Operation G-spot. Jodi Lynn Copeland

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СКАЧАТЬ door and headed into the room across from the entrance. The cooking class was a mix of women and men, young and old; it was also the perfect way to get closer to Liz and convince her to give him another chance at pleasuring her, this time the right way.

      Guilt edged up with the idea that what he was about to do bordered on deceitful—he didn’t believe in luring a woman into his arms. Then again, you could hardly lure the willing. Even if she’d had another man waiting for her three nights ago (hell, he didn’t want to buy that claim), Dusty didn’t believe that man had been the cause of her wetness. Liz had been hot for Dusty and Dusty alone. How he treated her over the next hour and a half might sway the evening’s outcome in his favor; but if it ended with her inviting him back between her legs for some prime shag time, it would be because she wanted him there 100 percent.

      Dusty spotted Liz in the back of the open room, pulling bowls from a floor cupboard. She wasn’t facing him, and she didn’t need to be. He’d know that tight ass, hugged to testosterone-tormenting perfection in a pair of faded black jeans, anywhere.

      His dick stirred to life with the memory of filling his hands with her supple backside. That a mere thought could have such a strong effect on his libido made one thing clear: It had been far too long since he’d gotten laid. If this night didn’t end with him screwing Liz, then it would end with him screwing some other woman, regardless if she was a challenge to get into bed and a bolster to his ego, or just another easy, feel-good lay.

      Pulling his thoughts from his boxers, Dusty caught the instructor’s eye and nodded a hello. A middle-aged man with close-cut, thinning brown hair and a black apron emblazoned with red and green jalapenos, the guy worked his way around the room, answering questions and assisting students at their work stations. Each station consisted of a stove, refrigerator, sink, and several cupboards.

      Liz went to the refrigerator in her station, opened the door, and fished around inside. Dusty quickly crossed the room to stand on the other side of the refrigerator door. Several seconds passed and the door closed. He knew the instant she spotted him—her face registered shock, and the eggs in her right hand exploded in her fist, sending shell flying and thick yellow and white liquid dripping onto the floor.

      Checking his amusement, he grabbed a washcloth from next to the sink and bent down to clean up the mess. He glanced up at her as he worked. “Nervous?”

      Her eyes narrowed, shock fading to revulsion. “No. It’s an anxious tic I get whenever I’m about to kick someone’s ass. What are you doing here, Marr?”

      Standing, he dropped the egg mess into the sink and washed his hands. He reached into the refrigerator for two fresh eggs, then set them on the counter next to the bowls she’d set out. “Cooking. Isn’t that what people do in cooking class?”

      Liz’s gaze narrowed further, suspicion alive in every line of her body. “This class has been going on for almost two months. It’s also full. I have a hard time believing even you could sweet-talk your way past those factors.”

      Dusty grinned. She would be surprised how much a little sweet-talking could accomplish. Since he didn’t come here to talk sex, at least not yet, he shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know the instructor’s sister.”

      With a knowing look, she grabbed a container of flour from the cupboard and set it on the counter. “Yeah. I bet you do.”

      “Her husband was an acquaintance of mine before I moved here.”

      She whirled to face him. Incredulity shot through her eyes. “Ohmigawd! You slept with a married woman!”

      Dusty felt a dozen sets of eyes land on him with the blurted words. He could pretend he wanted to set Liz straight for the sake of getting closer to her and then getting back in her pants. The truth was he had a real problem with her or anyone else thinking so lowly of him. Yeah, he loved sex and women’s bodies in general—be they thin, chunky, or somewhere in between—but he would never mess with a married woman. “Amazingly, I don’t sleep with every woman I meet,” he said rigidly, and then nodded at the ingredients she’d laid out. “What are we making?”

      Liz continued to look at him for a few seconds, as if she wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but then dismissed the subject. Turning back to the counter, she unwrapped a stick of softened butter and tossed it into a bowl. “I’m making pecan pumpkin pie. Thanks to you, I’m already behind the rest of the class on getting the crust together.”

      He’d learned enough about the class to know each student worked at their own pace. Since her lie worked in his favor, he let it slide. “In that case, let me help you get caught up.” He grabbed the two eggs in one hand. Tapping them against the edge of the bowl, he broke them cleanly down the center. The yolks and whites emptied into the bowl, and he tossed the shells into the sink.

      “You’ve done that before.” Accusation rang in Liz’s voice.

      Before Liz’s brother had met his girlfriend, Colin had shown up at Dusty’s Backroom several nights a week in an attempt to escape what he called Liz’s god-awful cooking. While Dusty wasn’t ready to win any cook-offs, teaching her what he did know was as good a way as any to get on her good side. “I do some of the cooking at Dusty’s.”

      “Right,” she said dryly, “the extra crispy char burgers.”

      “What can I say, they’re my specialty.”

      Without responding, she returned to the refrigerator and pulled out the egg carton. She set it on the counter and grabbed two eggs. The recipe didn’t call for any more, so obviously she was cracking them to prove a point, namely that she could do anything he could and, likely in her obstinate mind, far better.

      Fisting the eggs, Liz struck them against the side of a clean bowl. Shell splintered into a dozen pieces, most of which landed in the bowl along with whatever yolk and whites didn’t splatter onto her hand and apron.

      Curling her egg-slicked hand into a fist, she scowled. “They obviously had defective shells.”

      With an inward laugh, Dusty grabbed two more eggs from the carton. “I’ll show you.”

      “I don’t want your—”

      “Like you said, this classroom’s equipped for a dozen students. I make thirteen. To get in, I had to agree to hook up with someone already assigned. That would be you.” Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he hurried to change the subject. “As for the eggs…” He moved behind her, enjoying the sensual slide of her bottom against his groin as he slid his arms under hers.

      A low growl rolled from her lips. Before she could follow the feral sound up with words, he took her right hand in his, turned it palm-side up, and uncurled the fist. “Watch and learn.” He placed two eggs onto her palm, purposefully stroking the tips of his fingers along her skin, sending waves of heat dancing up his arm and, no doubt, into hers. He folded his hand over hers and brought his mouth inches from her ear. Gently, he used their joined hands to strike the eggs against the lip of the bowl. The shells broke down the center, emptying their contents into the bowl. “It’s all in the wrist.”

      Liz cocked her head to the side, assuring the warm whisper of his breath against the delicate flesh of her earlobe hadn’t gone unnoticed. She tugged at the hand he held and pushed against him, attempting to move away. When he refused to budge, she turned and glared. “You honestly said I would be your partner?”

      Dusty’s attention fell to her mouth. She hadn’t worn the ruby-red lipstick tonight or the three-inch СКАЧАТЬ