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“On what?”
“On how things unfold once I get back home. If all goes as I hope, I should be coming back to America to visit quite often.”
She’d like that. A lot.
Realizing the ice cream was probably soft enough to scoop, she went over to the other counter. Philip watched her as she cut two healthy pieces from the pan of brownies, put them into bowls, then plopped heaping spoonfuls of ice cream on top. When she headed over to get the chocolate sauce, however, he joined her.
“This I want to do,” he murmured.
“You really are a chocolate fiend.”
“Proudly.”
“Most guys think chocolate addiction is a chick thing.”
“Do you think I’m like most guys?”
Watching him drizzle chocolate over the ice cream, his hand strong and steady, muscles flexing in his forearm, she shook her head. “No. I don’t think you’re like anyone I’ve ever met.”
Realizing she’d grown too serious, she helped herself to half as much hot fudge as he’d taken, then carried her bowl back to the counter. Philip joined her, and for the next few minutes said nothing. He savored every drop of warm chocolate, creamy ice cream and soft brownie. She’d swear the man’s expression was orgasmic, and he moaned pleasurably as he ate.
Claire had never imagined it would be a complete turn-on to watch a man eat dessert. But the way he so carefully and thoroughly tasted everything, closing his eyes and letting the cool cream glide down his throat, or licking the last bit of chocolate off his spoon, soon had her shifting on her seat. Her pulse was throbbing in her veins, and it had nothing to do with sugar, everything to do with spice.
Philip Smith was just so damned hot and exotic, so different from any man she’d known before. He held nothing back—not his appreciation for her, not his enjoyment of his food, not his delight in the crowds and the noise and the frenzy of the city. He was...sensual. That was it. The man was entirely in tune with his senses, and she found that incredibly sexy.
Claire wasn’t quite sure what was happening to her. Sure, she’d had relationships before, mostly brief, but one long-term one that had lasted through two years of college. But she’d never felt so totally in tune with another person’s sensual responses as she did right now, with him.
“You have chocolate on your mouth,” he said.
“Do I?” She licked her lips.
“No,” he told her, leaning across the counter until his face was inches from hers. “It’s here.”
He didn’t wipe it off with his hand or a napkin. Instead, he moved his mouth to the corner of hers and kissed her, his tongue flicking out to sample the smudge she’d left behind.
“Mmm,” he murmured as their lips brushed. “You taste good.”
She knew it wasn’t smart, knew it was too soon and that she’d only recently met him. But common sense seemed to have departed for the night. So without a word, she reached up and put her arms around his neck, parting her lips and inviting him to deepen his kiss.
He did, his cold, sweet tongue tangling with hers in slow, hungry thrusts. He tasted so delicious, made the chocolate more rich, the ice cream more sweet, the brownie more decadent. Claire tilted her head, wanting their mouths locked more tightly together, and the kiss deepened, grew hotter, wetter.
Before she realized what was happening, Philip had gotten up, reached over and pulled her to her feet. He dropped his hands to her waist and lifted her onto the counter before him, her legs dangling over the edge.
Claire didn’t resist; she was putty in his hands. He moved her easily, as if she weighed nothing, and his strength boggled her mind.
He pulled her close to his big, hard body, until she was sitting directly in front of him. Dropping his hands onto her parted thighs, he stepped between them and proceeded to kiss her again.
The hunger erupted. She felt his heat, his breadth, his strength, pressed against her, and desperately wanted to feel all those things without the barrier of clothing. The kiss was devouring, demanding. He lifted both hands and sank them into her hair, cupping her head, keeping her where he wanted her.
It was a long kiss. “You taste better than the chocolate,” he said when it ended. His voice was thick with desire.
Feeling drugged, intoxicated, she replied, “So do you.”
Without saying another word, Philip reached for his bowl and swiped his finger through the melted chocolate and ice cream. He traced his fingertip down the side of her neck, from just below her ear to the hollow of her throat.
“Ooh, cold,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t be for long.
“I’ll warm you,” he promised as he bent down and kissed her neck. And he did, sparking a flame as he licked away the chocolate and the creaminess, sampling her skin, tasting her all the way down. He devoured her with the same care and deliberation he’d used on his dessert, and all she could think was how very much she wanted him to do it again.
“Hmm, my bowl’s wiped clean,” he muttered, sounding disappointed. He cast a look across the kitchen at the stove. The pot of hot fudge was still there, off the heat, probably cool and congealing by now. Perfect for playing with. “Don’t move.”
Claire held her breath, watching as he jogged over to get the pot, tested it with his fingertip, then carried it back. His steps slowed as he returned, his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes darkening with passion.
She knew where this was going. Knew what he wanted. Knew what he intended to do. And she wanted it, too. All of it.
He stopped a few feet away, lifting a brow in question.
She reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers over the hollow of her throat, then trailed them downward to the deep V-neck of her sweater.
That was all the assent he required. Philip’s smile was sultry, his movements deliberate and seductive as he moved in front of her. He put the pot down beside her, then swirled his finger in the thickening mass of slick, dark sweetness.
This time, the line of chocolate he drew went from her throat all the way down to the curves of her breasts, traveling the same path her fingers had.
“Oh.” She sighed, incredibly aroused by just that touch, knowing his hands would soon be replaced by his mouth.
He moved to her throat, growling as he licked the chocolate from her skin, working his way down...down...until his face was pressed into her cleavage. She was trembling now, her hands clenching his shoulders as she anticipated so much more.
She didn’t even pretend to resist when he reached for the bottom hem of her sweater and drew it up and off. Sitting there in only her pants and a lacy, sexy red bra she’d donned just in case she might have reason to take her sweater off tonight, she watched him study her. Watched his dark eyes grow nearly black and his mouth open to release an unsteady breath.
Desire seemed to drip from the man, a physical, tangible thing. And all directed at her.
“I like this.” He ran a knuckle over her bra strap.
“You’ll like it even more when it’s where it belongs.”
“Where does it belong?”
“On the floor.”
He licked his lips, reached for the front clasp of her bra and flicked it with his thumb and forefinger. The fabric fell apart, her full, aching breasts nearly revealed to his covetous stare. She saw the way his jaw clenched, and knew he very much liked what he saw. But instead of pulling the bra the rest of the way off, he reached for the hot fudge again.
Trembles turned to quivers. This time, he used two fingers to scoop up a heaping helping of the chocolate. Claire held her breath, not sure where he’d move them, wondering if he intended to ice her body like a cake and devour her completely.
She’d be okay with that. This man could call her his own personal devil’s food for as long as he liked.
He finally returned his hand to the moist spot between her breasts where he’d last had his mouth. He slowly drew a swirling infinity sign, his talented fingers edging the bra out of the way as he painted a trail of warm chocolate over each breast, around each areola, leaving just the puckered tips uncovered.
“Those are sweet enough. They don’t need any topping,” he murmured, gazing at her distended nipples.
She shifted on the countertop, her sex throbbing and wet. She was so hot for him it was painful to sit on the hard surface.
He began to lick away the trail he’d created. Claire curled her fingers in his hair, needing to keep herself steady as he sampled her skin. The brush of his sandpapery cheek against the side of her breast made her groan. When his lips came close to an uncovered nipple, she wanted to beg. But he moved past, following the chocolate, leaving her nipples pouty, full, untasted.
“Oh, God, please,” she whimpered.
He didn’t relent, licking every inch of chocolate off her breasts before making the slightest move toward the most sensitive tips. She was ready to weep by the time he finally gazed hungrily at one pouty nipple. And she cried out when, without warning, he planted his mouth there, covered it and sucked deeply.
