Page 56 of Tastes Like Summer

“Everyone’s gone already?”

He nods, pulling me behind him by the hand. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we were done with dinner a while ago. I guess the conversation was so good, time flew by.” He shoots me a smirk over his shoulder. “Can you stay a bit longer?”

I pull out my phone to check Emi’s glucose levels and relax once I see they’re stable.

“Maybe half an hour? Forty-five minutes more?” I don’t want to push it.

Michael leads me into the industrial kitchen, and while it’s not something that would appear in Architectural Digest, I can’t help but gawk at all the gadgets and different types of cooking appliances that fill the room. For anyone who’s a fan of cooking, it’s a dream.

“Whoa,” I breathe, setting the blanket on the spotless metal counter before running a finger over it. It’s not pretty, but something about the utility of it all impresses me. It could take what you give it—anything at all—and not budge or bend or creak or break for anything or anyone—the antithesis of how I feel sometimes.

Michael fills an electric kettle with water and starts it. From a utility rack, he pulls a mug down and hands it to me.

“One sec,” he says before heading into what looks like the pantry. After just a moment, he’s back with a box of tea and a jar of honey. “This good? It’s dandelion tea.”

I shrug. “Sure. I’ve never had dandelion tea before.”

He reaches out and grabs hold of my hips, pulling me up onto the counter with a surprising amount of ease. The contrast of cold metal and his heated touch sends shivers up my spine. Michael presses a soft kiss against my lips while gently pushing my silk skirt up my thighs, making room for himself between my legs.

“Really? You’ll like it. It’s good for you, too. Lots of antioxidants.” He presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “And anti-inflammatory properties.”

Michael presses a kiss to the other side, this time with an open mouth.

My eyes slide shut, and I move my head to give him more room.

“Are you—” I inhale sharply when his teeth graze my skin. “Are you selling this tea or something?”

This makes him chuckle, so he pulls away to give me an indulgent smile. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttons his chef’s jacket before tossing it behind him carelessly on the floor.

I press my lips together—though the urge to do so disappears once my eyes travel south and they land on the fitted white t-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders. And god, how does he manage to look so good in the most basic article of clothing?

“No, I’m not selling it. Just thought it was appropriate.”

“Appropriate?”

The kettle automatically turns off as the water reaches its boiling point. Michael nods and takes the cup from me, gently opening a tea bag, and dropping it inside before pouring the water. “Dandelions symbolize resilience and healing—hope and strength. I thought it was appropriate since you embody those qualities every single day.”

I can’t help the grin on my face or the way it fades just as quickly as it appears. “I wish that were true.”

“Believe me, Diana. It’s true. You are…” He inhales deeply, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Incredible.”

Speechless, I watch as he pulls the wand from the pot, the golden syrup drizzling and shining under the overhead lighting.

“Would you like some? It’s local honey,” he offers, his voice deep.

I nod, the only way I seem to be able to answer right now.

Wordlessly, I watch him drizzle honey into my cup before putting the wand back into the glass container.

“Shit, my fingers are all sticky.”

And though he begins to pull away to presumably go wash his hands, something foreign comes over me leading me to wrap my legs around his waist to stop him.

“Let me,” I whisper, taking his hand. I bring his index finger into my mouth, tasting the sweet honey on his skin as I suck it off. Michael watches, slack-jawed and rapt, a slow moan building in his chest.

“Fuck.” And in that moment, I know it’s both an expletive, and a promise.

I hook my ankles together, pulling him into me, feeling him hard and hot between my legs as I run my teeth over his finger.