Good To Be Bad (Good Love #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,28

Hawley sputtering while I turn a kind smile on the petite Asian woman at the station across from mine. She has a slick page boy cut and red-framed glasses a bit too large for her small face, but there’s a friendly light in her eyes. “Hello, I’m Weston. Nice to meet you.”

“Willow,” she whispers so softly I can barely hear her. “Good to meet you too.” Her fingers flutter at her throat, tugging the top of her lacy shirt away from her neck. Cartoon cupcakes dance on her pink apron. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be,” I assure her. “I think a lot of us are new to the competition scene. We’ll stumble along together.”

Her cheeks flush. “Thank you. I just hope the judges don’t yell like that angry chef on TV.”

“I doubt it. All the people I’ve met so far have been quite nice,” I say, then add in a confidential voice, “And the grouchy chef? He’s a friend of the family and a total lamb off-screen. The going-mental thing is mostly an act for the cameras.”

“Really?” Her hand drops to the counter of her station, and she seems to relax a little.

“Really. And no one’s going to be worried about ratings here, so we should be safe from unnecessary drama.”

She nods and tucks her hair shyly behind one ear but doesn’t make any further attempt at conversation. Which is probably good since, at that moment, Gigi steps into the tent, following the same woman who guided me down the center aisle between the stations. The stunning redhead is wearing a dress that drops my jaw to the floor.

Glossy red fabric wraps around her neck, crisscrossing at her breasts and nipping in at her waist before flaring into a poof around her legs. The dress is…blisteringly hot, but it’s the fluffy black underskirt beneath it that has my fingers itching and my cock thickening behind the fly of my black suit pants.

I pushed a very similar fluffy skirt up her thighs just two nights ago. Memories of the way it bunched around her waist as I devoured her sweet, hot pussy flood my head as she swishes by, shooting me a sultry glance from the corner of her eyes that nearly knocks me off my feet.

“Stop it,” I hiss as she passes.

She laughs under her breath but doesn’t respond. She’s listening to the woman explaining that the small ovens we’re using tend to run a few degrees hot and that there’s a chance she’ll blow a fuse if she runs more than two or three appliances at a time.

Hm. Good to know.

I make a mental note to turn off the mixer for the scone batter before I start whipping my lemon-infused cream. My English take on the “Classic New York Dessert” we’re creating for this first challenge—lemon-strawberry shortcake served on toasted scones with cream and shortbread crumble—is fairly simple, but I will have several ingredients going at the same time.

I jot a reminder on my notepad and then go back to admiring Gigi’s ensemble. And I’m not the only one. Wretched Hawley is slobbering on his shirt as he crosses to introduce himself, making me wish I’d warned Gigi that there was a sister-destroying monster in our midst.

But I needn’t have worried. Gigi is pleasant, but distant, and sends him on his way after just a few moments. Hawley crosses behind the cooking stations, giving each one a thorough once over.

Move along, wanker. Move along.

He lingers near Willow’s a few more seconds, bending over to tie his shoe or something, then marches on.

Once he’s back in his station, Gigi turns to Willow and begins a warm conversation clearly designed to put the anxious creature at ease. I overhear bits and pieces.

“I stopped in your shop the other week. The cinnamon roll cupcake was genius.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ve always loved cinnamon rolls and, well, of course I love cupcakes,” Willow replies.

“And to marry them together?” Gigi gives a chef’s kiss.

Willow’s smile lights up her face. “And the cinnamon rolls and cupcakes lived happily ever after.”

I smile too, at the Gigi Effect. Willow seems more relaxed after talking to her.

The redhead truly is an excellent judge of character. She shouldn’t doubt herself. Or me. I’m wonderful, and as soon as this contest is over, I’ll prove it to her.

Because I do need to kiss her again. Soon.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, she shifts her attention my way, her lips curving in a wry smile as she shakes her head. “It