Turn Me On: A Scorching Hot Romance

By Dylan Rose

She’s determined to maintain her journalistic principles…until a tantalizingly sexy food celebrity shows her just what it takes to be thoroughly satisfied. Author Dylan Rose returns with a hot and irresistibly spicy dish!

A year after having her heart unceremoniously ripped out, food journalist Faye Curry still has no appetite. Not for food, not for relationships and definitely not for sex. Instead, Faye has embraced the joy of celibacy and peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. That is, until she’s sent to London to interview sexy celebrity chef Gregor Wright…who’s used to satisfying every appetite imaginable.

That lean body, those glacier-blue eyes and those oh-so-gifted hands…mmm. But Faye is a professional. Sleeping with her interview subject is strictly forbidden. So exactly how is it that she’s ended up—on the first night—being deliciously devoured by Gregor?

Now Gregor has ignited Faye’s appetite for everything: heat, sweetness, food and life. And in the process, Faye is breaking every rule of her profession. Business has turned exquisitely personal, and under Gregor’s lust-fueled gaze, Faye feels sexy and powerful for the first time in her life.

Only a new craving has begun, insistent and hungry. No matter how forbidden, Faye longs for the one thing not on the menu: Gregor’s heart.

Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Release date: Dec 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781488048906

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

IT SEEMED LIKE just another ordinary workday, but Faye would soon learn that there was a life-changing surprise in store for her. It was one o’clock on a Thursday and she was just about to close out of the document she was working on and head down for lunch. Her desk was in an open-plan maze of cubicles, with fluorescent overhead lighting and the constant buzz of her coworkers’ chitchat. Every day at this time she made a point of leaving her editing work behind and taking the elevators down to the sprawling cafeteria in the building with its coffee bar, hot entrées and salad station. She had been working at Amuse Bouche for nearly ten years. It was her first job out of graduate school and over the time she’d been there, the magazine had become one of the world’s most preeminent food and wine publications.

That’s not to say she considered herself any kind of food expert. There had been a time when her palate had been more adventurous—when she couldn’t imagine a better plan for a Sunday then to take the subway into the outer boroughs in search of the spiciest Indian food or the most delicious Thai noodles. But ever since things had ended with David, she had left all that behind in favor of bland foods: peanut butter and banana sandwiches were her new go-to. What was the point in making an elaborate meal when it was just her dining alone? Plus, she hated that now everyone who took a picture of their sandwich considered themselves a foodie.

Faye pulled on her sweater, let the screensaver take over and grabbed her purse to head downstairs. She wasn’t going so much for the food—although the selections were incredible—so much as she was just to take a walk and get a change of scenery. She’d lost almost twenty pounds since the breakup. And even though her skinny jeans were now her loose ones and stuff relegated to the back of the closet now fit, and she got second glances from men as she walked to work up Sixth Avenue, she was basically indifferent to the attention. And while part of her did imagine bumping into David and seeing him seeing her looking incredible, mostly she just felt so sad about the whole thing, even though it had been almost a year now since that fateful day.

Just as Faye turned to leave, she heard the familiar chirp of her desk phone. She knew it could only be one of two people: her boss or her mother. They were pretty much the only people who ever dialed her work number. All of her friends and contemporaries just texted. Faye preferred it because it was easier to delay responding. Calls were so immediate, and you had to actually talk to the person, which she was constantly trying to avoid. She knew if it was her mom, she would have to answer a series of questions that were all too familiar: Who was she seeing? Anyone worth a second date? What did she have lined up for the weekend? She hated the fact that she had instilled a grain of hope in her mom by telling her she was on Match, Tinder, Bumble and Plenty of Fish. The truth was, the only apps she had on her phone were her fitness tracker and an annoyingly addictive game where you pushed blocks around a grid. That was the extent of her dating life.

A quick glance revealed the name Beverly Rice flashing on the screen and Faye picked up the receiver, glad to delay the parent talk.

Hi, Bev, Faye answered, greeting her boss by her preferred nickname. Bev was the editor in chief of Amuse Bouche and a legend in the New York publishing industry, known as much for her food and wine expertise as her iconic horn-rimmed glasses. Faye had started out as her assistant, and very quickly Bev had shepherded her into writing for the magazine. Now she considered Bev her mentor, and often stayed late nights to help her, long after the other staff members had gone on to happy hour when an issue was closing.

Faye, can you come see me in my office?

Of course. Faye hung up the phone and smiled. Her door was adjacent to Bev’s, within earshot, but Bev liked to keep things formal.

Taking her bag with her just in case there would still be time for lunch, Faye rounded the corner past the cloth-covered walls of the cubicles and found the door to her boss’s office ajar. Knocking lightly, she made eye contact with Bev, who stood up from her desk chair and waved Faye inside.

Everything okay? Faye asked, taking a seat in one of the two chairs facing Bev’s desk. The room was tastefully decorated in muted neutral tones and covers from the magazine’s bestselling issues adorned the walls. When Faye looked just past her boss’s head, she could see the sun streaming across the midtown skyscrapers that surrounded them.

Oh, yes, Bev said, sitting down and leaning across her desk. She was about twenty years Faye’s senior, in her early fifties, with professionally blown-out long brown hair and hard-earned physique which she attributed to good genes and Pilates. I have an exciting assignment for you.

Faye instinctively perked up and sat up a little straighter in her chair. Her first thought was the rumored opening of a new restaurant by a Top Chef contestant. For that, she would definitely forgo a night of peanut butter sandwiches.

I have two words for you, her bespectacled boss said enticingly. Gregor Wright.

Faye watched as Bev sat back in her chair and waited for her reaction. Of course she knew Gregor Wright. He was famous. In fact, she and David had spent many nights watching his cable show, Globe-Trotting with Gregor, where he visited different travel destinations, eating and drinking his way through under-the-radar hotspots. And although she never said it in front of David, Faye had a major crush on the tall and slender Gregor, always in his signature leather bomber jacket. The combination of his British accent and the facial hair that she could so easily imagine grazing against her lady parts was enough fodder for many a solo session with the handheld showerhead in her steamy bathroom.

Yes, I know him, Faye said with a nervous cough.

Bev sighed. "I know you know him. How would you like to meet him?"

No! Faye said adamantly and then quickly changed to a more measured tone. I mean, it sounds interesting... She saw Bev raise an eyebrow at her from behind her glasses, but she didn’t care. The last thing she needed was to spend an afternoon interviewing a womanizer. An arrogant, sexy, intelligent famous person who could probably get most women to drop their panties by simply uttering their name in that crisp English voice of his.

None of the other magazines have it, Bev said. This could be major for you.

Faye twisted her long, platinum blond hair over her shoulder and smiled nervously at her boss. I appreciate that, really, I do.

I need you for this, Faye, Bev said insistently. You’re my best writer. And I know it’s not my place to say, but maybe traveling for a few days would do you good.

Faye opened her mouth to protest her boss’s gentle suggestion but instead her mouth hung agape. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Of course, the assignment was incredible. And she did deserve it. But she had heard the rumors about the women who encountered Gregor. It wasn’t so much that he was persistent, but more that women were drawn to his aura. Getting caught up in a fantasy was just something she didn’t need right now.

Did you say days—as in, multiple days?

Bev returned Faye’s nonplussed expression with a knowing smirk. A week, actually. In London.

Faye exhaled deeply and turned her gaze toward the windows. The sun was shining bright for what felt like the first time in weeks. It had been a long, cold New York City winter and today, for the first time, people were walking around without jackets. Spring was in the air.

But where was she? Still in emotional limbo over a guy who was long gone. And punishing herself with her bland diet and her austere lifestyle. Even her outfit was joyless. She looked down at her black trousers and pilled sweater and could just hear her mother saying how she was hiding her beauty. But what if she wasn’t ready for anyone to see it again? Maybe she would never be ready.

What about Lindsay?

Bev snorted.

She’s a good writer!

She’s fine. But I don’t want someone ‘fine,’ I want you. Bev reached into her desk and produced a file folder which she tossed across the desk to Faye. Everything you need to know is in there. Your flight leaves out of JFK first thing tomorrow morning.

---

Later that night in her apartment, Faye sat on the living room couch. Even though she had kept almost everything when David had moved out, the place still felt weirdly empty without him there. There were some things she liked about living alone—for one, she could watch any of her girlie shows without snark or criticism. And now things were decorated the way she preferred—before she hadn’t been able to display all of the framed pictures of her many travels with her girlfriends after college. Come to think of it, she hadn’t traveled much in recent years as David was more of a homebody. Maybe the adventure would be a good thing, she told herself.

Her suitcase, which she had gotten out of storage in her building’s basement after work, was in the middle of the room and she had multiple items of clothing piled on the bed. Faye stared off into space, lost in a reverie featuring Gregor from the episode of his show where he went stand-up paddle boarding in Turks and Caicos. She easily remembered how his lean, tanned body looked against the vibrant blue waters. He had worn a bike-shorts-length Speedo, but instead of looking ridiculous, as most men did in that skintight suit, he managed to pull it off and give his female viewership something very substantial to occupy their thoughts after the episode ended.

Angry at herself for letting her thoughts get away from her, she picked up the phone and called her sister, Eden, who was always her in case of emergency person.

Hey, Eden answered right away, her voice sounding a little harried and tired, as per usual. She was three years older than Faye, and a married mom of three. Right now, she was probably in the middle of serving dinner to her army of boys.

What do we think about Gregor Wright? Faye asked her sister tentatively. Ever since they were kids, Eden was the barometer of cool for Faye. If she said anything negative, the trip would be off.

Ooh, the hot guy from the Travel Channel?

Yeah. That’s him, Faye said, with a slight tinge of disappointment in her voice. So there really was no getting off the hook for this.

Are you interviewing him? Eden asked enthusiastically. Make sure to take a selfie. And do other things I would say if there were not children present, she added deviously.

I’m flying out tomorrow to interview him at his home in London, Faye said. Saying it out loud for the first time that day suddenly made the trip seem all too real. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. In case I was in a plane crash or something.

Geez. Positive outlook, sis.

I know. I just worry...

About being alone with a sexy-as-hell famous man who’s used to getting anything he wants?

Pretty much.

Listen, Eden said, her voice sounding more serious. You’ve suffered enough. You deserve to let yourself have a little fun.

I know, Faye whispered, the events of the night it had all gone so very wrong flooding back to her. She swallowed hard, refusing to renege on the promise she’d made herself to not cry about this again.

Sensing her sister’s mood, Eden switched to a perkier tone. Well, make sure to take lots of pictures. Oh, and bring me back a souvenir.

Like what? Faye asked incredulously. Sometimes her big sister acted like she was five.

You’ll think of something.

Faye hung up the call with a smile forming on her lips. She looked at the picture of her and Eden on her refrigerator standing in a London phone booth on a family trip there as teenagers. Surrounding it was further evidence of the fact that she was a die-hard anglophile—a Beatles postcard, a magnet from Harrods and another one featuring a Union Jack.

There was no denying it—London, and Gregor Wright, were calling.

---

After a fitful night’s sleep—Faye could never sleep the night before a flight—the alarm went off at 4 a.m. She took a quick shower and did a last-minute check of the apartment. She then lugged her suitcase down the four flights of stairs, hoping not to disturb her neighbors, before pushing her way out of the building and onto the sidewalk where she could hail a cab.

A short taxi ride later—there was almost no traffic at this early hour—Faye went through security, found her gate and settled into a seat with the file folder on Gregor to wait for her boarding call. Ever punctual, she always liked getting to the airport with plenty of time to spare.

After a while, she looked up from an article about Gregor’s favorite Thanksgiving recipes, including a roguish photo of him in an apron with three-day stubble, to check out some of her fellow travelers. There were plenty of people flying solo, presumably on business, a few families dressed in their comfy sweats, their seats overflowing with bags and snacks and amusements, and seated just across from her, a young couple obviously on their honeymoon. The woman was wearing tight jeans and high-heeled boots and looked about the same age as Faye, and she could tell from the sparkle in her eye that she had to be a newlywed. Her husband, a tall man dressed in a gray sweater and jeans, seemed to dote on her. Faye smiled wanly in their direction. As hard as she tried, it wasn’t easy to let go of all the plans she had made for her life as a married woman. She would never admit it to anyone, but seeing other happy couples made her stomach churn. Other people in love only served to highlight how very alone she felt.

When it was finally time to board, Faye found herself seated near a window with an empty seat next to her. Perfect! she thought, wrapping the huge cashmere scarf she always brought on trips around her shoulders and fishing for Bev’s file folder in her bag. But before she could settle in, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw that it was the newlywed.

So sorry to ask, but would you mind switching so we could sit together? the woman asked.

Faye thought about saying no but decided that would be too mean.

Okay, she said reluctantly, gathering up her things.

Thank you so much! the woman cried, overenthusiastically.

Faye made her way into the aisle and squeezed past a burly man in a faux leather jacket to find the middle seat—with another just as large guy on the other side—that she had agreed to occupy for the next seven hours. And, to add insult to injury, she’d have to look at the heads of the happy couple right in front of her. Once the plane reached cruising altitude, they would probably be making out, or more.

Faye pulled out her file folder and was just about to resign herself—not just to the seat, but most likely dying alone in a fourth-floor walk-up apartment, when she heard a voice call out her name.

Faye? Faye Curry?

Faye sat up straight and looked around the plane, confused. Her first thought was that she was in trouble. Had the TSA found radioactive materials in her checked luggage? No, of course they hadn’t, she told herself.

Excuse me? Is Faye here?

As the voice got closer, she recognized a distinct British accent. And when a man with spiky brown hair, sunglasses and a leather bomber jacket appeared in the aisle, the hair on her arms stood up on end.

Hello? Faye said feebly, totally thrown off by the fact that Gregor was suddenly standing