Can't Stand the Heat

It was like a flash bulb went off behind her eyes. Then it dawned on her that it actually was a flash, right in her face, as one of her fellow guests snapped a quick candid of noted Délicieux columnist Miranda Wake in a public brawl with hotshot chef Adam Temple.

The copy wrote itself.
Adrenaline surged up, chasing away the lingering haze of alcohol, Miranda blinked.

A man with dark hair came into focus,nearly close enough to kiss----so close she could only see one feature at a time. His hair was too long on top and completely disoriented, curls standing up like a devil horns. His tan skin stretched taut over a broad forehead and sculpted jaw. His wide mouth was drawn in a sneer that couldn't quite hide the sensual shape of his lips. He had dark, flashing eyes. The light was too dim to really make out the exact color, but the expression in them was clear enough: a sort of stunned fury, hot enough to burn.

Miranda felt heat scorch along her cheeks and neck, and wasn't if it was from the vodka, the intensity of Adam Temple's regard, or the gaze of fifty tipsy foodies. Probably a combination of all three.