Date Published: March 2013
Genre: Chick Lit
Word Count: 103k
Becky Jordan has had it with relationships. From now on her time and dedication won’t be lavished on her latest Mr. Wrong--or, worse, Mr. Hell-No!--just the dream travel job which has unexpectedly leapt into her lap. Finally, life is looking great.
Unfortunately, not as great as her sizzling-hot, take-charge new boss. Matt Frobisher is everything she doesn't want him to be, but if anyone thinks she'll risk her career on a workplace fling they can think again. No amount of Superman behaviour from him will make her roll over and play Lois.
At least, that's what her head says. Her heart, however, doesn't do logical. In desperation she finds herself a Mr. Distraction, one with no strings and plenty of appeal. But Mr. Distraction also comes with unforeseen complications. Kryptonite complications, like Becky’s sister. And when she shows up there’s only one sure thing: not even Superman can prevent the Disaster Fest that’s about to blow Becky’s life apart.
(Contains one guy determined to win the girl, one girl determined not to be won, and plenty of heat in the middle.)
He stepped back from the stove, still stirring, and beckoned me over. I moved into the space he’d made and took the spoon from him, trying not to notice the heat of his body at my back.
I stirred but forgot to breathe.
“Like this?” I asked, just for something to say.
“Exactly like this.” His breath fell hot on my neck.
I shuddered. Blew out my breath silent and slow, then worked that pan with the sort of focus usually reserved for driving exams or lion taming. The slight drag of my body against his as I stirred was a lesson in hyper-awareness.
He squeezed my shoulders and finally turned away. “I’ll make the coffees. Once you’ve got that melted, turn the heat down low, okay?”
What was a girl to do? All sexual tension and nowhere to go, I kept stirring, casting occasional glances at Matt. He was playing this--me--well. Too well. If I didn’t watch myself I’d be jumping his bones by the end of dessert. Which might be exactly what I needed . . .
. . . Or exactly what I didn’t need. Let’s face it, I was just his latest challenge. Once that challenge was over he would still be my boss.
But he didn’t feel like my boss tonight. And I didn’t feel like I was merely a challenge.
“How’s the sauce going?” Matt asked.
Cripes. The sauce. I looked down, discovered it was bubbling, and quickly reduced the heat.
“I think it’s almost done,” I said. Not that I could tell.
Maybe I should taste it, just to be sure. It smelled delicious. And it was loaded to the gunnels with calories, so odds were on it would be sinfully good.
The sauce, thickening now into golden brown nectar, enticed me. Taste me, taste me. My finger hovered over the pan. My mouth watered. Another glance Matt’s way--not looking, all good--then I quickly touched forefinger to spoon and closed my mouth around the stolen sauce. My taste buds whooped with excitement. This sauce was miraculous.
I dipped the spoon back in the pan, blew to cool it, then swiped a healthy finger-load. It was a food quality check, that’s all. Nothing to do with my sweet tooth. I withdrew my finger, opened my mouth--
Matt’s hand closed around my wrist.
I started, looked up, blushed.
His eyes danced. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”
“Quality control.” I composed my expression into one of serious scientist.
“Ah. And the quality is adequate?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll tell you in a minute.”
I tried to raise my finger to my mouth but, instead, it headed away from me and straight towards Matt’s mouth. I slitted my eyes at him and pulled harder. He smiled, but still my finger continued inexorably in the wrong direction.
“That’s my finger,” I said.
“That’s my sauce,” he countered.
My finger approached his lips. A pulse leapt in my throat.
“I stirred it,” I said.
“You certainly did.”
Since I couldn’t get my finger to my mouth, I’d have to bring my mouth to my finger. I moved my head closer. His eyes met mine over the top of my finger. Sauce trickled down towards my palm. He smiled, then closed his lips around my finger and sucked.
I gasped. Was instantly wet, hot, and ready. The spoon clattered into the pan.
His tongue trailed up and down my finger with seductive intent. He released my moist, sexed-up finger and moved on down to my palm, his tongue claiming every last sweet calorie.
I dragged in a raggedy breath. “Well? Is the quality adequate?”
He looked up. Held my gaze with his dark, dark eyes.
“Oh yeah.” My finger stood to attention between us. “The quality is more than adequate.”
The theme song...
The lyrics of Beyonce’s 2009 song “Halo” describe Becky’s feelings so perfectly I just had to share it with you today. Not only is it a gorgeous song; it expresses those wondrous, overwhelming feelings when you’re tumbling headfirst into love.
Prior to this scene, Becky has been doing her darnedest not to get close to Matt. (She has her reasons, I promise!) But when he invites her round for dinner she foolishly agrees. On their dinner date she discovers something about him that makes her realize she’s been reading him all wrong. He really is as good as he seems, and more. Becky’s last defences crumble and her thaw becomes a rapid melt . .
Maggie talks her inspiration for the scene...
This scene was one of the last I wrote for A Heat Of The Moment Thing. I added it to the story because of a comment from one of my beta readers, who wanted more getting-to-know-you between Becky and Matt and more build-up of sexual tension. Once she told me this, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it for myself. She was absolutely right. There’s no earlier version of this scene, sorry. It was so vivid it pretty much wrote itself, so the first draft was the final draft.
I’d love to see Becky played by Helena Bonham Carter. Her ‘drunken bridesmaid’ hair and pale skin is Becky all over. More importantly, though, Carter’s an incredibly talented, versatile actress. She’s played some really quirky roles, and I need someone who can portray the humor and quirkiness in Becky’s character as well as the heartache she goes through.
Chris Hemsworth’s blond hair and long fringe make him perfect for the role of the hero, Matt. Oh, and he’s drop-dead gorgeous. (Grins) I can just imagine him leaning over Becky’s shoulder as she stirs that sauce for him, murmuring in her ear . . . I don’t need him to have quite the muscular bulk he had for Thor, but well-defined muscles are definitely in this job description. That, and an ability to make us all feel his emotional struggle as he falls for Becky and has to confront his inner demons.
Maggie lives in Christchurch, New Zealand (aka QuakeZone). A third-generation night owl, she generally writes at midnight. She loves chocolate, hates being cold, and is ever fascinated by the possibility of time travel. Obviously, her ideal experience would be to wake up on a tropical island eighty years into the future, with an endless supply of chocolate on hand.
There's nothing Maggie loves more than a good chat (except perhaps a good chat and chocolate--see the theme here?). So don't be shy--get in touch!