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Just when things were getting really intense...my legs wrapped around Xavier's waist, his demanding mouth on my neck, one hand teasing me under my shirt and the other gripping my thigh like he was trying to brand me, everything came to a screeching halt when the kitchen door handle clicked.
It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over us.
We both froze.
The door swung open like a cheerful Saturday morning should, revealing Mr. Roberson, the chef who'd been treating me like royalty all week, arms full of canvas grocery bags stuffed with fresh produce and crusty bread.
