Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) by Andrea Simonne Page B

pulling her close, his mouth slamming down hungrily on hers.
    She gasps at the need rolling off him. The bruising way he’s kissing her. She shouldn’t want him, but the pleasure rolling through her won’t stop. It’s been ages since she’s felt like this, possibly years. Maybe never.
    They break apart only because the cab driver is yelling at them in German.
    “I can’t invite you up,” she tells him, her voice shaking, though she tries to hide it.
    “I know.” His gaze is hot, lingering on hers, but then he looks away. “It’s a bad idea.”
    They’re in agreement, though neither of them makes a move to separate. Finally, Lindsay forces herself to break contact and pull away.
    His eyes, still dark, go back to her.
    She’s not sure what to make of his intensity. A part of her is tempted to explore those waters, but then she remembers what happened last time she swam in them. How she felt like a prostitute afterward, abandoned in a hotel room.
    No one is allowed to make me feel like that. Ever.
    It could be years until their paths cross again—it’s possible they never will.
    “Have a great life,” she says. It’s one of her standard lines, and she uses it with most men after she’s done with them.
    He nods. “You too.”
    She hopes Giovanni does have a great life.
    Far away from mine .

Lindsay doesn’t wake up until noon the next day and lounges in bed for a bit before deciding to spend some quality time with her vibrator.
    Of course, it complains again, grousing just like last time. The damn thing is barely vibrating at all.
    “Come on, seriously?” She fiddles with it, shaking it around before hitting it against the mattress.
    Lady, you need a man, not an appliance.
    You think I don’t know that?
    She finally gets it to work, but then all she can think about is Giovanni. She doesn’t want to think about him, but he won’t leave her alone, still harassing her even in her vibrator sex fantasies.
    It’s the way he felt against her last night—solid and strong, as big as Thor with those muscular thighs. And, of course, she already knows what he has going on between those thighs. A big cock, and if memory serves, he knows exactly how to use it.
    I refuse to have sex fantasies about Giovanni.
    But it isn’t just those thighs and the memory of that large package that has her going. She keeps seeing his face, the raw emotion on it after she kissed him. The need.
    God . Her breath grows shaky.
    The need is what’s getting to her. The way he looked at her, like a sinner finally offered salvation. It was lust, but something more too. What would it be like to assuage him? Intense, that’s for sure. It was intense last time, but something tells her this would be even more so.
    Okay , she sighs and makes a bargain with herself. I’m going to allow one sex fantasy about Giovanni, but only one. That’s all.

    Afterward, Lindsay throws on jeans that fall low on her hips and a white T-shirt before wandering down the hall toward the kitchen, stopping to say hello to a few people. Most of the artists who live in the building leave their doors open during the day while they’re in their studio working, which creates a nice feel of camaraderie. Someone’s boom box is playing foreign rap music, and the sound echoes off the walls.
    Unsurprisingly, the communal kitchen is a mess. She cuts off a chunk of German rye bread then grabs cheese and cold cuts from the refrigerator to make herself an open-faced sandwich—a classic German breakfast.
    She takes it back to her studio where she has an electric kettle she uses to heat water for her French press. When the coffee’s done, she adds a splash of condensed milk, then takes everything over to her sculpting table, eating while she studies the polymer clay mask she’s currently working on.
    She’s always found masks interesting—the mystery of them, the way a mask allows the wearer to hide in plain sight. As an attractive woman who’s been judged by her