All's Fair in Love and Chocolate (Marietta Chocolate Wars #1) - Amy Andrews Page 0,19
skirts to tailored pants as she pulled on her long wool coat. It was a mustard color, and it tied at the waist and fell just below the knees. Large funky mother-of-pearl buttons and huge lapels drew the gaze to where it crisscrossed in front to form a flattering V-neckline.
Viv always felt sexy in this coat—even when she was weary. It hid the evidence of her daily chocolate consumption clinging to her ass and dimpling the tops of her thighs while emphasizing her smaller waist, her décolletage and the long stretch of her throat.
It was certainly the pick-me-up she needed, today.
As was the vision of Reuben farther down the Main Street boardwalk, striding in her direction. He slowed and whistled and, despite the disapproving glares she could feel coming from all sides, it put an extra swing in her hips.
They both slowed and stopped when they drew level. He shook his head. “I should arrest you for wearing that thing in public.”
A smile quirked Viv’s lips. “On what grounds?”
“Public nuisance.”
She laughed. “Am I causing any bother?”
“Well I can’t speak for anyone else but I’m pretty bothered. The dreams I’m going to have about you and that coat.” He shook his head again.
Viv’s lips twitched. “Officer Price.” She feigned genteel affront. “Is that any way to speak to a member of the public?”
A broad grin split his handsome face as he tugged on the brim of his hat. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Except he didn’t look remotely sorry. In fact, Viv was pretty sure he was picturing how good she might look in nothing but the coat.
“You want to go for a drink?” he asked.
One part of Viv—the naked-under-the-coat Viv—wanted that very much. But she was exhausted and more than that, she was tired of being on. Of being the face of Delish where she had to be teeth-achingly polite to unfriendly, sometimes downright rude, people.
She was done letting it all roll off her for today.
“Thank you for the offer but my feet are killing me and I’m looking forward to putting them up in a hot bath, pouring a glass of wine and chilling out in front of some Netflix.”
He gave a little half groan as he clutched his chest. “Putting those pictures in my head is just plain cruel.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Viv said dryly.
“Okay, how about this.” He dropped his hand. “While you relax in the bath—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as if he was trying very hard not to go there and failing. “I make you some dinner. Something quick and easy. I’m great with pasta. Then, while you’re watching the TV, I give you a foot massage. I’m also really great with foot massages—no strings. I promise. Purely as a friend.”
Viv quirked an eyebrow even as her insides dissolved into goo at the suggestion. “I’ve never had a friend give me a foot massage.”
“Not even at all those high school slumber parties where you and your gal pals had naked pillow fights?”
She laughed. “You are a deviant.”
Unabashed, he shrugged. “You say deviant, I say active imagination.”
Viv snorted but regardless of Reuben’s wild imagination, his proposal was tempting. Even taking the potential for sex—for which, she knew, there was a lot—out of the equation, it sounded dee-vine.
Fed and watered and pampered. And they had taken the pledge. Except…
In any other town or city in this country she wouldn’t have hesitated in accepting but this was Marietta, where she was already a homewrecker. “Look…Reuben—”
His nod cut her off. “You don’t want to be seen with me, do you?”
Viv sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It just seemed wiser from a business stance to not actively antagonize her potential customer base. She felt like every person who had passed them as they’d been standing here were judging them—or her anyway—and clearly not approving.
“You know pretty much everyone thinks we’re sleeping together anyway, right? Whether we’re seen together or not.”
Well…that hardly seemed fair. Viv did not like feeling that she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t where Reuben was concerned. And hell if that didn’t suddenly make her mad as hell. “Actually, you know what? Screw it. We know the truth and who I choose to share a meal with in the privacy of my rental has nothing to do with anyone else and should not have any damn thing at all to do with Delish.”
He smiled. “You’re singing to the choir, baby.”
“And I do love pasta.” Just ask her thighs. And her hips.