Page 94 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

DEREK

Thirty interminable minutes later, I make my way to the food truck, eager to see her again. Maybe we’re going to don aprons and hats and whip up Belgian waffles, an entrée to the main course of kissing that would also go well with whipped cream and strawberries .

But I don’t want to play patty-cake drop-a-dollop-of-whipped-cream-on-your-nose-and-get-to-know-you games. I’m not interested in dating, and I don’t have the bandwidth to fit that in—not on top of the new job and taking care of my family.

Those are my priorities, and there’s no room for anything else.

But I do like the idea of kissing the taste of strawberries and whipped cream off Perri’s sweet, pouty lips.

When I reach the truck, a closed placard is perched at the window, and I curse.

But a second later, my red-haired beauty appears at the window, leaning over the steel edge, wiping a waffle crumb off her lips, a hint of mischief in her green eyes.

“So sorry, sir. The truck is closed.” Her tone is the definition of coy.

I lift an eyebrow. “What if I’m not here for the waffles?”

“Interesting,” she says, taking her time with the word. “Whatever would you be here for, then?”

“I believe I’m here for the one-fifteen appointment to prove I can make your knees weak.”

A naughty smile is my reward, then she glances down, checking out an invisible schedule. She taps the imaginary page with a finger. “Why, yes. I do see you, right here. But I have one question.”

“Hit me.”

She bends closer in the window, resting her chin in her palm. “Do you like sweet or savory?”

I take a beat before I answer. “I have a healthy appetite for . . . everything . But I especially love to eat sweet things.” I reach for a strand of her hair, twisting it in my fingers. “Sweet red things.”

A gust of breath seems to cross her lips, then she whispers, “I need to warn you. My lips might taste like cucumber and tomatoes.”

“I’d be open to taste-testing.”

“Then I’m open to your appointment.” She leans over the edge of the window, those tits pushing up in her white T-shirt, sending my dick speeding into full-speed arousal. This is when she should give me a ticket—semi to flagpole in less than a second.

This woman is a temptress like I’ve never seen before.

I stare at her, my jaw tight, my desire already stoked high. I exhale sharply. “Open the fucking door to the waffle truck, Perri.”

A little murmur tells me she likes the command, and it also makes me curious if she’s the kind of woman who’s so used to giving orders and telling people what to do all damn day that she likes a few orders in the sack.

“Come around to the back,” she whispers.

I peer inside the window, confirming the truck is empty. Only her. I head to the back, and she’s there holding the door open.

She slides a finger over her lips. “Listen.” Her tone turns serious. “My friend Staci took off for about ten minutes to pick up her regular grocery order from the farmers. No one can see us in here, but we don’t have?—”

I drop my head, claim her mouth, and shut her up with a kiss. A hard, punishing, powerful kiss for a woman who seems to want it that way.

“Oh God,” she gasps into my mouth, looping her arms around my neck. We crash against the wall next to the sink, utensils clattering. She yanks me closer, and we claim each other.

There’s no prelude, no buildup. Just kissing at sixty miles an hour. Pure need and adrenaline. Heat jolts down my spine. A wild storm of lust surges in my gut.

I grind against her, letting her feel my length, letting her know I’m so goddamn ready to go.

Push. Grind. Press.

She responds to every move with a tighter grip around my neck, with her fingers lacing around my head, with a sharp tug on the ends of my hair.

She’s so fucking fiery. Maybe I’m wrong about her liking orders. But I want to find out every little detail about what turns this woman on.

Or turns her on even more. Judging from her moans and whimpers, she’s already on a fast track to the pleasure zone.

She breaks the kiss and slides a hand down my shirt, dancing over my abs, setting me alight. Her hand reaches the outline of my dick, cupping me. “That feels way more than decent,” she purrs.

I lean my head back and groan. A feral, filthy groan. Because this woman is going to kill me with lust. She’s in my head and under my skin, and I want her more than I want world peace, and hey, I’d really like world peace.

But I’d also like to fuck Perri and make her come again and again. I’d like this truck to be rocking. “I promise you will feel indecent, incredible, indescribable pleasure when I get you naked and under me, above me, and bent over.”

She squeezes harder. “I see you’ve already picked out a wide selection of positions.”

I drop my mouth to hers and bite the corner of her lips. She yelps, then presses her pelvis against me, the perfect angle for friction. “And I see you’re trying to get a piece of my cock right now,” I growl.

Her lips open in a startled O. “I’m going to have to arrest you for filthy language.”

I shake my head and plant a hard, bruising kiss on her pretty mouth. “I think you like filthy language.”

“I think I like what you’re doing to me,” she murmurs and slides her hands around my hips to my ass, squeezing it.

I bend to her again, capturing those pouty lips once more in a searing kiss.

I consume her mouth, sweeping my tongue across hers and savoring the flavor of her kiss.

I don’t taste tomatoes and cucumber. I taste salt and desire.

I taste the sweetness of a hint of gloss.

And I smell her want. I fucking inhale her lust. It’s heady and intoxicating, swirling around me, and it makes me want to drag her back to my?—

Fuck. There’s no “my place” to go to.

So I kiss her impossibly harder since this is not a woman who likes slow. The thought makes me laugh.

I chuckle as I kiss her, and she slams her hands against my pecs. “What’s so funny about kissing me, Mr. Speedy?”

“I was just thinking how I could give you a ticket for kissing too fast.”

“You don’t like the way I kiss?”

I laugh again, grab her hand, and bring it back to my shaft.

“Kitten, I’m so fucking turned on that you’re going to have to lock me in this waffle truck for an hour for my dick to go down.

I love everything about the way you kiss.

I love that you’re not a slow kisser. I love that you’re ferocious and fiery.

” I slide her hand down my length, watching as her eyes go hazy.

“I love that you’re as ready for this as I am. ”

“Do you think I’m wound up?” Her voice is breathy as she strokes me.

“I bet your panties are soaked and you’re aching between your legs.”

She whimpers, then grabs my jaw and slams my mouth back to hers. “Kiss me hard.”

“As if I’d do anything else.”

I do as the lady asks, devouring her sweet mouth. Our teeth click, our tongues lash, and our breath comes in fast, sharp pants.

I grind against her, and she grinds right back. I half wonder why we’re not fucking right now, but I also have enough brains to know she’s a cop, and even if this truck is on the edge of the market, and even if we’re out of sight, she’s still a bit of a public figure.

But that doesn’t stop me from letting my fingers wander. They slide down her body, over her belly, and to the waistband of her jeans. I slip a hand under her shirt, feeling the soft flesh of her stomach.

“You feel so fucking good.” I unbutton the top button on her jeans.

Her hand darts out, stopping me. “ Derek. ”

Her tone is 100 percent warning. I heed it, stopping. “What is it?”

“If your hand goes any farther south, I’m going to fuck your fingers.”

My mind officially goes haywire, wires tripping, nerve endings fraying, my brain combusting. “That’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said in the history of the world.”

“But we can’t. We have to stop.”

I nod, getting it, even as my cock and fingers have other ideas. I cup her jaw. “How did I do with my appointment? Did I pass?”

Her lips quirk. “With flying colors. The only question now is what category we’re going to enter in.”

“There are categories?”

Her green eyes dance. “Oh yes. Sweetest, most passionate, best reenactment. I’m not sure which one would be best.”

I thread a hand through her hair. “We should practice again. Meet me later.”

“Like on a date?” Her tone drips with skepticism, and I believe I’ve met my non-dating soul mate.

I laugh. “Sounds like you’re about as interested in dating as I am.”

She nods fiercely. “Yes, as in zero.”

“Good, because relationships aren’t my thing these days.”

“That makes two of us.”

“And we don’t need to date to practice for your contest.”

“We absolutely don’t.” She taps her chin, her eyes drifting to a clipboard on the wall. “Let’s see. The contest is in three weeks. We could practice again, say, Thursday night?”

“That’s a long time from now.”

She laughs. “Good. You’ll be even readier then. How about you pick a time and place and text me?” She is my kind of woman. Confident. Bold. Plays zero games. “But make it good, Derek McHotPants.”

“It won’t be good, kitten. It’ll be oh so fucking good your toes will curl.”

“I can’t wait.”

She enters her number into my phone, pecks a kiss to my lips, then kicks me out.

I’ve never been so happy to be shown the door.