“Pretend you’re mine.”
The whole city of Las Vegas thinks we’re the power couple of the culinary world.
Don’t believe everything you read on the media, though. Our relationship is nothing but a lie.
Ben’s a lot of things--a childhood friend, a successful restaurateur, a dangerous driver . . .
But he’s not my man. Nor do I want him to be.
Seriously, I don’t. Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I say that?
I mean, sure, he’s gorgeous as hell and a genius at what he does. He deserves all the fame and riches he’s got.
But he’s too aware of how good he is. Too arrogant. Too much of a control freak.
So no, we’re not really together. This is just pretend.
I’m not going to sleep with my boss and become a bad cliché.
Whatever we have is fake and will stay that way.
Except every time Ben speaks to me in that deep, commanding baritone, my heart starts racing for real.
And whenever we so much as brush against each other in the restaurant kitchen, a fire burns so hot in my core I can’t pretend it’s not there.
I’ve seen the hunger in those dark, intense eyes. He wants to claim me as his own.
But I won’t give in to the cocky bastard.
I can resist that wicked smirk and those kissable lips.
I can say no to those strong hands, the ones that could probably tear my chef uniform off with ease . . .
How hard can it be?