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"But it’s you saying it; that means a lot."
She places her glass of champagne on the table with a clink. "Don’t, please."
"Don’t pay you a compliment?"
She nods.
"So, you can pay me a compliment, but I can’t return the favor?"
She locks her fingers together, a sure sign that she’s flustered. "I don’t want you to get any ideas."
"Ideas, hmm?" It’s my turn to place the glass of champagne on the table. "I wonder what you think these ideas may be?"
"You know. Me, you" —she flutters her hand in the space between us— "this thing between us."
"What thing?"
"You know this…this attraction, chemistry, lust, whatever you want to call it."
"And if I say it’s more than that?"
She stiffens. "It’s not more than that."
"You sure, baby? Because whatever we did last night touched the both of us, and I don’t think that’s happened to either of us before."
"It was just sex."
"I see." I drag my finger below my lower lip, and her gaze drops to my mouth. Her pupils darken, until the black bleeds out into the iris and there’s only a circle of gold around the circumference. She swallows. The pulse at the base of her throat flutters like the wings of a hummingbird. "Just sex, hmm?"
She blinks, then glances away. "Just sex." She reaches for her glass of champagne and knocks it back, then slides it in my direction. "More."
“I live to fulfill every one of your wishes, Fire.” I rise to my feet and her gaze widens. "Where are you going?"
"To get dessert."
"Dessert?" She frowns.
I head toward the counter and whip off the cover of a dish that I’d left to cool.
"You made dessert?" Her voice rises in pitch.
"Made would be a stretch. I merely pulled off the wrapper and slid it into the oven to warm up."
"And actually remembered to pull it out, counts as a win."
"You don’t cook at all, I take it?" I scoop out the dessert onto two plates.
"Nope, much to my mother’s chagrin." She pushes her hair back from her face. "My mum works side-by-side with my father, but she always finds time to cook for her family. It’s just not something that interests me, I admit.”
I place the dish on the table, then half bow. “Voila.”
"Is that Christmas pudding?" She gasps.
"Cranberry and chocolate Christmas pudding."
She pales a little. "That’s my favorite.”
"I know." I scoop out some of the pudding and hold it out. "Open," I say in a hard voice.
