My Fake Fiancée

At last, she flipped out the light and settled herself in the big, empty bed. It had been a lot of years since Chelsea fell asleep thinking about kissing David.

In truth, she wasn’t thinking about kissing. Her imagination had moved on. And she wasn’t anywhere near sleep.

She sighed and punched the pillow.

It was going to be a long couple of months.

6

“I THINK MY TONGUE just had an orgasm,” Sarah moaned as she bit into the tiny lime-and-pomegranate tart, fresh from the oven. Her fourth in less than a minute.

Chelsea couldn’t remember when she’d felt so gratified.

Four days since she’d moved into David’s place and already she was experimenting, cooking with recipes she knew as she got comfortable with the stove and playing with local ingredients to try new combinations.

“You are a food genius.” Sarah swallowed, tried to control herself and gave in, reaching for another tart. “This is my last one. Stab me with that chef’s knife if I even try to reach for another tart.” She popped the treat into her mouth and closed her eyes as she devoured it. Opening them again, she said, “I am going to have to spend the next week at the gym to make up for it.”

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