Taste

<p>The last person on earth I want to be <strong>stranded</strong> with is Gianni Lupo.</p><p>But thanks to the blizzard of the century I'm trapped in a roadside motel room with that cocky bastard for two straight days.</p><p><strong>With one small bed.</strong></p><p>Some women might thank Mother Nature for delivering a polar vortex that maroons them with six feet of solid muscle those deep blue eyes that sexy grin--but not me. I've known Gianni Lupo all my life and he's never brought me anything but bad luck and trouble.</p><p>So when the tension between us explodes with enough fiery heat to melt my icy defenses I should have known what the disastrous end result would be--</p><p><strong>A big fat plus sign.</strong></p><p>After the snow melts I'm left with more than just memories of the night we spent keeping each other warm. And he might be a rising star on the culinary scene but he's got no idea how to handle <em>this</em> bun in the oven.</p><p>He says he wants to do the right thing but I'm not about to spend the rest of my life feeling like someone settled for me.</p><p>But just when I think I've got Gianni Lupo all figured out he gives me a taste of the man he could be of the family we could become of the way he could love me if I let him.</p><p>I'm terrified of falling for him.</p><p><strong>But one taste might be all it takes.</strong></p>