This ain't spin the bottle!

gIRL-gEAR VP Kinsey Gray is not happy to hear Doug Storey is moving to Denver. She and the sexy architect have a bit of a history, but Kinsey was never quite sure how she felt about him. Now that he's leaving, it's time she made up her mind. WIth the help of a three-step plan to seduce Doug, Kinsey's positive she'll persuade him to stay. The wicked games she has planned will knock more than his socks off!

Doug's more than a bit surprised when Kinsey tells him she wants him to stay in Houston. Ever since their sexual escapades in Coconut Caye last year, he and Kinsey have kept things casual. While she certainly turns him on, he's not sure what they have is enough to keep him around. Of course, when he finds out Kinsey's up for grabs at a charity bachelorette auction, he's gonna make sure he's the only one taste Kinsey's wares!

Excerpt . . .

The doorbell chimed.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, looked up again . . . and realized she had totally forgotten dessert. Oh, yes. Definitely the start of a great impression. She should’ve gone with her original instinct not to mess with what was a really good friendship. This trap-setting idea was going to backfire with all sorts of regrets.

The doorbell chimed again, and Kinsey found herself wearing a wry smile. Doug never rang twice; he simply walked in with a loud, “Yo!”, and called out her name. That told her he shared her expectant sense of this evening being different than any they’d spent together in the past.

And since that was causing butterfly fountains to bubble in her stomach, she gave up worrying that a lack of dessert meant she’d flubbed the entire evening and reached for calm, cool and collected. Oohhmmm.

But when she opened her front door and saw him standing in the porch’s yellowed light, she didn’t know how to react, because the idea of never seeing him again hit her like a blow to the center of her chest.

When had he become so integral to her life, and when had she started taking him for granted?

She released the lock on the glass storm door and pushed it open, nearly breathless when she said, “Hi.”

The smile he’d originally given her deepened, his eyes going wide and his brows coming down as he took her in from head to toe. “Wow. And hi yourself.”

His wow made all the effort she’d taken with her appearance worth every minute of the tweaking spent on hair and make-up. “Back atcha.” Back atcha in a very big way.

He looked better than she remembered ever having seen him look, and she had to wonder if she’d really never noticed him before, or if she was simply caught up in the expectations of the moment.

He wore charcoal gray trousers and a heather green sweater pulled on over a pale yellow dress shirt. He walked into her living room, and she turned to close the door, leaning back against it and thinking she’d never seen a guy’s backside look any better than Doug Storey’s did in gray wool.

He stopped, one hand shoved down into a pocket, the other holding a bottle of wine, and turned back smiling. “It smells great in here. You should’ve told me you cooked. I would’ve been over here more often.”

She thought about telling him the truth of her kitchen skills but went with a different truth instead. “You would’ve been welcome. You are welcome. Any time. I just need advance warning if you expect food.”

He laughed at that. “Why’s that?”

“Well, actually, I don’t cook.” She considered the fit of his clothes one last time, then pushed away from the door and led him into the kitchen, her slides clicking from hardwood floor to rich Italian tile. “I don’t cook at all.”

“Hmm. Not sure if I should be honored here or worried.” His chuckle followed close on her heels.

The thrill of the chase was on. “Honored, of course. No need to worry. This recipe came straight from Sydney’s kitchen.”

Doug set the bottle of Pinot Noir on the kitchen island, leaned a hip on the edge and crossed his arms. “Now that you mention it, I have noticed Ray getting a little pudgy around the middle. I guess that’s a good sign.”

Kinsey decided it was best not to let him know who exactly it was cooking these days in the Coffey household. She handed him the corkscrew she’d rummaged in her utensil drawer earlier to find. “Like I said. No worries. I happen to have this meal totally under control.”

One of Doug’s brows lifted sharply as he opened the wine and poured them both a glass. He drank, his eyes never leaving hers even after he’d returned the stemware to the island’s tiled surface. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, darlin’, but I’m wondering if you might need to check whatever it is boiling away in that pot.”

“Oh, shoot.” Kinsey cut off the gas flame, took up the wooden spoon and stirred furiously. The glaze still smelled incredible, thank goodness. She sighed deeply, glanced back at Doug. “Thanks. You saved the day.”

He shrugged, winked. “Saved dinner at least.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” But she did want to be sure the glaze hadn’t burned before she served it with the chicken. She dipped the tip of a clean spoon into the sweet sauce, blew across the surface to cool it down, then taste-tested.

“Mmm.” She smacked her lips, smacked again knowing Doug watched. “Okay. You’re right. You saved dinner.”

“Well, then?” Doug signaled with a finger tapping his lower lip that he wanted a taste, too. “How ‘bout a little hero respect here?”

Eyes rolling, Kinsey grabbed another spoon. “I guess this goes to prove that cooking is probably one thing I should learn to do.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, then added, “Other than the obvious need to avoid burning down the house,” as she offered him the tip of the spoon and he took hold of her wrist.

His hand was so large around hers that was so much smaller, and he never broke eye contact as he opened his mouth. Watching his lips close over the spoon, watching his tongue flick at a smudge of glaze left on his lips, she remembered the intimacy of the kisses they’d shared on last summer’s vacation.

And then she wondered if she’d be able to find her voice to answer his question. “Oh, something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach,” she finally tossed off.

He licked his lips and hummed his approval of the orange and papaya, his mouth breaking into a grin that pulled deeply at the dimples in his cheeks. And then into one even wider as he carefully timed his reply. “You’re catering to the wrong organ, darlin’. Trust me on that one.”

And, at that, he kissed her.

(Joseph Baron & Izzy Leighton)