Turning Up The Heat. Tanya Michaels
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as she stepped outside through the open balcony doors. He’d never seen Phoebe wear anything as short as that glittery navy dress, yet recognition sparked through him.
His gaze dipped to her heart-shaped ass and supple legs. Definitely Phoebe. A better man might feel guilt over how well he knew her body. It wasn’t entirely appropriate that he’d memorized the curves of a friend and former employee—but Heath hadn’t earned his reputation by being appropriate.
He interrupted whatever Matt was saying. “I just saw Phoebe Mars. I should go say hi.”
“Oh, right. She worked at Piri, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. She was our pastry chef.” Until Heath’s business partner had talked her into quitting.
Selfish SOB. Cam had strung her along and cost Piri an award-winning pastry chef just because the jerk had thought it would be too awkward to work with her after they broke up. When Cam had dumped her, Heath had battled back an uncharacteristic urge to take a swing at his partner for breaking her heart. Tonight, his feelings were more conflicted. He didn’t like the idea of Phoebe hurting, yet some part of him—a dark, disloyal part—delighted in her freedom.
Heath turned his attention back to Matt. “You have vermouth and green olives back there?” A moment later, he headed outside with his own drink and a vodka martini for Phoebe.
She stood alone, or as alone as one could be on a balcony with four other people, staring at the city skyline while the breeze toyed with the ends of her hair. She had gorgeous strawberry blonde hair that fell past her shoulder blades. When she worked in the kitchen, she secured it in a tight, low bun; Heath always savored these rare occasions when it tumbled free in riotous waves.
He joined her at the railing. June in Atlanta was steamy, enveloping him in heat, but even if it had been snowing outside, Phoebe in that dress would have raised his temperature. “I don’t suppose you’d consider chugging whatever’s left in that wineglass so I can look gallant by bringing you a fresh drink?”
“Heath!” Her full lips curved in a welcoming smile.
He only had a moment to admire the cleavage displayed by the plunging neckline before she threw her arms around him in an unexpectedly fierce hug. Her lush curves pressed against his body, and, damn, she smelled delicious. Was the scent perfume or just the by-product of working each day with cinnamon and vanilla and other tantalizing ingredients? He had the fleeting impulse to drop the glasses in his hands so he could hold her close, capture her mouth with his own and find out if she tasted equally delicious.
She pulled away, her smile sheepish. “Sorry. I almost knocked you over, didn’t I?”
“You don’t hear me complaining.” He’d happily allow her to knock him flat on his back if he could convince her to join him.
“I was excited to see a friendly face.”
He raised an eyebrow. She was hardly among strangers. When Bobbi had interviewed her as part of a dessert series last year, they’d become instant friends. Phoebe probably knew half the people here.
“A single friendly face,” she added. “It’s nice not to be the only one without a date. Or are you here with someone?” She gazed past him into the condo, her whiskey-gold eyes searching.
“Nope, I’m alone.” He thanked his lucky stars that the flight attendant he’d originally asked to come with him was somewhere over the Midwest right now. “I have it on good authority that the Kemp sisters are also solo—and on the prowl. Protect me from them?”
“Oh, please. You haven’t needed anyone’s help handling women a day in your life.”
Not since college anyway. Regardless, it wasn’t either of the Kemp sisters he wanted to handle.
Phoebe set her wineglass on the patio table. “I’m not finishing that. The floral notes are overpowering, and life’s too short to drink mediocre wine. What did you bring me?”
“Vodka martini, two olives, splash of brine.” He winked at her. “I know you like it dirty.”
Color tinged her cheeks, but she grinned back at him. “Yum.” Phoebe was an interesting contrast. Although she blushed at his habitual teasing, she’d often been the first to laugh if someone made a ribald joke in the kitchen. Muffled laughter, but Heath heard it just the same.
As she took the martini glass, her fingers brushed his. A rush of desire went through him, surprising him with its intensity. When she’d worked at Piri, they’d bumped and jostled each other plenty of times in a crowded kitchen.
But she hadn’t been single then.
“You look amazing tonight.” His gaze dropped to the creamy swells of her breasts for a moment before he made himself meet her eyes again. “Different, but amazing.”
“I can’t take credit for that. It’s easy to look amazing when your roommate’s professionally trained to make people look good. Gwen is responsible for my wardrobe, my cosmetics and my hair—not to mention making me attend the party.”
“She talked you into rearranging your schedule?” He and Gwen didn’t particularly get along, not since a disastrous double date Phoebe had engineered, but he appreciated that the woman had convinced Phoebe to be here.
“More like she rearranged my schedule for me. She called James, who is the nicest boss ever. No offense.”
He grinned. “None taken.” Nice wasn’t one of the adjectives that described him.
“I’m glad they persuaded me. I would have hated to miss Bobbi’s birthday. I was just clinging to the excuse of work because—” Her eyes widened, locking on a point behind Heath. Her fair complexion paled beyond its normal ivory.
Damn. Heath didn’t need to turn around to know Cam was inside. Probably with a date, judging from Phoebe’s pained expression. It had been too much to hope that her attending the party looking like fantasy made flesh was a sign she’d moved past her feelings for the hotshot chef. They’d been together for years. She wasn’t shallow enough to put that behind her in a matter of days.
“Phoebe?” He took her drink and set both their glasses on the nearby railing. “Do you trust me?”
Her gaze snapped back to his. “Sure.”
That makes one of us. Heath knew better than to trust his own motives as he cupped the side of her face. Helping her salvage her dignity provided an excellent excuse to touch her, and being successful in business had taught him a thing or two about seizing opportunities. Tendrils of her fiery hair tickled his arm as he leaned closer. “I have a plan.”
Then he pulled her tight against him and kissed her.
THE WORLD SPUN wildly around Phoebe as her brain tried to process what was happening. Her body, meanwhile, just wanted to revel in Heath’s kiss. He traced her lips, and then his tongue met hers, the hint of bourbon a sweet burn that spread through her. His hands were at the small of her back, holding her against him in a way that gave her a whole new appreciation for his body. She’d always considered him a sharp dresser, but suddenly she wondered what he’d look like without the well-tailored suits.
He kissed with assertive confidence, like a man who knew exactly what she wanted and was happy to give it to her.
For the past ten days, she’d been like a sleepwalker, cocooned in dull numbness. She hadn’t even realized how detached she’d been until now, with sensation rushing through her. Her skin tingled with pleasure. She angled her head, encouraging Heath to deepen the kiss. He did, and a shock wave of desire hit her. When was the last time she’d felt this damn good?
She curled her fingers in his dark hair. It was thick and soft, free of the stiff styling products that Cam—
Oh, God. Cam.
The memory of