One More Taste by Melissa Cutler Page B

vadouvan, butter and cayenne. Knox’s whole world revolved around the yin and yang of old and new. His pricey, stylish suits worn with old-fashioned gold cufflinks; a minimalist, modern home contrasting starkly with the well-used record player in the study. And especially the line of work he’d chosen, taking old businesses and giving them a new shine. Even beyond that, the act of buying a huge stake in Briscoe Ranch was the biggest yin and yang of them all—a new opportunity, colliding with an old family name and an old family rift.
    â€œOf course. That’s perfect,” she muttered, collapsing back on the duvet. She closed her eyes and spread her arms over the fabric, feeling the textiles with not only her hands but the skin of her whole arms.
    She knew how to feed Knox so that the food would seep into his skin, through his layers of comportment. She had a plan—an irresistible plan that would turn him to putty in her hands—but his room was barely the tip of the iceberg. She needed so much more information. What had he been like as a child? What dishes had his mother made him? She needed his stories and history and—
    â€œI feel like one of the three bears right now. Goldilocks, is that you sleeping in my bed?”
    Emily practically levitated to her feet.
    A distinctly male figure appeared in the twilight shadows beyond the bedroom door. “Knox,” she breathed, mortified.
    He stepped just inside the room, into the light far enough for her to make note of his amused grin and playful, if onyx eyes. He leaned against the door jam, his thumbs hooked in his pants pockets. He looked intimidating. Confident. And undeniably, gorgeously male.
    Awareness pricked through her body like needles of fire. “I would never sleep in your bed,” she announced.
    His lips quirked, then he pushed off the door frame and strode toward the vanity. “Whatever, Goldilocks.”
    Raising his wrist, he unfastened his watch, then set it into the jewelry dish.
    He might have caught her off guard, but she had herself under control again. “Did you mistake me for someone who likes to joke around?”
    He had the grace to wipe the grin from his lips, but only just. His eyes still glinted with amusement. “Absolutely not.”
    Damn right. “My hair’s not even blonde like Goldilocks’. All I was doing was looking for inspiration on what to feed you.”
    He shifted his attention to his sleeves, methodically removing each cufflink. “In my bed?” he asked, glancing up from beneath thick lashes.
    Her skin turned impossibly hot. Did he have to keep saying bed as though it were the most erotic word in the English language?
    â€œAmong other places,” she snapped.
    She should leave the room. She should dash back to her kitchen at the resort and load up the black truffles she was going to need for dinner tomorrow. Except Knox was blocking the door and she wasn’t sure he’d let her pass before he had a definitive explanation about why she’d been in his bedroom. At least he hadn’t caught her rifling through his medicine cabinet.
    Her skin flushed even hotter.
    â€œDid you find it?” he asked.
    â€œFind what?” Was something missing?
    He tossed the cufflinks into the bowl on the vanity. “Inspiration.”
    Ah. “Maybe.”
    He looked around, as if the inspiration was something visible. Then his eyes settled back on her.
    She swallowed. “How was your day?”
    She’d meant for him to find that question humorous in an ironic way, but it seemed to plunge him into deep thought. He walked towards her, then past her, to the bed, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he moved.
    â€œLong. Good.” He tossed the jacket on the duvet, then hooked a finger behind his tie and tugged it loose. So intimate a move, undressing at home after a long day. What the hell was she still doing in his bedroom? She sidestepped towards the door,