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"Rice cakes?" The second I say that I realize my tone of voice was kind of rude. Sure, I can't believe a man wants to eat rice cakes. It's a thing women force themselves to eat so they can stay slim. But my surprise at his statement is no excuse. I drop back down into my chair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so obnoxious. Your dietary habits are none of my business."
"But you disapprove."
"For all I know, you have food allergies."
"I don't." He carefully cuts off a small piece of cantaloupe and eats it. "But I own a business, which means I have a responsibility to stay healthy and sober."
"Uh-huh. I don't remember champagne being on the food pyramid."
He glances up at me, keeping his head down, and the corner of his mouth slants upward. "It should be."
"You're okay with indulgence when you're trying to get in my pants, but it's taboo the rest of the time."
"I got inside your bikini, not your pants. Though I would love to see you in lace knickers."
"You'd have to get past my pants first."
He lifts his head, those beautiful eyes studying me while his brows crinkle. "How many pairs of knickers do you wear under your trousers?"
"What?" I've spent enough time around the Dixon brothers to know some British terms, like knickers aka panties, but I'm getting the feeling Richard and I are talking about different things right now. "What do you think pants are?"
"Your knickers. What else?"
"Guess you haven't slept with an American before, huh? To us, pants are…" I lift my leg to the side, showing him my jeans, and I point at them. "Pants. The things that cover my legs so I don't get arrested for public indecency. These are jeans, but also pants. As in…pants."
"Oh," he says, drawing out the syllable like he's suddenly grasped my meaning. He smiles and chuckles. "In my country, pants are underwear."
"You Brits sure are strange."
"But don't Americans talk about underpants?"
"Sure, but we don't call them just 'pants.' That would be weird."
"Instead, you lot call your undergarments 'underpants' and also call your trousers 'pants.' No, that's not confusing at all."
He's grinning now, and I love that expression. He looks even sexier when he grins, and so full of joy that it lights him up. It lights me up too. We're not even naked, yet it's the second-best time I've had in way too long. The first-best would be last night, of course.
I get up and sidle around the table to his side, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "You really should try indulging yourself. You rocked at that last night. Sinking your teeth into a soft, succulent cupcake feels almost as good as sex."
He turns his head, our faces now an inch apart. "I'll have one of every flavor of cupcake. Then I'll need to take you back to my suite and fuck you for at least an hour."
"Working off those calories with you will be lots more fun than exercising in the gym."
"I agree." He flicks his tongue out to taste my lips. "That does taste delicious, but it's not as succulent as you."
Heat flashes through me, from my face down to my toes, and especially between my thighs. My voice sounds huskier when I tell him the naked truth. "I want to crawl under the table, unzip your pants, and take you in my mouth so I can indulge in the feel and flavor of your cock."
"We're in a room full of people."
"I know. And I still want to make you come in my mouth."
"Go on and do it."
I want to do it. Damn, do I want to. Never have I gone down on a man anywhere except in the bedroom. But for this man, I really would crawl under the table and take him in my mouth.
But I can't. That annoying good-girl voice in my head says it's wrong. I've been here for less than twenty-four hours, but maybe in a few more days, I'll overcome my inhibitions and do what I suggested.
I straighten. "I'll get those cupcakes."
