“Something smells good,” Donal observed as he pushed his way through the kitchen door.

“You're not supposed to be in here.” I'd said the exact same words several days in a row but Donal was intent on ignoring the rules.

“And yet here I am,” he said, strutting across the room. “What's on the menu today?”

“Sweet potato chili,” I answered, my knife making quick work of the onions and garlic spread out before me.

Donal peered over my shoulder, watching me work. “Ah, your specialty. What's in it?”

I glanced out the corner of my right eye, surprised to see he'd managed to move within inches of me. I couldn't tell you the first thing about what he did on the field, but if it had anything to do with sneaking up on and surprising people, I thought he might have been the best in the business.

With his hip resting against the counter and his palm pressed flat on the cold metal work surface, he was close enough that I could smell his irresistibly provocative scent—the subtle mixture of amber, cloves, and something dark and woodsy that was both sweet and intensely masculine all at the same time.

“Onions and garlic, carrots, black beans, sweet potatoes, and a few other secret ingredients I'm not going to tell you.”

His hips slid further along the counter and I swallowed deep, his proximity making me think things I shouldn't. I'd tried to fight these urges, but the truth was, I was insanely attracted to Donal Casey. Despite our obvious age difference and the fact that we worked together, I hadn't been able to shake the way my body came alive each time he stepped into my kitchen, asking me to give him a taste of whatever I was cooking. More than once I'd wanted to offer myself up for devouring instead.

I could almost picture him pressing his solid, muscular body into mine before sweeping my ponytail aside to place a seductive, open-mouthed kiss at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I closed my eyes as a shiver wracked my body.

When I opened them, Donal was staring down at me with a glint of mischief in his eyes, his lips split in a knowing smirk. “You cold, chef?” Leaning close, the soft caress of his breath tickled against my ear when he whispered, “I could warm you up.”

I was pretty sure he could. In fact, my temperature had already spiked, my face growing hot as his words heated my blood.

Which is eighty different kinds of wrong, I reminded myself.

Pushing aside my lust for this boy in a man's body, I set my knife down and braced my shoulders in resolve. “This isn't appropriate.”

Donal's hand came to rest at the base of my spine, his fingers coaxing their way over a spot he couldn't have known drove me mad with desire. Even through two layers of clothing topped off by my chef's whites, his touch was a brand on my skin. “But what if I wanted to do very inappropriate things to you? With you?”

His hand snaked around my hip and he tugged me flush against his massive, toned body, making the evidence of his arousal very obvious at my back. When he rolled his hips, I couldn't stop the breathy moan that escaped my lips.

“I know you like me, Lauren,” Donal murmured against my ear, his tone full of cocky arrogance. “And in case it wasn't obvious, I like you too.”

My head fell forward and I let out a long sigh as I fisted my hands on the cold surface in front of me. “This is wrong, Donal. On so many levels.”

His hands stroked over me in greedy exploration, his palms coming to rest on my hips. “Why?”

The fact that he couldn't begin to guess why was a major red flag—it proved he hadn't stopped to think about what he was doing or the consequences of his actions. I didn't think Donal was immature exactly, but I also didn't think he possessed more than one serious bone in his body. That insanely beautiful body pressed up against my own.

“Because we work together,” I answered from between clenched teeth. If I were a stronger woman I would have added that he should take his hands off me now, but I wasn't … so I didn't.

I planned to put an end to … whatever this was … soon enough but it'd been so long since a man had touched me—shown me that I was desirable—that I wanted to enjoy the delicious torture for just a few seconds longer. Savor it. File it away in my spank bank for withdrawal during the long winter nights to come. The ones I'd be spending alone in my sad little bedroom in the sad little apartment.

“Only tangentially,” he answered, nuzzling his lips against that sensitive spot behind my ear that I loved to have touched. “And besides, we don't have a policy against dating between co-workers,” he continued. “Half the marketing team is dating or married to one of the players.”

“Damn,” I muttered, my main reason for staying away from him flying right out the window. I'd been counting on the whole “no fraternizing between colleagues” rule as a means of keeping him at arm's length. Sort of a “Sorry, them's the rules” approach to protecting myself. Because if Dublin Rugby wasn't going to frown upon us … fraternizing … then the only other excuse I had was our age difference. The problem was I didn't want to bring it up. How humiliating would it be to tell this virile young man that I was so much older than him? Donal's interest was a huge boost to my fragile ego, and I really wasn't looking forward to seeing the disgust on his face when he figured out how much older than him I really was.

Donal wrapped his muscular arms around my middle and pulled me into a full body embrace. “Why are you fighting this?”

“I don't need the distraction of a relationship,” I managed to eke out.

With his chin resting on my shoulder, he brushed his hand back and forth across my middle. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

And there it was: the ice-cold water I'd needed to douse the blazing inferno of my lust.

I did not do casual sex. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

While most of my colleagues back in Los Angeles only managed to find time for random hookups—usually with each other—I knew all too well how fleeting life could be and the older I got, the less I wanted to waste my time on men who weren't interested in a long-term commitment. Maybe it was archaic, but I wanted a husband, two kids, one dog, and a house surrounded by a white picket fence. A couple of years ago I thought I'd found it too, but the man who I'd assumed I'd grow old with had unceremoniously dumped me when he'd gotten his ex-girlfriend pregnant—again. Apparently, they'd had a lot of unfinished business to attend to and my feelings hadn't factored into the equation.

Shrugging out from Donal's arms, I put some distance between us. “I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I can't do this.”

“What happened? What did I say?”

When he took a step forward, I raised my hand to stay his approach. “To quote the incomparable Kelly Clarkson, I do not hook up.”

For a few seconds Donal stared at me, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed in confusion. “I don't even know what that means. What does Kelly Clarkson have to do with us?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “The fact that you don't even get the reference is a huge reminder of how much older than you I am. That song was on the radio non-stop the summer of 2009.”

“I was a teenager back then and not exactly into the pop princess scene,” he answered, his hands resting low on his hips.

“Exactly. And I had an apartment, a full-time job, and a whole host of responsibilities. Which reminds me, how old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-two. Why? How old are you?”

I groaned. “Take a wild guess.” This ought to be good, I thought, as he studied me with a curious sort of intensity.

“I was going to say 26, but as you're making a huge deal out of what an old lady you are, I'll go with 29. No fucking way are you a day over thirty.” He said thirty like it was a foul, dirty word … like women who'd reached the big three-oh were tainted goods.

And even with that unknown insult hanging between us, I couldn't help the small smile of satisfaction that tugged at my lips. I'd always looked young for my age, but for Donal to think I was nearly the same age as he? Bless my genetics and a lifetime's worth of Oil of Olay usage.

“Oh you sweet, sweet boy,” I said with an amused laugh. “You don't even know how wrong you are.”

His brows furrowed in consternation and his jaw ticked. “Stop calling me boy. I thought I made it clear to you I am all man.” He cupped his rigid cock, and my gaze dropped to take in the sight. When I raised my eyes back up, he was smirking, satisfied at my inability to keep my eyes aboveboard. But then all at once his expression turned inscrutable and he said, “Besides, how would you like it if I called you an old lady all the time? Not that I know your actual age since you still haven’t told me.”

I swallowed around the dryness in my mouth. “I’m 32,” I answered, my jaw raised in defiance as I kept my eyes trained on him, waiting for his reaction.

It wasn’t what I expected.

Donal planted his hands on his hips and shook his head in dismay. “That’s it? That’s what you’ve been making such a big fucking deal about?”

“I’m ten years older than you!” I pointed out with exasperation.

His eyes raked over me and he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth as silence hung heavy between us. Eventually, he said, “I don’t care, Lauren. I like you, and I want you.”

Something about the way my name sounded on his lips had my stomach doing somersaults. Most of the time he called me chef, but when he really wanted to make a point or gain my attention, he used my proper name. And I liked it. So, so much.

Against my better judgement, I allowed myself to wonder what he’d call me while we were fucking. How it would sound as a whispered growl as he slid all the way into me, his strong body over mine. The truth was, I liked him too. And I wanted him. My god, how I wanted him.

But …

“Are you sure?”

So much for not hooking up, my subconscious sneered.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I answered back as Donal’s eyes dropped to the bulge in his sweats and then flicked back up.

“What do you think?”

Still, a woman had to be reasonable … despite some very unreasonable thoughts.

“There are ten years between us, Donal. I don’t have the same body I did when I was your age.” I laughed cynically. My god, I remembered hating my natural curves when I’d been 22. What I wouldn’t give now to look like that again. “I’m warning you,” I continued, my eyes flicking between his. “I have stretch marks and cellulite.”

Donal stepped into my space and pulled me flush against him, his palms kneading the soft globes of my ass. “And you’ve got an arse I want to bite, like a delicious, ripe peach.” He squeezed one more time—hard—and then his hands skated up my sides to circle my rib cage, his thumbs sweeping back and forth along the underside of my breasts. “And tits that I want to suck on until they’re heavy and full and your nipples are hard as diamonds.” To illustrate his point, he brushed his thumb over one of those nipples, and it pebbled into a tight bud. With each swipe of his finger, I felt a tug in my core and my pussy growing damp with desire.

Ah, fuck it. I gave in to my desires with a heated moan.

Sex with Donal wasn’t going to hurt anyone. And it had been so long since I’d had a non-battery-operated orgasm and if Donal really wanted to give me one, who was I to fight it? Besides, what difference did our ages matter in the grand scheme of things? It wasn’t like I was going to marry him or anything. I was here for five more weeks and we were two consenting adults. Why shouldn’t we enjoy each other’s bodies?

When I reached between us and cupped his cock in my small hand, Donal rolled his hips. “Yes,” I whispered at the same time he growled, “Fuck yes.”

He rocked into me again and backed me up against the fridge, saying, “I’m going to make you come so hard.”

With his hands resting against the steel surface on either side of my head, I was caged in. Donal’s massive erection pressed against my belly and I whimpered. He was huge, and for a moment I worried that he’d be too much for me, that I couldn’t take him the way I want to. But then I pushed that idea aside. I couldn’t wait to have him filling me, stretching me until I thought I would shatter.

And he knew it.

“You want my cock so fucking bad, don’t you Lauren?”

I chewed on my lip and nodded. Holy hell, that was exactly what I wanted.

Still, we were at my place of employment. My eyes darted to the clock on the far side of the room and I performed a quick mental calculation. The rest of the kitchen staff wouldn’t be here for at least another 30 minutes, maybe 45 if I was lucky. That was plenty of time for us to get naked in my office and then make it back into the kitchen so no one was the wiser.

But Donal had other ideas. Dropping to his knees, he pulled down my leggings and panties in one pass, and buried his nose in my pussy. I gasped and tried to wiggle away, but he locked his strong, large hands around my hips and held me still. “I want to taste you,” he said, his tongue darting out and licking a line down my seam. “I want you to come all over my face.”

Holy fuck! That mouth.

He crouched lower and used his thumbs to hold me open, to expose my throbbing clit to his eager, seeking mouth. Sucking it between his lips, my eyes rolled back and I saw stars. Literal fucking stars.

Donal continued to suck and lick and nibble all around my pussy, alternating between firm, solid passes over my clit, and teasing, playful kisses on my lips. He took me higher and higher as I bucked my hips against his face until my orgasm danced just out of reach.

“Please,” I cried, needing more. “Fuck me Donal, please,” I begged, my pride all but gone. I needed his cock inside of me and I didn’t care if he knew how badly.

“Like this?” he asked, sliding one of his thick, long fingers into me and then back out, the wet sounds echoing through the room.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going to come and I want your cock inside of me,” I told him, thrashing my head back and forth as I tried to fight off my impending orgasm. “I want to come on your dick.”

Donal bit the inside of my thigh. “And I want you to come all over my face,” he answered as he continued pumping his finger in and out of me. Adding a second one, he twisted and hooked them up to reach my g-spot as he sucked my clit between his lips. Then, letting it go with a pop, he glanced up the length of my body, while at the same time I looked down. Our eyes met and locked. “I want to drink you down, baby. You hear me Lauren? I want your cum all over my tongue. Can you do that for me?”

Apparently I could, because with another pass of his broad, flat tongue against my clit, I was coming so hard I thought I was going to pass out. As the waves of my orgasm crashed over me, my legs gave out and I slid down until Donal caught me and held me immobile while he finished feasting on my tender, trembling flesh.

Standing, he pulled up my pants and leaned forward for a wet, hungry kiss. I could taste my juices on his tongue but I didn’t care. I moaned into his mouth and wrapped my hands around his neck, holding him close as our tongues mated. Eventually, he slowed our kiss and stepped away. Resting his hands against my hips he smiled down at me. “You’re fucking delicious. Exactly like I imagined.”

I reached for the drawstring of his sweats, wanting to finish what we’d started—by my estimation we only had 15 more minutes before the rest of the staff began to arrive so it’d need to be quick—but he stopped my hand. As if he’d read my mind, he shook his head and said, “We don’t have time.”

“We do,” I countered, my voice filled with hysterical longing.

Donal wrapped his fingers around my wrist and raised my arm above my head, repeating the gesture with its partner until he had me braced against the cold steel. Leaning forward so that his mouth hovered just over mine, he whispered, “The first time we fuck, I don’t want it to be a quick, stolen moment. I’m going to take my time and do it right. You’re going to come on my cock all night long, until you can’t come anymore. Do you understand?”

At his dirty words, I melted into his hold and nodded. “You promise?” I taunted.

He dropped a quick, hard kiss to my lips and then stepped away, dropping my hands. With a satisfied smirk, he said, “Finish cooking your chili, chef. I’ll see you later.”

And then he turned and with a cocky swagger, walked out of my kitchen.

I raised my hand to my heart and felt it banging away in my sternum, the exertion from my orgasm making me feel like I’d just run a 10k. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come as hard as I had just now. Certainly, not in the last year of my relationship with Javier, that was for damn sure.

Pushing off the fridge, I righted my clothes and stole a glance at the clock. Maybe Donal had been right. We hadn’t had enough time to enjoy each other properly.

At least one of us had been thinking straight, I thought as I pulled my hair back into a sleek ponytail. Just then the kitchen’s double doors swung open and Bess, the most junior employee working in the kitchen, stepped through with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Hey Bess,” I called out, turning away so she wouldn’t see the flush of my cheeks.

“Hey Lauren,” she greeted me in kind, as she sashayed over to her work station where she began washing leaves for a salad. After a few minutes, she looked up from the lettuce. “How’d Donal like your chili?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

“He, um …” I stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence because in my head all I could hear was my inner voice screaming OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT! over and over again.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Bess’s eyes dropped to the lettuce she was sorting and she shrugged. “Okay, sure. If you say so.”

“I do.”

She didn’t respond.

Shit. I was so busted.