HungryforMore To start: tempt, tease, and always startle. —JAMES LACHANCE, Meal of a Lifetime, THE MENU: BEFORE THE MEAL Chapter 21 It was an interesting culinary/sexual challenge. How to keep the sex light and small? A bite, nothing more. A tease. A promise of more. That was what an appetizer was, wasn’t it? Amy regarded the man who was holding her. “I’ll be right back.” He let her go, his gaze trailing after her. “Sit. On the couch,” she commanded. He did as he was told, a small smile playing around his lips. God, she dug this man. Too much , a part of her warned. She pushed the thought away. She was doing the work of a muse, after all, nothing more. Light and casual. Helping a friend. She looked around the kitchen for inspiration. Then she saw them. Ah, James. This man was a special kind of inspiration all his own. Was he her muse? Well, it was possible. When had she ever even thought of opening a restaurant? Of doing something besides telling fortunes with Maddie? And she had already found it a name. She looked at James. And maybe even an executive chef. She sat next to him on the couch with the pint of strawberries. A look of bemused curiosity played over his features. “Still hungry?” “Starving,” she said, handing him the berries. “Feed me,” she commanded. She leaned back, her head resting in his lap. She licked her lips and waited. He carefully selected the juiciest berry from the bunch and considered it from all angles. “This is an organic Sparkle from the first California harvest. I have them flown in from—” “Shut up.” “Right.” He let the strawberry descend slowly toward her but stopped so it dangled just above her mouth. She strained up, reaching out with her tongue, but he pulled it away. “What will you do for this berry?” he asked. She considered. Just an appetizer. She unbuttoned the top button of her pajama shirt. He let the berry descend to her mouth. She licked at it but didn’t bite. His eyes lit up as he watched her mouth work the ripe fruit. He pulled it away, then lowered it down and then up again. Her body heated as he teased. She undid one more button, and he lowered the berry into her mouth. It was juicy and sweet, but she still preferred a man’s lips. Well, they’d get to that. Appetizers. She carefully bit off the tip of the next berry. Strands of his long black hair had escaped from their bondage, and hung down, tickling her cheek. “Mmm . . .” She rolled the morsel over her tongue. “More, please.” “You have to work for your food.” His eyes were black and flashing, and she could feel him coming to life as her head pressed into his lap. She undid another button, then reached up and slipped off his ponytail tie so that his chin-length black hair fell forward, tickling her face. He grunted and ripped her shirt open, pushing the fabric away, leaving her exposed. He bent down and tasted her nipples. Her body came to life under the attentions of his tongue. He had slipped his hands under her and lifted her to him. He feasted on her, pulling her closer. She let her hands trace down his back. Why was this man still wearing clothes? She pulled up his shirt and slipped her hands underneath. He groaned. But then she remembered: appetizers. She pushed him off her, trying not to wince at the separation. She nodded at the forgotten berries. “I’m just here for the food,” she said. He sighed. “Story of my life.” He reluctantly pulled his eyes from her chest and dangled another berry over her mouth. She closed her eyes, and their game continued. Licking, striving, straining. A drop of stray berry juice ran down her lip, and he stopped it with his thumb, then tasted it himself, then traced his thumb over her lips as if hoping for more. Amy pulled a berry from the pint and held it up to him. He ate half and she ate the other half. He picked a small berry out of the pint and traced her nipples with the ripe fruit. Then he leaned in and tasted where it had been. The roughness of the berry and the smoothness of his mouth lit her afire. Appetizers. Must stop. He put the berries aside and flipped her onto the couch. He climbed on top of her, his body hot against hers. “You are the most remarkable woman,” he groaned. His hardness pressed against her, and her body rose to meet him of its own accord. “My father did always tell me to skip the appetizers to save room for the main course.” She ran her hands through his long black hair, then pulled him to her. “This might be a four-course meal.” His hand began to journey under the waistband of her pajama bottoms, but she stopped him and with a Herculean effort, rolled out from under him, off the couch and onto the floor. Must not be total lust-driven floozy, but responsible, ethereal muse. “I’m stuffed,” she said. I’m an idiot, she thought. I’m so, so stuck on this man. . . . “I’m not,” he practically growled. “Come back here.” “Sorry. Appetizer only, James.” She stood and rebuttoned her pajama top. It took every ounce of her energy not to dive back into his arms. This muse stuff was hard, disciplined work. Plus, she had never seen him look quite so wild. He might own this place, but here, she had to be the boss. “You’re kidding.” His eyes were pure green surrounded by a thin rim of brown. His black hair was loose and hung over his face, throwing it into shadow. His shirt was askew, exposing a strip of trim belly. Just one more taste? No. She had to stop. “See you in the morning.” She kissed his head. Ah, this was the power of the muse. Control. And despite his anguished groan, she padded off to his bed and climbed in, pretending to be instantly asleep, trying not to let her own desire show.