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Just then, Cassandra arrives, this time with our breakfast. She places a large cup with what seems like a crunchy, frozen slushy in front of each of us. There is also a bowl of what looks like croissants between us, along with fresh fruit, muesli and a massive plate of fresh pastries. She places a small bowl of fresh-cut fruit before me, then adds the tiniest cups of espresso next to each of us. She leaves and I glance down at the frozen slushy in front of me.
"What’s this?"
"A granita," he replies as he breaks off a piece of the croissant, dips it in the dark brown slushy, then brings it up to his mouth and closes his lips around it.
I can’t stop myself from flicking my tongue as I watch him crunch down on the ice, swallow, then reach for another piece of croissant.
He glances up and I flush, look away, then back to his mouth. Watch as he repeats the action, making a slight humming sound. My clit instantly throbs. Shit. How would it be to feel those vibrations against the most sensitive part of me? Why is it that everything he does seems to have a one-way connection to my pussy?
He looks up at me, then at my plate. "Eat," he gestures.
"Can you pass me a croissant," I murmur.
"It’s a brioche," he corrects me.
"Oh," I frown, "it looks like a croissant."
"It’s similar, but different. This," he offers me the plate of brioches and I take one, "is asoft sweet bread made using Marsala wine and honey. It’s uniquely Sicilian."
I break off a piece of the brioche, dip it in the slushy, then pop the entire thing into my mouth. The complementary flavors of coffee and chocolate burst on my tongue. I chew, crunch down on a few pieces of ice and swallow. "Wow," I breathe, then lick my lips, "what was that?"
He doesn’t take his gaze off of my mouth. "That was a traditional Sicilian breakfast," he murmurs.
"I get that." I scowl, "But what did you say the slushy thingy is called?"
"A granita." He raises those deep blue eyes to mine, "The Arabs brought it with them. They called itSarbut, the Brits call itSherbet…. The Arabs left Sicily, but their influence in food and in architecture stayed on."
"It’s yummy." The heat of his gaze sinks into my blood. The tension between us ratchets up. My heart begins to beat hard in my chest. I swallow, reach for a piece of fruit and pop it in my mouth. The juicy sweet flavors burst in my mouth. "This orange is delicious."
I pop another slice into my mouth, then jerk my chin in the direction of the fruit, "You're not having any of it?"
He chuckles, "I hope not, considering I am allergic to them."
I blink. "You’re allergic to oranges?"
He tilts his head. "Surprised?"
"You mean the big, bad alphahole actually has a weakness?" I lower my chin, "Yeah, I am surprised."
"I am human, Beauty." He smirks, "Though you can be forgiven for thinking otherwise."
"Ha, ha." I laugh without humor, then reach for my espresso. "You really have a big opinion about yourself, don’t you?"
"Nothing that’s not warranted." His grin widens, "Eat up, Beauty, we have a packed day."
