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I blinked at him in shock, then ducked my head, almost dropped my ice cream, then scanned around to see if anyone had heard and understood English. Two elderly women were passing by, and one looked my way and waggled her brows.
Jeez. Could I slide under the table and die?
“Loïc!” I whispered harshly.
“Yes?”
“You can’t say things like that—especially not in a public place!”
“Your eyes are very blue when you blush. Lapis lazuli with gold flecks.” He stared at me intently, as though trying to memorize the color. “I hope I dream about you looking at me this way.”
He blinked and looked down, and my gaze, riveted, followed his. Ice cream had melted onto his hand. The look of surprise on his face—especially at such an intense moment—was so adorable I was pretty sure my heart was melting along with his ice cream.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, it does that.”
He grimaced.
“You have to keep licking it to keep it from making a mess.”
“The way I want to do with you?”
“Loïc. Pay attention to your ice cream.”
He tossed the cone into the garbage beside him and held out the back of his hand in front of me.
“What?”
“Clean me off.” His gaze was arresting.
Uncertain, I picked up a napkin.
He moved his hand pointedly closer to my mouth.
“I’m notlicking your hand in public.”
“Yes, I think you are,ma jolie.” His voice was quiet, hypnotic.
A blush heated my ears, and we had a silent battle of wills where his unwavering insistence gradually made me cave. Yes, it was a weird thing for him to ask me to do, and it was inappropriate, but it wasn’t exactly X-rated.
Before I even moved to obey him, he knew he’d won. The corner of his mouth kicked up.
“Look into my eyes while you do it.”
My heart thrummed, almost vibrating me where I sat. Heat flooded through me, embarrassment turning into arousal like a weird alchemical reaction.
Around us, the ice cream shop blurred into dreamlike unreality. I leaned toward him and flicked a trail of melted ice cream away with my tongue. His gaze filled with hot satisfaction, both of us obviously thinking of me licking something other than his hand. I narrowed my eyes and took a longer, more deliberate lick.
He yanked back his hand as though my tongue had burned him. His smile was small and bashful as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his fingers over the spot, like he might never wash it again.
Innocently, I gazed out the window and licked my own cone, cleaning the drips before they made a mess. I felt him watching, and the ice cream went from tasting good to decadent.
What was happening? I was so used to how things were between Valor and me that this dynamic I had with Loïc was throwing me for a loop. He was dominating me, and yet he wasn’t. He kept leaving the ball in my court, making me feel like I was the one dominating him. Either way, it was fun and hot, and made me feel damned powerful.
“How do you do that?” he murmured.
“What? Keep my hand from getting sticky?”
