A stamp of approval from my best friend’s grumpy, billionaire
brother would save my career.
Cooking on Calvin Riddle’s yacht was a favor turned temptation.
I admit, rocking the boat with my future on the line was reckless, but he looked yummy in that tux.
My mouth watered over his freshly showered, buff form.
Hard lines defined sculpted muscle that could melt frozen butter in a flash.
Pleasure is found in sinful desserts.
My dessert was Calvin Riddle.
Caught in the sizzling heat of the kitchen, I found myself stirring more than sauces.
Falling for Calvin wasn’t on the menu.
This could be a perfect blend of love and spice or a recipe for disaster.
