Perfectly Matched: ...And the Rest of the Matchmaking Chef Books

by Maddie James

  Or, he should rephrase, it used to be his job to keep up with the competition.

  But with this new development, he might just be able to get his job back. Because yes, he knew Bianchi Chocolates, and he also knew the chocolate company that was giving them a run for their money: Jeaneva Chocolates.

  And the chocolate that he had spit out on the sidewalk a few days earlier? That would have been one of Jeaneva Chocolates’ signature brands: Hazelnut Crème de la Crème.

  Fake.

  Jillian Bass is a fake.

  But looking at her now, snuggled into his chest, a small and slightly insecure look on her face, he felt nothing but caring and sympathy for her. Not to mention that his jeans were growing tight in the crotch as he held her.

  Somehow when she had looked up at him with that tear-streaked face a moment ago, his heart had melted like butter in the pan, and the reason he had come to her was nearly forgotten.

  All he wanted to do at that very moment was comfort.

  And kiss the hell out of those sexy, pouty, trembling lips of hers.

  Chapter Six

  Jillian wasn’t sure what came over her. Maybe she was just exhausted. Unused to spilling her guts like that, she figured she owed Scott some sort of explanation. As she lifted her face to say something to him, the second she opened her mouth to speak, he placed one firm finger on her lips and whispered, “Shush. Not now, Jillian.”

  And before she knew it his warm and inviting mouth had replaced that finger.

  Sighing against her lips, and his, she melted and, for some very strange reason, let him simply take over and possess her mouth.

  That was very nice.

  He pressed against her and dragged his lips across hers, coaxing a steady stream of emotion and passion from her tummy up to her chest. My goodness, the man was a good kisser! And right now she didn’t care about her broken foot or her monster splinter; all she cared about was that he keep on doing what he was doing to her mouth.

  Damn. His lips were better than chocolate.

  And in her book that was saying something.

  Leaning in to her, they slowly drifted into a laying position on the couch, while Scott’s lips nipped and tasted hers, savoring over them like they were a raspberry cream truffle. Moaning, and ready to just let go, Jillian threaded her fingers in his hair, grasping him from behind the neck, and drew him closer into her.

  Heaven.

  Their bodies aligned, the heat of him radiating over her, Jillian felt like the most wanton and wicked woman around.

  And she liked it.

  Liked it way too much.

  She pushed at his chest and broke the kiss.

  “Scott,” she whispered. “We, um…”

  His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, with his small thin, heated breath exiting.

  He nuzzled his nose against hers. “Jillian, sorry,” he quietly said back, “I’m not sure what...”

  “You’re kisses are wonderful.” She couldn’t help it. The words just came out of her mouth.

  Then he looked at her. “Really?”

  She nodded and smiled back. “Yeah...”

  “I don’t mean to be taking advantage of you here. I mean, you’re hurt and everything.”

  “Not my lips.”

  He grinned then and traced her lower lip with a finger. “No. No, your lips are definitely not broken.”

  “Then kiss me more?”

  Wanton. Wicked.

  Scott groaned and shifted, his elbows propping him on either side of her shoulders, his hands in her hair. Diving in for another kiss, Jillian met him eagerly, and she wondered if her lips would explode from the currents running through that one place on her body.

  Well, maybe not that one place, because at the moment, his kisses were making her want to wrap her legs around him and draw him about as close into her as she could muster. What was that all about?

  Hussy! Suzie and Sydney had jokingly called her that. They were right. Hussy.

  But oh...

  She wanted him to take her right here on her couch, splintered foot, lovely boot and all.

  The shock of that thought pushed up into her chest like molten lava. She shouldn’t. But she wanted. After all, he’d be gone in a week anyway, and life could get back to normal...

  Whatever that was.

  Scott’s lips trailed to that sweet spot right above her collarbone. The one that if men found on her and lingered, she would be like putty in their hands. He toyed, tickled, licked, lingered... Left hot kisses right there. His fingers dragged down her neckline to the edge of her lavender lacy bra cup, and his mouth followed.

  “Oh... Scott...” she whispered.

  ****

  My God, she’s so tiny and delicate and tastes way too damn good.

  A few days ago Scott had escaped from an impossible situation in Italy and had plunged himself smack in the middle of Podunk. He’d not wanted anything but sleep and nothing to do with women or chocolate. But now, lying draped over this sexy woman’s body, he wanted nothing more than to sink into her and plant himself in Legend for the rest of his life.

  Shit.

  He wanted this woman whose business was chocolate.

  Whoa. A sliver of something really scary shot up through him. Did he actually think that? For the rest of his life?

  Back off, buddy, his brain said. This will get complicated. You live in Italy. You’ll be gone in a week.

  She’s sucking you in. She’s a fake. She lives in the freakin’ mountains of Tennessee. She pulled his lip inside her mouth and tugged. Hell. He groaned and grew harder by the second.

  Shit.

  Breaking away, Scott pushed back from Jillian and up off the couch. He stood, looking down at her, and raked a hand of fingers through his hair. He took in her soft, questioning face.

  Pouty, kiss-swollen lips. Half-closed, sexy eyes. And her small, warm, come-hither body.

  What he wanted to do was slowly hike that black dress up her thighs, run his palms over every inch of her body, suckle her breasts—and lower—and then sink into her with everything that was in him.

  What he did, however, was none of that.

  “Um, Jillian. I think I should go. I think that...”

  With an awkward twist, she sat up, fixing her clothes around her. “Scott, what’s going on?”

  What’s going on? I have no clue what’s going on.

  “I just think I should go. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to move this fast. This is inconsiderate. I think that...”

  He hadn’t intended to put the moves on her at all. But something stronger than his intent was taking over his head and his heart and his favorite body part in his pants.

  “I just need to go.”

  So he didn’t waste any more time and left.

  ****

  Yes, until recently, Jillian Bass had led a fairly easy life. Her every whim was catered to.

  Her bills paid. The best schools, the best clothes, the best guys were all laid at her feet. Her grandmother had always been at her side. And it was her Grandma Jean who had always encouraged her to think outside the pretty pink and expensive box her father and mother had placed her in.

  So when Grandma Jean had died, she did just that. Thought outside her New York lifestyle box. She left her family, job, fiancé, and the city she loved to move to Legend, Tennessee to start a new life.

  And all of that wasn’t an easy thing to do. In fact it was quite uncomfortable at times.

  But for some odd and crazy reason the discomfort she felt in her chest, and deeper in her gut, when Scott Matthews ripped his warm, sexy body away from hers and walked out her door was more than she wanted to tolerate.

  Chapter Seven

  Three days later, at twenty minutes before midnight, Jillian stood watching the fondant beater hammer the hell out of a large mixing bowl full of sugar and corn syrup goo. Chocolate was tempering to her left, a cooling station to her right, and her prep station all set out before her.

 
; With the back of her hand, she swiped a shock of hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her eyes. Sugar crystals fell from her hand to her cheek as she did so.

  A messy cook, she didn’t care. For three entire days she’d been at it. Keeping her mind on work had always made her forget unpleasant things. Besides, she was driven. She had a goal to get a variety of the chocolates in her store by tomorrow. Hence, the working late and around the clock. She glanced down at herself. Had she even showered this morning? Surely she had. Her apron was none the worse for the wear, however; chocolate had dripped and streamed across it as she had dipped a batch of raspberry creams.

  Shit.

  Every time she thought of raspberry creams she thought of Scott and his succulent-as-berry lips. Which was the real reason, if she cared to admit it, why she was working her ass to a bone-tired state every night.

  She didn’t like seeing Scott walk out the door on her the other night and damned if she could get the man out of her mind for one second. The thought of him made her twitter with attraction.

  Her attention to the fondant was suddenly jerked away as someone rapped rather hard on the glass of her back door, the one that led to the alley. “Who in the world?”

  Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she glanced to the chocolate and fondant. They should both be okay for a second or two. Looking again to the door, she noticed a shadowy figure there, and hobbled cautiously toward it. Both ankle and heel were better, but still not perfect.

  The reflection of the glass made it difficult for her to see clearly, so once she reached the door, she flipped on the back porch light.

  Scott?

  She opened the door. He stood there leaning into the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her like she was a succulent piece of…

  Chocolate?

  No.

  Ass.

  Yes. He was staring at her like he wanted to jump her ass. Right there. In her kitchen. With his eyes all bed-roomy and needy and sexy and...

  How dare he?

  With both fists she grabbed his shirt, jerked him inside the door, locked her lips with his, and kicked the back door shut.

  ****

  He’d stood at that back door for fifteen solid minutes and watched her before he finally garnered enough nerve to knock on the door. As she moved closer, something in his gut gave way and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that should she give him one hint of a green light, he was going to be a goner.

  Perhaps that’s why he’d waited so long. For three days he could not get Jillian Bass, her soft lips, her petite frame, and the way his hands fit over her hips, out of his head. Could not forget that. So throwing all caution to the wind, he escaped his solitary cabin, and here he was.

  As the door opened, her gaze hooked into his and held, but for only a few seconds. When her fingernails raked across his chest and she fisted his shirt in her hands, something in his libido jumped into overdrive, and he knew at that very second that this was all over.

  All of it. Over.

  He couldn’t fight it any longer.

  The door slammed behind him, and suddenly he found his fingers fumbling with the clasp that held her hair. They spun across the room and crashed into a counter, Scott pinning her against it. Their lips fused, fingers groping, Jillian had somehow snaked out of her apron. Then they flipped, turned, stumbled a few feet the other way; while practically climbing his frame,

  Jillian laid hot licks right behind his ear and pushed him into the pantry door.

  Oh, God... This was going to be good.

  With a pop of suction, she broke away from their frantic kiss and said, “Chocolate.”

  “Not now, sweetheart.”

  Tugging him away from the pantry, she said, “No. Come here.”

  “I’m here, babe.”

  Again she pulled him and rotated to their left. A mixing bowl clattered to the floor. Scott clung to her, his hands under her shirt now, and they rolled toward the stove. “Hot...boiling…”

  “Yes, yes sweetheart. We’re hot, boiling.”

  “No. No... Chocolate...” she said, then flipped off the switch on the gas stove, where the chocolate was bubbling madly.

  Ruined. Damn.

  But only one thing worse than ruining hot and steamy, top-grade chocolate—was ruining hot and steamy, top-grade sex. And he wasn’t about to let that happen.

  Groaning, his hands skimmed to her ribs and dipped beneath her bra; Jillian reacted with a whimper and a gasp. She pointed behind him. “Stop that thing.”

  Reluctantly he glanced over his shoulder to see a big wad of fondant whining its way around the beater. “Oh.” He stretched, which was difficult, since her hands were now jerking at his belt. “Got it.” The whining stopped.

  “Good,” she breathed. “Now…”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Here!”

  All right!

  In one motion Scott lifted her onto the counter, and Jillian wrapped those sweet, sweet thighs around his waist and squeezed.

  “Wait!”

  A momentary panic settled across Jillian’s chest. Her hands gripped Scott’s shoulders, her legs were securely anchored to his hips, and his tongue was making a beeline for her cleavage.

  More than anything at this moment, she wanted their clothes gone. And now.

  But...

  “What?”

  “The light.”

  “Dammit. Where is the switch?”

  “By the door.”

  “Leave it.”

  “No! Everyone in the apartments across the alley can see.”

  “Grrrrrr…” Scott raised his head from her chest and glanced about. “Windows. Lots of windows,” he said.

  But she already knew that. “Yes.”

  Scott slipped his hands under her rear and lifted her off the counter. She held onto his waist with her legs, and her lips found his again as he stumbled toward the back door and the light switch. His palms squeezed her ass, and her crotch was more than throbbing now as she sucked on his neck.

  God, she wanted this man!

  “Not that door. The other one.”

  “Christ, Jillian!”

  “Over there!” She pointed, and he twisted, knocking into a bag of open powdered sugar on the counter at his left elbow. Unfortunately it toppled over and spilled out on the counter and waterfalled to the floor.

  “Hells bells.”

  But Scott would not be deterred, Jillian noticed. He forged ahead, carrying her weight with his to the other door, slapped the light switch, and the kitchen went dark. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, must have Scott’s too, because they both paused for one split second. Then the street light from the alley filtered in.

  “Finally.”

  He placed her on the nearest counter. In a flurry he ripped her t-shirt over her head and slid her bra straps over her shoulder.

  “Let me.” Reaching behind, she deftly unhooked her bra and her breasts fell into his hands.

  “Nice,” he hissed, lowering to catch the peak of a nipple in his teeth.

  Jillian moaned, “Oh, God, yes…” The touch of his rough tongue to her nipple sent flames scuttling up through her. Passion raised, and she clutched his head to her chest.

  Scott passed from one breast to the other, balancing their weight in his hands, tugging her nipples one-by-one into his wet, hot mouth. She could barely sit still on the countertop.

  “Oh, Scott...”

  His big hands grasped her at the waist, and he pushed her further back onto the counter.

  In one swift movement he peeled the black stretch pants she wore over her hips and lifted her to be done with the things. Her bikini panties were stripped away in the same motion.

  And there she was, alley light filtering over them, naked and legs spread wide on the counter, with Scott ogling her from the tips of her breasts to the goodies between her legs like she was some sort of confection. On a whim she reached to he
r right and scooped up a handful of powdered sugar and watched it sift through her fingers.

  “Would you like sprinkles on that?” she asked.

  His wide-eyed gaze met hers, and she watched his mouth move but wasn’t sure he was able to speak. Finally he did. “Yes. Let me.”

  She obliged and watched as he grasped a handful of the sweet stuff in his palm. With one hand he pulled her bottom closer to the edge of the counter, and with the other he sprinkled her body from nipples to Brazilian wax job with the fine, white powder. And with no hands remaining, the only thing left for him to do was use his tongue.

  Which he did.

  Licking. Tasting. Sampling. Savoring.

  No erogenous zone on her torso was left un-sugared or un-tongued.

  Working his way lower, he knelt in front of her, his fingers splaying her apart, his tongue gritty with sugar, lapping over her folds, dipping into her slit, rolling over her sensitive truffle-bud, and teasing her like there was no tomorrow.

  Was there a tomorrow?

  Hell, she was not thinking about that now.

  “Syrup,” she eeked out.

  Scott lifted his head. “What?”

  Reaching upward to her right, she pulled down a small glass bottle. “Best you’ll ever eat,” she told him. “Good stuff.”

  “You’re driving me absolutely friggin’ crazy,” he mumbled. She watched his wild gaze travel to the syrup bottle and then back to her body. “You’re not kidding, right?”

  “No.”

  “What kind is it?”

  Her voice rose. “Does it matter?”

  Quickly he grasped the thing, made short work of drizzling the cool liquid over her tummy and lower, and then wasted no time in making short work of her.

  The thrill that shot through her at the touch of his tongue to her truffle-nubbin provided her with a molten lava-like eruption of pleasure that wouldn’t let go. And just as she was coming off her orgasmic high, Scott stood, tugged her even closer to the edge of the counter, plunged himself deep inside her, and made wicked, wicked love to her while standing there amidst sugar and chocolate and other assorted kitchen paraphernalia.

  Breathing hard, he bit into her shoulder as he came, groaning her name and holding onto her. After a moment he lifted her up off the counter, their bodies still firmly joined, and said one word, “Shower.”