There’s not an athlete alive who can match Will’s drive and self-discipline…until an adorable two year old and a fiery chef land on his doorstep and turn his life upside down. If he wants to keep his girls, he’s going to have to learn to lead with his heart and not his mind.

Will Bowie is supposed to be training for the Olympics, but the toddler unexpectedly dropped into his life isn’t interested in his schedules. Still, he’s pretty sure he’s got things under control…

…until a sexy chef lands on his doorstep and offers a temptation he can’t resist.

Hours after losing her restaurant, chef Delilah Lua enters a cooking competition thousands of miles away from home. Winning would resurrect the dream that’s been stolen from her. If–no, when–she wins, she’ll go back with the capital to open her own place and enough fame to do it with flair. Her roommate, though, is a delicious surprise she hadn’t anticipated…

…but she’s not sure how to have her cake and eat it, too.

Despite the undeniable sparks in the kitchen, Will’s not about to give his heart to a woman who’s leaving, and Delilah must decide if the delectable future she could cook up with Will is worth more than a childhood dream.

“I feel like I’m always pissing you off,” Delilah said, as they made their way to the end of the row of conveyor belts. “I just hate not knowing what you’re thinking.”

He reached around her to hold the door open, and then they started down a long hallway. “I’m thinking that I don’t have time to drive you around town.”

“You just said—”

He stopped, bracing his hands against the wall, caging her in. “I’m thinking about Freefest, and how important it is that I get my head on right, that I focus and visualize and do all the things I need to do so I don’t die on that mountain.”

God, that look. So intense. Electrifying. “I don’t want to be a burden. I can get around by myself.”

But he didn’t look at her like he was pissed or annoyed. No, with his nostrils flaring like that, he looked like he wanted to use both hands to rip her dress wide open and drop his face in her cleavage. And she wasn’t entirely sure she’d stop him.

Her pulse fluttered out of control, and desire streamed through her.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, his voice deep and husky. “But it doesn’t seem to matter what I’m thinking, because it doesn’t stop my heart from feeling funny when I watch you talking about produce with a dude wearing toe shoes. It doesn’t keep me from realizing that I’ve known a lot of women in my life but none of them—until you—has ever surprised me. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m really good—and I mean expert level—at blocking out distractions and staying focused because, somehow, you’ve tangled up my wiring. I’m supposed to be thinking about my thrust or my amplitude or page thirty-six in How to Raise Your Orphan Sister, but I can’t concentrate because you keep getting under my skin, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

His chest was right there—close, but not touching. His mouth, a whisper away, and her body yearned for him to close the last inch of distance between them.

“I can’t stop from breaking into a run every afternoon, so I can get home to you,” Will said. “I hold my breath because I want to open the door and find you in the kitchen and when you’re not there I hate it. I could easily hire some high school or college kid to drive you around this summer. Maybe get you a scooter—anything so that I don’t have to do it, but I will be damned if I let someone else be the one to take you places. That’s for me. That’s my gift.”

Every cell in her body opened up and started singing and clapping to a gospel tune. But she was in a hallway, and the farm owner was waiting for her. “Well, that must be very inconvenient for a man like you.”

He smiled, and it was like a bright yellow dandelion pushing up through a crack in the cement. It floored her. “You have no idea.”

“If it helps, you’re not my type.”

He stepped close enough that his body brushed hers, and she could smell the sun in his cotton T-shirt and the fresh mountain air scent of him that drove her wild. “No?”

“Not at all. You’re too disciplined. Too…tidy.”

“Would it help if I…” He brought both hands to his head and messed up his hair.

She laughed because it was short enough that it couldn’t really get messed up. “A little.”

“How about if I got some ink. Like maybe a sunburst right here.” He brought her hand to his chest, just slightly off-center.

“And ruin that perfect skin?” She shook her head. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter what you did. I like a man who can surprise me. Not someone so regimented that I can predict—”

His strong arm wrapped around her back, and he hauled her to him, pressing his warm, soft mouth on top of hers. And then he kissed her.

It was so good, so unexpected, that she practically soared right out of her body. Her pulse quickened, and she had to squeeze her hands into fists to keep from scraping them through his hair.

I could fall so hard for this man.

He parted his lips, and the way he licked across her bottom one had her drawing in a sharp breath as pleasure bloomed across her skin. He took advantage of her surprise by sweeping his tongue into her mouth, tilting his head, and kissing her like the clock was ticking, and he’d never get this chance again.

Sensation flooded her, making her nerves hum and her knees go weak.

The last thing on Calliope Bell’s mind is getting back with Fin. Not when her life’s just gone sideways, forcing her to spend the summer in Calamity, Wyoming. She can’t be away from the New York art world this long, so she comes up with the idea to turn the hottest pop culture event of the moment into a museum exhibition.

The two have every intention of avoiding each other–until the county judge sentences Fin to community service…helping her exploit the meme he’s trying to make go away.

Award-winning author Erika Kelly has been spinning romantic tales all her life–she just didn’t know it. Raised on the classics, she didn’t discover romantic fiction until later in life. From that moment on, she’s been devouring the genre and has found her true voice as an author. Over three decades she’s written poems, screenplays, plays, short stories, and all kinds of women’s fiction novels. Married to the love of her life and raising four children, she’s lived in two countries and seven states, but give her pen and paper, a stack of good books, and a steaming mug of vanilla chai latte and she can make her home anywhere.

“Soph?” His arm banded around her, and he hauled her closer to his chest. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. He watched her with an unnerving intensity.

“Yes?” she said, barely able to speak. Was he going to kiss her?

But he just leaned his forehead against hers and let out a slow breath. “I’m about to defile my body, and I need your support.”

“Crazy Hearts are all about the lovin’.”

He fought a smile. “We’ll see about that.” He brought the cookie to his mouth and took a small bite. Immediately, his mouth puckered. He coughed, blowing the powdered sugar all over the desk. “That’s terrible.”

“No, it’s not. It’s beloved.”

“It’s like eating a mouthful of sugar. Is that the only ingredient?”

“Of course not. There’s also corn syrup, hydrogenated oil, artificial coloring, and some benzoate preservatives.”

“Jesus, Soph. You trying to kill me?”

“And, look, it’s not just a cookie.” She pulled his hand toward her, licking her lips before pressing them into the confectioner’s sugar. “It’s lipstick, too.”

He looked at her like she made him happy. “Everyone used to do that in middle school. I don’t know why it didn’t have this effect on me then.”

“What effect?”

“Makes me want to kiss you.”

“I know. I’m a sexy beast.”

“You are so sexy.” He leaned in, lips parted, and he stayed right there, so close she could smell the cookie on his breath. Was he asking for permission? She didn’t know. All she knew was that one moment her breath was trapped in her throat and the next his tongue swept along her lips. Arousal streaked through her so hot and fast the soles of her feet burned.

“Delicious,” he murmured, before tipping her chin.  And then he kissed her. The moment their mouths met, he moaned, his arms wrapping even more tightly around her. “You light me up.”

His mouth opened hungrily, his tongue sliding in and seeking hers. She couldn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him right back.

Yes, oh, yes. Sensation spread from her center, a warm, thrilling rush that pulled her under. His hand went to the small of her back, pressing, and his kiss grew hungrier, more carnal.

“Damn.” His other hand gripped her thigh, and he shifted her, spreading her legs so she straddled him. And once he had her right there, pressed up tight against him, his hips rocked up.

And, God, the heat of his body, the silky softness of his hair. The urgency of his kiss. She slid her hands under his T-shirt, caressing the smooth skin and hard muscles of his chest. His stomach contracted, his arms tightened around her back, and his kiss turned voracious. She moaned into his mouth because nothing had ever felt so good.

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About Erika Kelly:

Award-winning author Erika Kelly has been spinning romantic tales all her life–she just didn’t know it. Raised on the classics, she didn’t discover romantic fiction until later in life. From that moment on, she’s been devouring the genre and has found her true voice as an author. Over three decades she’s written poems, screenplays, plays, short stories, and all kinds of women’s fiction novels. Married to the love of her life and raising four children, she’s lived in two countries and seven states, but give her pen and paper, a stack of good books, and a steaming mug of vanilla chai latte and she can make her home anywhere.