Sugarlips (Beefcakes Book 2) by Katana Collins (latest books to read TXT) 📕

culinary school, pretty boy?” My fingers twitched, aching to feel the silken strands of his hair again. “I think I know what we’re doing after dinner.”

30 Liam

The night of the networking event, Chloe was nervous as hell. She didn’t show nerves by fidgeting or biting her nails or bouncing her knee like other women I knew.

She cleaned. And organized. So, when I arrived at her house in my suit, ready to pick her up for the event, and found the house smelling like bleach and lemon-scented wood polish, I knew.

The breath punched out of my lungs at the sight of her. Goddamn, she was gorgeous. I didn’t get much of a chance to admire her though because she immediately bounded back up the steps as she put an earring on. “I forgot my lip gloss!” she called over her shoulder. The back of her dress was unzipped. Wide open, flapping with each bouncing step up the staircase, and revealing the straps of a black lacy thong over her hips. My cock jumped against the zipper of my pants and I was grateful that this was one of the rare times that I actually wore boxer briefs. Something told me I’d need the containment tonight with Chloe in that tight, black cocktail dress—especially after getting a peek at her panties.

In another few moments, she was in front of me again, her full lips glossed. Cobalt eyes bright and lined with coal-colored makeup. Her lashes were something out of a Disney movie, curved and almost hitting her eyebrows they were so long. Her black lace dress was sexy, but understated, hugging her tight, thin curves.

In a word, she was breathtaking.

“Zip me up?” she asked and spun so that her bare, muscled back was facing me and gathered her golden curls into a pile on top of her head.

Fuck me, no bra.

“Of course,” I managed to say despite my dry throat. I pinched the metal zipper and pulled it slowly up, the teeth catching one by one and it felt like a damn shame to be zipping her into and not out of that dress.

I got one last glimpse of the lacy top of her thong peeking out over her heart shaped ass as I finished zipping her in. She turned to face me, and fuck, she was beautiful. “There,” I said, forcing myself to step back. “Perfect.”

Her eyes scanned me, appreciatively. “You look good in a suit.”

“I look better out of it.”

“Oh, I know.” She laughed, grabbing her keys and lobbing them at me—a high-arching toss into the air—and I casually stuck my hand out to catch them without even shifting my glance.

“Speaking of,” I paused, clearing my throat before I continued. “We’ll probably need to keep up the ruse of being a couple. Most people there tonight who’ve heard of The Dump Truck have probably seen the news story.”

She kept her eyes down, digging around in the tiniest purse I’d ever seen. But her spine and shoulders were rigid, alert. “Or even more likely, they watch Bruce and Jill in the mornings.”

I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at me. “Exactly.”

“You’re right,” she finally looked up, giving me a single, resolute nod. My heart skipped a beat. Tonight was my chance. I’d have Chloe on my arm, and I could show her how great a date with me could be.

Even still, I had to play it cool. I had no doubt she would scare easily.

“I mean, we still need to be professional,” she said. “No making out or anything, but yeah. We should look like we’re not just business partners.”

And just like that, Chloe and I had planned our first date.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Tanja hadn’t been joking when she said it was a lavish event. Even in line for the ‘list’—something Chloe told me every good party had—a woman handed us each a flute of champagne. The crystal stem was delicate in my hands and I took a sip. It wasn’t bad. It certainly didn’t warrant the intense warning Tanja had given us about it. Not that I was a champagne connoisseur or anything—but I was a chef and I knew good flavors when I tasted them.

A live band played on a gold-gilded stage in front of a dance floor and dozens of circular tables dressed with cream-colored table cloths and vases of ornate flower arrangements.

I froze as we stepped up to the man guarding the entrance with a simple clipboard, stunted by my momentary paranoia. Did I really belong here? I felt wildly out of place juxtaposed with Chloe’s natural ease in crowds like this. Of course she felt at home. Chloe got along with almost everyone. She could strut into just about any affair and find her way around. And it helped that her dad was the mayor. Her mom was some big shot lawyer in Boston for years. She probably grew up going to galas like this.

Her arm threaded through mine and she flashed me a quick smile as we approached a man at the door. “Hi,” Chloe said easily. “Chloe Dyker with Sugarlips PR and Marketing, and Liam Evans with The Dump Truck Food Service.”

Even hearing my business name amidst the others made me cringe. The Dump Truck. It sounded like I was a garbage man sent to mill about with executives. What am I doing here?

I took a deep breath. I needed to pull it together, especially if I planned to make tonight a night to remember for Chloe.

The man at the door nodded and stepped to the side. As we walked in, Chloe squeezed my arm. “Ready?”

No. “Sure.” I tried to sound breezy in spite of the nerves bouncing in my belly and the clammy sweat slicking my palms.

I placed my hand to her back and leaned into her as we crossed the carved archway into ballroom. The smell of her perfume danced around me, calming my nerves. Light, floral, and feminine.

I slid my