013 by Lauren Blakely. All rights reserved.
Length: 262 pages
Publisher: Entangled: Edge (October 21, 2013)
Jane Black has written the break-up album of the century, earning her a Grammy, a huge legion of new fans, and the pressure to repeat her success. Sure, the heartbreak from her husband’s unconventional abandonment might have been her inspiration, but it hasn’t done her any favors in the dating department. So when Matthew Harrigan, the toughest music journalist out there, asks for an interview, Jane agrees—as long as her personal life is completely off-limits.
British, gorgeous, and way too tempting, Matthew’s the first guy Jane’s been attracted to since her husband. As she spends more time with him and their relationship heats up, though, so does her writer’s block. How can the queen of the break-up pen the perfect follow-up when she’s seriously in love?
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