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Her laughter stops.

Completely.

Those emerald eyes darken, and her lips part on a quiet breath.

Well, hell.

I know that look, too.

For a second, neither of us moves.

The air between us changes.

One minute we're laughing over pumpkin pie.

The next, she's looking at me like dessert is the last thing on her mind.

“Bishop,” she whispers.

And fuck me, the way she says my name should come with a warning label.

I release her wrist, letting my thumb drag lightly across her palm.

“Come here, trouble.”

She rounds the island, and I pull her between my knees.

She's trying to look annoyed.

It's a little difficult with a dollop of whipped cream still perched on her nose.

“You've got something right there,” I tell her.

She smacks my shoulder. “Whose fault is that?”

“No idea.”

“Hayes Bishop.”

I laugh and wipe the cream away with my thumb.

Then I lean forward and kiss the tip of her nose.

“There. All better.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are.”

She smiles. “Here I am.”

I slide my hands around her waist.

For a moment, I just look at her.

At the freckles across her nose. The soft curve of her mouth. The way she fits between my knees like that's exactly where she's supposed to be.

And I realize something.