Burn for You

fresh mint leaves to garnish

Preparation

Combine all ingredients except prosecco in a shaker and fill with ice.

Shake vigorously to chill.

Strain into a chilled coupe glass.

Top with prosecco and garnish with mint.

Simple Syrup Preparation

Combine 1 cup sugar and 1 cup water in saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat. Store leftovers in airtight container in the refrigerator for up to two weeks.

NINE

JACKSON

My father once told me the only difference between a woman and a man-eating shark was the size of their teeth.

At the time I’d agreed with him. I’d had good reason to. But watching Bianca Hardwick move gracefully around my kitchen, making us lunch while chatting animatedly with Charlie and interacting with Cody as if she’d known him since birth, made me think that might have been too harsh a judgment.

And no shark on earth had an ass like Bianca’s.

Besides being a fucking masterpiece of design, the damn thing was an eyeball magnet. I’d already caught myself half a dozen times ogling it, my dick twitching under my zipper like some horny teenager’s. Even those hideous brown work pants she favored that looked like they were made from old potato sacks couldn’t diminish its appeal.

It was so round, like an apple. So taut and smooth. I wanted to bend her over the stool, yank those pants down her hips, and sink my teeth into it. I wanted to squeeze it and kiss it and stroke it and—

Christ, what was the matter with me?

Get a grip on yourself, Jackson!

“—like some pepper?”

I snapped back to myself just as Bianca was asking me a question. Something about pepper. I couldn’t quite remember because all the blood in my head had gone south.

“What? What did you say?”

Bianca tilted her head and gazed quizzically at me from under a pair of long, curving black lashes. “I said would you like some fresh-ground pepper with your pasta?”

She held my pepper mill in her hands. In front of me was a bowl of something that smelled delicious. I had no idea how long I’d been zoned out in Pert Ass Land, but I felt like I’d been caught red-handed. So I answered more forcefully than I probably should have.

“No!”

Bianca blinked. Her brows arched. She said, “Allrighty then. No need to alert the entire state.”

She turned to Charlie and asked the same question and received a far more polite response.

“I’d love some pepper, thank you! This smells amazing, Bianca.”

“There wasn’t much left in the fridge,” said Bianca, smiling, “but pasta and a few sautéed veggies always makes for a quick and tasty meal.”

“Sweet of you to make Cody mac and cheese,” said Charlie, nodding in Cody’s direction. He sat across from me at the island, happily slurping up cheese-covered pasta from a spoon and banging his feet against the metal legs of his stool.

“In my experience, kids will always go for a bowl of mac and cheese, no matter how much of a picky eater they are.”

“Do you have little ones?” asked Charlie.

The question startled me.

I guessed Bianca wasn’t married because she didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean she was childless. She could be divorced. She could be a single mom. She could be all kinds of things my inner caveman instantly decided needed protecting.

Bianca laughed. “I don’t, much to my mama’s disappointment.”

Then her laughter died. Her face did something strange. Her eyes registered pain for a moment, but then she squared her shoulders and smiled.

It looked forced.

I resisted the urge to ask what was wrong, because clearly something was. But I knew she wouldn’t tell me. And besides, she was my employee now. I needed to stop thinking about her glorious ass and fixing whatever problems she might have and keep it professional.

Someone needed to tell that to my cock, because he wasn’t listening to me. Pert Ass Land was too much of a temptation.

Bianca said, “Someday, though, hopefully. I love kids.”

She loves kids. She looks like that and she loves to read and she cooks like a three-Michelin-star chef and she loves kids.

And she’s made it perfectly clear she can’t stand me.

I shoveled pasta into my mouth to stifle the groan breaking from my chest.

Bianca walked over to Cody and ruffled his hair. He grinned at her, cheese smeared all over his chin and most of his hands. Then she rinsed the dishes in the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher, like she’d been preparing meals in my kitchen for years.

I stared at her for a moment, surprised by how much I liked having her in this space. And it wasn’t just her spectacular ass that made me feel that way. It was her.

Mouthy, bossy, yet surprisingly non-shark-like her.

Who can’t stand me.

Who was now in my employ.

Goddamnit.

“And now I really need to get back to the restaurant. I’ll give both coordinators a call this afternoon,” she said, turning to me, “and let you know if I have any other questions.”

“Fine,” I growled into my bowl of delicious pasta. Then, because my dick was throbbing and she was leaving when I wanted her to stay and I fucking hate feeling confused and I’m shit with good-byes, I snapped, “Rayford will give you the check for your fee on your way out.”

Even with a solid slab of marble separating us, I felt Bianca’s anger flare at the sharp, dismissive tone I’d used. I glanced up to find her staring at me with fire burning in those beautiful, dark eyes.

“It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Boudreaux,” she said with quiet sarcasm.

And we’re back to Mr. Boudreaux. Fuck.

She exchanged good-byes with Charlie and then turned and walked out.

I swear I tried not to stare at her ass as she went, but even Achilles had a weakness.

TEN

BIANCA

The first thing I did after Rayford dropped me off at the restaurant was hustle over to the bank to deposit Jackson’s check into my mama’s account. We’d scheduled her initial round of chemo for a few days away, and I didn’t want to take any chances that Jackson, in one of his inexplicable beastie moods, would put a stop payment on the check.

With that done, I felt better.

Until I ran smack into my ex in the bank’s parking lot. Literally into him.

The noise I made when I collided with his chest was something so unladylike my mama would’ve pitched a hissy fit if she’d heard it. It was part grunt, part groan, and part something that sounded like it shot out of my butthole on a hot burst of air, excuse my French. Hands flailing, I dropped my pocketbook on the ground and stumbled back in surprise.

“Whoa!” A pair of strong hands gripped my upper arms to steady me. “Easy, girl. I know I’m handsome as sin, but there’s no need to throw yourself at me.”

I looked up—and there he was. The Devil himself. Beautiful as a sculpture and just as soulless.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I shrugged off Trace’s hands. “I just wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Looking me up and down, Trace smiled.

Let me put that in perspective.

Trace looks like Denzel Washington, Dwayne Johnson, Jason Momoa, and a hot Tahitian swimsuit model had a wild orgy and nine months later he popped out, with equal parts of all their perfect genes. When he smiles at you, it feels like the clouds suddenly opened up on a rainy day and a sunbeam illuminated your head in a brilliant, heavenly glow.