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Then he scoops up a sliver of the chocolate and offers it to me.
"You’re going to feed me here?"
"No one’s watching us."
"There’s always someone watching. You should know that."
"Indeed. But I’m willing to take the risk. Question is, are you?"
My heart flutters in my chest like the wings of a dragonfly. Am I willing to take the risk? Am I? That’s the big question. One for which I don’t have an answer. I glance about us and find, sure enough, no one is paying us any attention. Also, our table is set to one side in an alcove, so we’re somewhat hidden from the rest of the room.
"Where’s your security personnel?"
"They’re around."
Once again, I scan the people at the other tables but don’t see anyone who resembles his security team.
"They’re good at their job," he drawls.
"Indeed. How about you? Are you good at what you do?" Shit, hadn’t meant for that to come out quite that suggestive. My subconscious is getting ahead of me.
His lips kick up and he gives me a full, blinding smile that lights up his features and positions me at the receiving end of all of his charisma. Even though I know exactly what he’s doing, it doesn’t stop my pulse from drumming at my wrists, at the base of my throat, between my legs. He is potent. All he has to do is turn on his charm and few would be able to resist him.
He looks at the spoon of chocolate he’s holding out, then back at my face.
I scowl.
"Zara." He lowers his voice to a hush and a thrill of anticipation grips me. No one, no man so far, has been able to command me, to tell me what to do. Yet this man, with simply an intonation of his voice, has me salivating to fulfill his every demand. He’s good, I’ll give him that. Am I going to give in to him. Am I?
He holds my gaze, and the air between us grows thick, charged with everything unsaid, tinged with the lust that has colored our every encounter. A cloud of heat seems to plume off his body and slam into my chest. I gasp. He leans forward and slides the spoon between my lips.
The creamy dessert melts on my tongue. The acrid taste of cocoa combined with the sweetness of sugar coats my taste buds. I swallow, and it slides down my throat, and seems to head straight for my core. He has a direct line to the most intimate parts of me, and I’m not even sure how that happened.
He brings the spoon to his mouth and sucks on it. A million fires seem to erupt under my skin. I grip the edge of the table, my breathing erratic. I need to look away from him, now. I try to tear my gaze away from his, but it’s like we’re connected, entwined, linked, affixed together. It’s as if some part of him has hooked into me and is now reeling me in.
I lean forward; so does he. He places the spoon down, leans across the table. Closer, closer. I can see the fine lines that radiate out from the edges of his eyes, the flashes of gold deep in his irises, as if he’s drawing on that secret fire power that lights him up from inside. That haloes him and attracts people to him. I am but a helpless insect caught in his web and he’s reeling me in. We’re so close, his breath grazes my cheek. I glance down at his mouth, part my lips.
My phone buzzes. I ignore it and flutter down my eyelids. His phone rings, and I sense him hesitate. I snap my eyes open to find he’s looking at me with so much longing that my breath catches. His phone continues to ring. My phone buzzes again.
"The babies!" I exclaim at the same time as him.
* * *
"He’s so cute." I touch the tiny fingers of the baby that Summer is holding. Twelve hours of contractions, followed by five hours of labor in the hospital, and the baby finally burst into the world. Weighing in at nearly nine pounds, he’s also bigger than expected.
"I can’t believe you pushed him out without an epidural." I wince.
Karma’s baby was born a few minutes after Summer’s, but he was nearly four weeks premature, so they rushed him to the neo-natal unit. Karma’s still sleeping off the emergency cesarean. Michael opted to stay with her. We were told that we can see her tomorrow. Both sisters gave birth to boys.
Summer had a natural birth, with both her and the baby in good shape. She bounced back quickly after the birth and was eager to show off her son to the rest of us. Now, I watch as she kisses her son’s forehead. "I confess, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s worth it."
"He is," I say softly. I draw my fingertip over his tiny knuckles. "He’s perfect."
"He is." Summer sniffs.
Sinclair, who’s sitting next to her, kisses her forehead. "You did well, baby. I’m not sure I could have gone through what you did." His voice is tinged with awe.
I glance up at him and realize, under his tan, he’s pale. Summer, on the other hand, is glowing. There’s an ethereal light in her eyes that tells me she still hasn’t come down from whatever endorphins flooded her system during the birth.
