âYou want to paint me?â
âSort ofâ¦â With a bashful grimace, Mia took Julian by one arm and led him to the tarp. âI also want to taste you.â
âTaste me?â
âTo see if Iâve gotten the flavors of the body paints right.â
âAnd how will we test that?â He moved in to kiss her, but Mia stuck a brush between them, making a broad swipe of glistening red paint across his chest. Then she layered a stripe of warm midnight-dark liquid next to it.
âBittersweet chocolate and strawberry. Always a good combination.â She plopped another full load of the paint onto his chest, watching with an almost scientific interest as a rivulet ran across his stomach to pool at his navel just inside the waistband of his shorts.
âMaybe you should take them off.â Her round cheeks pinkened. âIn the name of science.â
âMaybe you should take them off,â he replied. His voice dropped, grating in his tight throat. âIn the name of sex.â
Dear Reader,
You might be wondering about the title of this book. Taste Me. Rather provocative, isnât it? Try being the author who must answer âTaste Meâ when asked about her next title! Blaze leads me down some very interesting pathsâ¦.
Just as Mia does to Julian in Taste Me. Sheâs an outlandish creative type and heâs the conservative CEO whoâs ready to follow her anywhereâeven to the world of edible body painting. No slouch as a Blaze heroine, Miaâs thrilled to experiment on the man whoâs been named one of the countryâs hottest bachelors. This book is a continuation of my SEX & CANDY miniseries (with all new characters), so you know the fun doesnât stop there.
Mmm. Taste me.
Thatâs the book talkingâI swear!
Carrie Alexander
P.S. Look for my next Blaze SEX & CANDY book, Unwrapped, in December, and go online to www.carriealexander.com to enter my contests and subscribe to the Get Carried Away e-newsletter.
THE WET PAINTBRUSH hovered above the womanâs bare breast, then dabbed down, adding another coating of goop to her perky nipple so it looked like a shiny red cherry. A glistening globule broke free and rolled along the curve of the most perfectly shaped breast Julian Silk had ever seen. He could hardly believe his eyes.
âDamn!â The artist pressed her finger to the painted breast to stop the runaway drip, making the womanâs flesh jiggle slightly. Stretched out on her side, the model didnât move, except to stifle a yawn.
One of the assistants darted in with a handful of Q-tips to repair the mistake.
âCress!â the artist called. She removed her finger and stepped back, giving the model an evaluating stare. She held an open palm under the gooey paintbrush. âI need more cornstarch in the cherry paint, Cress. Itâs too thin. Angelikaâs thighs are streaking.â
Julian looked. The modelâs thighs were also perfect. Not as perfect as the breasts, because Julian was a breast man, but perfect enough to make him want to wrap his hands around them and lick from stem to stern. That the thighs happened to be painted with candy-cane stripes had nothing to do with it.
He couldnât say the same about the words TASTE ME, which were written out in silver nonpareils that framed the perfect little belly button on her tight, flat tummy.
Julian shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, giving himself a little more room down there. So this was why the X chromosomes on the Hard Candy staff had staged a Nerf ball tournament to decide who got to âsuperviseâ the December cover shoot.
Victor Noone, the magazineâs advertising sales director, looked up from a consultation with a contingent from Sugar High, the up-and-coming candy company that was buying heavily into the gala holiday issue. âJulian! Please join us.â
At the sound of his name, a female head snapped to. Petra Lombardi, the Hard Candy art director, hurried over. âI didnât know you planned to be here, Julian.â Her voice was like sliding silk, her heels staccato spikes. Silver-blond hair and milky skin looked an even whiter shade of pale against a black leather suit with dainty silver buckles. Petra was a woman of sharp contrasts and biting smiles. Attractive, but potentially poisonous. After a short-term exposure, Julian had developed a resistance.
âYou must say hello to the Sugar High executives.â She took his arm. âAnd our creative team, of course.â
Julian cast another lingering look at the photo set before letting Petra tug him away. The reclining model was arranged on a satin-draped tabletop. Every inch of her skin had been coated in glorious colorâedible paint, heâd been told. A team of black-clad assistants, wielding paper cones of frosting as glue, rapidly affixed assorted hard candies to her body, decorating her in stripes, scallops and swirls. Even the modelâs hair was transformed, pulled back into a knot, sprayed white and strung with strings of candy dots.