With two days left, I thought I’d share a deleted scene for your reading pleasure. This scene was supposed to take place when Drew convinced Bo to come to his house for dinner – again. Drew intends to grill steaks, but Bo has other ideas…

“I’m not about to risk anything going wrong this time.” 

Maybe not, but she definitely planned to entice him for the next hour or two. After inching the t-shirt up to her ribs, she tied the ends in a knot, which she tucked into her cleavage, revealing lots of clean, bare skin to his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Porterhouse,” he emphasized. “If you can’t behave until the steaks are done, I will banish you to the patio outside.”

“Fine.” She tore lettuce leaves off the head of romaine and dropped them in a colander, doing her best to maintain the boundary he set. Through her lashes, she caught him staring at her several times. When she did, she’d slow down the leaf-tearing, making each motion slow and deliberate. The fourth time she caught him, she licked her lips, her pink tongue teasing the flesh from one corner to the other.

“So, umm…” he said in a low tone, his gaze now laser-focused on applying fresh cracked black pepper to the steaks, “are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you wearing my underwear right now?”

She snorted in her attempt to hold back a satisfied smile. “No.”


He sounded so disappointed she knew she had to cheer him up. “I’m not wearing any.”

The wooden peppermill in his hand clattered to the floor and rolled toward her feet. “Damn.” The word came out a harsh whisper, as if it were the last utterance of a dying man.

Her laughter nearly exploded then and there, but she bent at the waist, giving him a fabulous view of her cleavage, while she picked up the peppermill. “Here you go.” She placed it in his hand, allowing her fingers to glide over his palm as she did so.

His eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple dropped when he swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome,” she crooned and returned her attention to her salad ingredients. Upping the ante, she swung her hips to the beat of the music while working. Done with the lettuce, she picked up one of the cucumbers, found a peeler on the island, and shimmied her way to the sink. She turned on the water and skimmed off the cuke’s rind. Who said it was hard to be seductive while peeling a phallic-shaped vegetable? She varied her strokes from long and slow to faster around the tip, all the while allowing the discards to drop into the drain equipped with a garbage disposal.

He might have made a strangled noise; she couldn’t be sure. But she definitely sensed him slip behind her seconds before his hands landed on her hips and his lips found their way to her neck.

Her breath left her lungs in one quick sigh of delight. Somehow, she managed to turn off the water before he spun her around to trail kisses from the hollow of her throat to the hollow of her breasts. His hands, hot and searching, slid up her waist until his fingers found their way underneath the knotted t-shirt. She gripped him by the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him closer, and arched her back—a subtle hint she ached for his touch everywhere. He complied with her unspoken request, his hand sliding up past the knot of the t-shirt, molding the flesh to his palm. A throaty purr rumbled from her mouth. Just for now, she told herself. To quench this need he’d ignited in her. If she slept with him once, whatever draw he had on her would evaporate and she could go on with her plans, focused and recharged. Just this one time…

“What about the porterhouse?” she eked out, not giving one good god damn about steak right now.

“Dinner’s going to be late,” he told her and yanked the t-shirt off over her head.

“I can wait,” she replied as her hand traveled to the button of his fly.