Chasing Temptation by Payton Lane Page A

already she was on a one-way trip to disaster.
    *****
    Thirty minutes later, when the key was in the lock, Nate finally thought about how the rental looked. He should have taken Sylvia's offer of curtains.
    No.
    Wait a minute.
    He wasn't trying to impress Lynne. She had signed him up to bake. She was the competition, not a woman he planned to date in the future.
    Her tongue wet and hot and sliding along his .
    He forced the memory out of his mind, bent down to pick up the grocery bags, and stepped inside only to wince at the room. The place hadn't appeared so bare when he first moved in. A sofa and a TV were the basic essentials for any deal. He definitely hadn't expected anyone other than Sylvia to see it.
    The feel of her pulse beating erratically against his fingertips.
    The next few hours were going to be long if his mind kept straying. He focused on the fact the rental was at least clean. He sniffed the air. Nothing smelled. The air still held the scent of new paint and carpet.
    The taste of scotch tangled with her warm breath.
    “I think there are some aprons on a hook in the kitchen,” he said and then gritted his teeth.
    “Please tell me you don't pay up the wazoo for this place. Bobby knows better.”
    Her observation threw him. “You know who I rent from?”
    “Hon.” Her tone was sweet. “Did you learn anything from our tour? Nothing in this town is a secret or sacred. Get used to it. I'm surprised Chelsea hasn't flashed you yet.”
    “Who is she and why would she?”
    “Single. Desperate. You have a pulse.”
    Lynne locked her hands behind her, and Nate could see the mental inventory of the rental going on behind her gaze. He really should have taken Sylvia up on her offer to decorate.
    She slid her gaze back to him. “Where are the aprons?”
    At least he wasn't the only one struggling. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to have her in his home—er, rental. “Let me show you.”
    Nate led her to the kitchen where he placed the bags on the counter and tried not to think of how her bare flesh would look on the granite. He handed her an apron and within seconds she had tied it on.
    “You've done this a lot,” he noted.
    “Remember. Martha Stewart,” Lynne said over her shoulder as she opened and closed the lower cabinets.
    “I wish I could help you find whatever you’re looking for. I don't cook; I microwave.”
    “That's the bachelor's battle cry. A-ha.” She pulled out a mixing bowl and a baking sheet. She handed him the bowl. “I didn't see a mixer under there, so I'll let you be manly and mix. I'll stand here and look pretty for a while.”
    “Fair enough.” He noticed she wasn't wearing shoes. A clear color that sparkled with pink graced her toenails. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, saying a silent prayer for strength to keep him from jumping on her.
    He let out a breath, then said, “Tell me what to put together.”
    “Your face tells me all I need to know.” She took two steps toward him and brushed her lips over his before saying, “Just for the record.”
    He considered pushing her back, getting things on an even keel. Then her tongue touched his, and he figured it was for the best if they got the kiss out of the way.
    He walked forward until her back was against the counter. She worked her hands under his jacket and started to push it down his shoulders.
    She murmured against his lips, “You have very nice shoulders.”
    He nipped at her mouth until she apparently gave up on speaking coherently. “This. Kissing.”
    She moaned and pushed him back. “Another moment of that and there won't be cookies.”
    He dipped his head for another taste. Her hands went up to his face, almost branding him from the heat.
    Nate stepped back. “You're right.”
    She laid her head on his chest. He ran his hand along her neck to feel her heartbeat. It matched his own.
    Lynne asked, her voice breathless, “Do you think we can concentrate now?”
    “I hope so.”
    She lifted her head. “We'll start