Page 62 of The Professor's Wife

“I said I was fine.”

“You also said you liked it black.”

I picked it up. “You don’t listen very well.”

“I listen. I just don’t always obey.”

The woman nearest us was still watching him. Tristan pulled out the chair beside mine and sat close enough that his knee pressed lightly against my leg.

I stared into my coffee and tried to bury the irritation before it showed on my face.

He handed me the paper bag. Inside was a warm cinnamon bun wrapped in wax paper.

I looked at him. “What’s this?”

“Food.”

“I know that.”

“You were looking at them through the diner window.”

I stared down at the bun, oddly touched that he had noticed. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

His eyes moved over my face, searching. “You all right?”

“Fine.”

“That one sounded less believable than the first.”

“I’m tired.”

“You slept twelve hours.”

“You don’t know that. Time doesn’t exist out here. Besides, I thought we didn’t sleep.”

His mouth twitched, but he kept watching me. I knew he was waiting for something more, though I had no idea how to explain the humiliation of feeling jealous over a man I had no claim to.

So, I tore off a piece of the cinnamon bun and put it in my mouth.

Tristan’s gaze dropped to my lips. He watched me take a few bites and said, “I’m starting to resent that thing.”

I smiled as I chewed. “Why? It’s very satisfying.”

“Is it?”

“Warm. Sweet.” I tore off another piece, taking my time with it now. “And I could keep my mouth busy with it for a while.”

His tongue dragged slowly across his bottom lip. “Fuck, Daze.”

“What?”

“You know exactly what.”

I licked a trace of cinnamon from my thumb. “Maybe.”

His stare sharpened, all heat and hunger now. “You’re fucking dirty.”