Feature – Delectable by Adrianne Lee


DELECTABLE – On sale May 27, 2014

About the book

Montana real estate agent Quint McCoy will tell you that the most important thing is location, location, location. It’s a lesson he learns all too well when he goes incommunicado for a four-week fishing trip to Alaska. While he’s away, his mother Molly turns his office into the pie shop she has always dreamed of, Big Sky Pie. But that’s not the only surprise in store for him.

On her way out of town, Callee McCoy only wants to say a fond farewell to her beloved mother-in-law. But Molly soon persuades Callee to stay and lend a hand at the new shop, even if it means heating up the kitchen with her soon-to-be ex. As Callee and Quint rediscover their recipe for love, they realize that some couples are so sinfully good together that one delectable taste is never enough . . .

Excerpt
She turned off the tap, wishing she could shed all sensuous longings for this man. She couldn’t change what didn’t work between them. But she so missed the feel of his warm, inviting skin, and although she didn’t want to think about that, she couldn’t seem to stop. There was something oddly seductive about being alone with him in this kitchen.

He grabbed a towel and dried his hands, also seeming a bit ill at ease. Maybe it was that he was about to try making his first piecrust in years. Or maybe he too felt the tantalizing hum in the air. He tossed the towel to her. She caught it and dried her hands as he turned away, and her gaze snagged on his amazing backside. Damn. Stop it. Look somewhere else. Think about something else. Where the hell had she put that chilled water? There. She crossed the room, grabbed the bottle, and downed a gulp. Quint was peering into the freezer.

She kept her eyes on the back of his head, not daring to look lower. Safe territory. Except that lock of ebony hair curling over his collar captivated her. He needed a haircut. Bad. Her fingertips itched for a pair of scissors as a memory of one particular haircut flashed into her mind, rocking her back in time.

The bathroom in their master bedroom. The air, steamy with the aromas of peach shampoo, spicy bath gel, and unbridled sex. She was replete with a delicious feeling coursing through her veins and passion for this man who was her husband, filling her heart to the edge of overflowing—a magical sensation only intimate lovers experience.

Quint had sat on her makeup stool, a towel wrapping his lean waist. She bent forward over his back, teasing her fingers through the hair on his chest, tracing it down his flat belly to where it disappeared into the towel. He grinned at her reflection in the mirror and reached behind him, playfully slipping his hand inside her robe and between her legs. Her body responded to his every touch, every stroke, need coiling deep in her core.

Laughing, she kept threatening to take a chunk of hair out of the back of his head if he didn’t stop. But she didn’t want him to stop. And he didn’t. Soon the scissors were slipping from her hands, the robe falling to the floor, his towel gone. Her blood began to sizzle at the high-def memory.

Oh my God. Stop. She cleared her throat, but her voice croaked when she asked, “What do you need me to do?”

A good assistant always deferred to the chef. Just like a willing lover.

He grabbed a package of frozen and pitted dark red cherries from the freezer and emptied it into a huge glass bowl. “At room temp, this should thaw in an hour, hour and a half.”

“Okay,” she said, determined not to stare at him or to have any more erotic memories as he bent and began to dig in the refrigerator. She spun toward the cupboard that faced the Subzero and, for the first time, noticed a built-in CD player. She considered turning it on, but Quint interrupted the thought.

“Aha. There’s the butter.” He placed two sticks of unsalted butter on the work island. “Do you know where Mama keeps the flour, salt, and sugar?”

“Oh, you know what?” She crossed to the linen cupboard and withdrew two chef coats, one small and one that must have been Rafe’s. “Before we go any further, I suggest we put these on. Baking pies can get messy.”

Quint grinned at her, that engaging heart-stopping grin, as she helped him adjust the coat over his broad shoulders. The air between them crackled like heat lightning. His gaze slipped to her mouth, and her mouth tingled in response, and then a jackhammer pulsed through her veins, making her body ache for his touch. His kiss.

He leaned down as though he meant to oblige her mouth, but instead he whispered, “Damn it, Callee, I’m only human. If you don’t want me to kiss you, stop looking at me like that, or I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

————————————

About the author
Adrianne Lee lives with her husband of many, many years on the beautiful Olympic Peninsula in Washington State in a pole barn building her husband transformed into an upstairs apartment with a shop below for his hot rods. Adrianne creates her stories on her laptop, in her recliner with her adopted cat, Spooky, curled between her calves, snoozing. Over thirty years of summer vacationing in the Flat Head Lake area near Kalispell and Glacier Park has given her a love for all things Montana.

To find the author
Website
Facebook
Twitter

Buy Links
Barnes and Noble
IndieBound

Giveaway
The publisher is giving away a copy of the book, or the pie prize pack grand prize, so pop on over to the following link for a chance at them: a Rafflecopter giveaway

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