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“What’s this?” she asks, pointing to the tall cake pan on the counter.
“Dessert.”
“Yeah, but what is it?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“What is up with you and all this secrecy?”
“It’s not secrecy, it’s a surprise. There’s a difference.”
“If you say so.”
“There is. One implies defiance or willingly withholding information. The other is only intended to temporarily withhold a detail with the intent of sharing. A proposal? Surprise. An affair? Secret.”
“Nice examples, Mr. Morgan. So which are you doing tonight? The proposal or the affair?” she asks with a smile, but I don’t miss the way something flitters across her face.
“Neither tonight, angel. Just dessert. And I promise you’ll find out soon. That’s why it’s a surprise. I have every intention of telling you.”
“So what else is going on? This is an awfully fancy set up tonight,” she states while taking in the use of all of the utensils in the place setting.
“I just wanted to treat my girl to a delicious meal to congratulate her on finishing another manuscript.”
“I’m not actually finished, though. That was just the first draft,” she says, helping herself to the wine I keep in the fridge just for her.
Reaching into the cabinet for the glass, I hand it to her. There’s no missing the way our fingers touch and sparks practically fly through the air. My entire body flares to life with that one little touch. It makes me crave her that much more.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you,” I tell her, holding the glass while she pours.
She takes a seat at the table, slowly sipping her white wine. Casual small talk is easy with her and tonight is no different. She asks about emergency calls I was on this week and tells me about the books she’s working on. Even when dinner is ready, we communicate and move side by side in the kitchen as if we’re an old couple who’s been married for twenty years.
“So, I have to ask,” I say, stabbing my mushroom with my fork. “Are you wearing a bra under that shirt?”
“What?” she asks, choking on her small bite of fish.
“I’m just trying to determine what stage of comfort you’re in for dinner tonight.”
“I’m not answering that,” she quips, trying to fight a smile.
“What if I told you I’m not wearing underwear?” I fire back.
Her laughter fills the room and my soul. It’s healing, a balm for all that ails me, just to hear her laugh. “I bet you never wear underwear,” she says, her face flushing a beautiful shade of fuchsia.
Leaning forward, I whisper, “Would you like to find out?”
Those green eyes darken with desire. There’s no denying it. This is why I know that taking the next step with her is appropriate. Even though she may not have said the words, it’s written all over her face and in her eyes. She wants me. That’s not being conceited or anything; it’s the truth. Her eyes don’t lie.
Abby brings her wine glass to her lips and guzzles the cold liquid. “What if I said yes?” Ahhhh, playful Abby has come out to play tonight.
“Did you say yes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
We stare at each other for several moments before she smiles. “Maybe some other time, big boy. I wouldn’t want that thing to fall out and land in your food,” she says, nodding towards the table, just above where my rock-hard dick is throbbing in my pants.
“Maybe some other time,” I say, stabbing my fish with my fork and taking my time chewing.
“Maybe.” When she takes another long drink of wine, I can tell she’s fighting a smile.
After dessert of frosted chocolate brownies, I take her into the living room, where I already have one of her all-time favorite movies queued up. The Breakfast Club begins as I sit back and get comfortable on the couch. This time, when I glance over at her, her entire face is lit up like a Christmas tree.
