Pastry chef Livvy knows that giving in to the temptation that is John Murphy won't lead to anything permanent, but she deserves a passionate summer fling. John discovers she's as sweet as the confections she bakes while Livvy slowly unravels his secrets. But what will happen when she uncovers them all?
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About the Author
Inez Kelley read her first romances in elementary school, under the bedcovers by flashlight when she was supposed to be sleeping. They spawned dreams that never ceased. She wrote her first tale at age eleven and hasn't stopped since, writing romantic comedy, fantasy and anything else that tickles her fancy. Her backlist includes the laugh-out-loud comedy Jinxed, the acclaimed fantasy Myla by Moonlight and the sequel, Salome at Sunrise, and books two and three of the erotic Dirty Laundry series, Talk Dirty to Me and Coming Clean.
She took her creative advertising honors degree and did every job under the sun, including theater makeup artist and 911 dispatcher before quitting to write. A transplant to the Midwest from the mountains of Appalachia, she loves baking, reading and anything that helps her avoid housework.
Read an Excerpt
A splash of bloody red in the blue sky fluttered like a shapeless bird before landing on his forearm. John plunked the box down and picked up the silky red bra.
It wasn't an industrial, serviceable model. This was one of those make-your-mouth-water pieces that would barely cover hard nipples while pushing things into a better vantage point. It was the type of bra a woman wore when she wanted a man to take it off of her. He could almost see the tiny front clasp nestled between two round swells begging to be unleashed. He'd popped a few of those clasps with his teeth before, and the urge hit again.
He glanced over the hedge. A clothesline held a rainbow of bras, panties, camisoles and other feminine intimate wear. The bra in his hand matched a tiny scrap of a thong pinned between a bit of peach lace and a black bra with see-through cups. Oh yeah, he had to meet his neighbor. A smile twitched his mouth. No time like the present. He tucked the bra in the back pocket of his jeans and rounded the hedge, crossing the small patch of grass to a tiny front porch. A wicker wreath hung dead center on the banana peel-colored wood. He rapped several times with a firm knuckle.
"I got it!"
His best smile in place, he waited for the woman who owned such a decadent scrap of clothing to answer. The door swung open and his smile faltered. Although very pretty in a Barbie college-girl way, the strawberry blonde who answered wasn't his type. She looked too young and innocent for him. His excitement faded to grim acceptance. He should've known better than to trust hope. Hope was like a scratch-off lottery ticketa buck better left in your wallet.
"Yes?" Curiosity shone in her pale blue eyes and he looked for an escape.
"Yeah, hi. I'm John Murphy. I'm moving in next door and the wind picked up a bit"
"Andrea, who is it?"
A sultry, whiskey-edged voice pulled his eyes behind the girl. As she turned around, the door slid open farther and the woman named Andrea motioned for him to step inside. He had to force his feet to move. His ribs tightened painfully around his lungs.
Here was his vision. Loose curls the color of cinnamon framed her heart-shaped face as she stared at him with violet eyes. No earthly woman had eyes the shade of lilacs. This mirage had to be a product of the sun and heat. His gaze drifted from her face downward and a different kind of heat boiled in his gut.
A purple tee shirt stretched a faded Disney character across her ample chest, and he wondered what color lace lurked under Tinker Bell. Long smooth legs poured from beneath her cut-off shorts. Splotches of plum on her toes hinted at her secret womanly side and made him smile. She wore no makeup but had an internal glow. This was a lady made for sin.
Sin was something he knew intimately.
He offered his hand, and the strength in her grip surprised him. Her soft grasp spoke of competence and confidence. Short unadorned nails highlighted the fact she wore no rings. The sweet scent of cake frosting filled his nose and he inhaled hungrily. His brain slammed into sexual overload as he flashed on licking sugar from her skin. His zipper was suddenly too snug.
Betty Crocker had never been so arousing.