Cinderella and the Playboy by Lois Faye Dyer Page B

and wobbled precariously.
    “Thanks.” Chance slid the casserole onto the tiled counter and removed the glass lid. He stirred the red sauce and spaghetti noodles and popped the dish into the microwave, set the timer and closed the door.
    “I think we should seriously consider cutting a bite of cheesecake while we wait for the spaghetti,” Jennifer told him, eyeing the swirls of dark chocolate on top of the cake.
    “Sure, why not.” He took a knife and a fork out of a drawer and joined her, bracketing her against the counter with his arms and body. “You cut.” He laid the utensils on the countertop on each side of the cheesecake and bent to nuzzle his face against her nape. His hands settled on her hipbones.
    Jennifer closed her eyes, her body going boneless as she melted back against him. His hands slipped beneath the hem of the white shirt and stroked upward, over her belly and midriff to cup her breasts.
    “Ohhhh, that’s not fair,” she moaned as her nipples pebbled against his fingers and her hips settled into the cove of his. She tilted her head back against his shoulder, the thick silk of his hair brushing her throatas he bent over her to press his mouth against the upper curve of her breast.
    She twisted in his hold, slipping her arms around his neck, her body pressed flush against his as she tugged his mouth down to hers. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her higher, and the kiss turned hotter, more carnal.
    Behind them, the microwave alarm buzzed loudly as the timer went off.
    Chance eased back from the kiss and lifted his head.
    “Want to skip the spaghetti and cheesecake and make love on the countertop?” he asked, his voice rasping with need.
    Jennifer was torn but before she could decide, her stomach growled. They both laughed.
    “That’s it. Food wins,” he declared, pressing one last hard kiss against her mouth and stepping back. “First we’ll feed you, then we’ll get naked again. Let’s go back to bed.”
    He reached behind her and picked up the cheesecake plate, handing it to her with the knife and fork. “You carry this, I’ll get the spaghetti.”
    “What about plates? And don’t we need another fork?” she asked, still disoriented and flushed.
    “Nope.” He used hot pads to remove the casserole of spaghetti and closed the door with his elbow.“We’ll share. But we might need napkins. Grab a couple out of the drawer by your hip, will you?”
    Jennifer found snowy-white linen napkins and preceded him down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom.
    Chance tossed the sheet to the bottom of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a thick blue towel. He spread it on the center of the bed and set the casserole on it.
    “We’re having a picnic,” she said with delight. “I love picnics and I’ve never had one in bed before.”
    “The mattress is more comfortable than the floor.” Chance crooked his finger at her. “And when we’re done eating, the bed’s more comfortable for making love.”
    She laughed, balancing the cheesecake in one hand and utensils in the other as she climbed onto the bed, shuffling on her knees to the far side of the folded towel. “Plus,” she told him, setting down the cheesecake, “there are no ants. Always a good thing.”
    Chance grabbed her free hand and tugged, tumbling her toward him. He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her, his mouth hot. “I love the way you find the good in everything. You’re easy to please.”
    “You offered me cheesecake with chocolate.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be pleased?”
    “Lots of women would be offended if they weren’t offered champagne and caviar.”
    “Hmm.” She eyed him. “I think you’ve been dating the wrong women.”
    His eyes laughed at her. “I think you’re right.”
    He stabbed the fork into the spaghetti, twirled it, and lifted the pasta to her mouth. “Tell me if it’s hot enough.”
    Obediently, she parted her lips and took