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He has an arrogant tilt to his lips right before he answers, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. We’ve never had any trouble in that department.”
I look away as my cheeks heat. “No, I guess not.”
He cocks his head. “I could help you out if you need a reminder?”
I roll my eyes. “Such a sacrifice. Eat your food and behave.”
Though I don’t know if that’s really what I want him to do. He’s making me hungry for more than the dinner on this table.
Slowly, Zane has been chipping away at my resolve. Since he broke me apart a few weeks ago, he’s been piecing me back together again, one day at a time. And I’m starting to forget why I pushed him away in the first place. I didn’t deny him a date to make him pursue me harder, like some twisted game. But somehow, I’m glad that he is. He’s chasing me. He’s working for us. And I realize now how badly I needed him to do that. No one has fought for me in the past, and maybe that’s what I’ve been missing all along. Someone who thinks I’m worth the effort. Someone whoshowsme I’m worth the fight.
I feel full when I’ve barely made a dent in the food, but I push it aside to focus on the desserts that are calling to me. My eyes close when a forkful of creamy cheesecake hits my taste buds.
“Oh my gosh,” I moan. “This is so good.”
I have the same response when I try the chocolate cake and the crème brûlée.
Zane is watching me with his utensil hovering over his plate. He has a smirk on his face and a fire in his eyes. “So … what’s the verdict?”
“I can’t choose,” I say. “I like them all.”
But I pull the chocolate cake closer and focus on it for a while.
“I think we have a winner,” Zane jokes. “I should’ve known you’d be a chocolate girl.”
Zane finishes his entrée and pushes the plate aside. His fork dives into the sugary treats, one at a time. He polishes off the cheesecake first before turning his attention to the crème brûlée. When that’s done, he grabs a strawberry and takes a bite. He sees me watching him and holds what’s left of the berry out tome. Our eyes connect and hold. I lean down, my lips collapsing around the sweet fruit and brushing along his finger and thumb in the process. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, and his gaze drops to my lips.
A few seconds pass, and they feel heavy, weighted with all the things we aren’t saying. I push aside the last third of the cake. He reaches for his fork and spears a bite of it, the piece thick with frosting. It lands in his mouth, but some of the frosting smears across his lower lip. Without thinking, I reach over and gather it on my thumb. His breath warms my hand as I pull away. His pupils dilate when the pad disappears into my mouth.
He sets his utensil down, but his eyes stay focused on me. He isn’t smiling. The rise and fall of his chest are steady and rhythmic. He reaches for the dessert, collecting some frosting from the cake and continuing until it’s coating my lips.
I stop breathing.
My eyes are wide, and my heart is beating out of my chest as I wait for his next move. I don’t want to miss one second of this moment with him.
“If you don’t want me to kiss you”—he leans closer with his hand braced on the tabletop—“then you need to tell me now.” His voice is low and deep. Serious. A rumbled warning of what’s about to happen.
If I were a stronger woman, I might say no. But I’m not.
He moves closer.
“Last chance …” he groans.
His eyes dip to my mouth. My lips are trembling with need.
I can’t protest. I don’t want to.
My silence speaks louder than any words. I want him to come closer. I want him to kiss me. I want him to touch me. I just …want him.
He pauses for a beat before his lips descend onto mine. My eyelids drift closed as his warm tongue glides across my lower lip and then my upper.
I hear a moan and realize the sound escaped from my throat. We both stand without disconnecting and move closer together. My hands are in his hair. His are at my waist, pulling me against him as he continues to take my lips. With each pass of his tongue across mine, my defenses lower a little more. He’s sweeping away all my doubt and hesitation. He tastes like chocolate and ripe berries.
His hands slide from my waist to beneath my scrub top. His touch is warm as he travels up my lower back. My top gets caught on his forearms and rises with his movement. We break apart for a brief second as he tugs it overhead and drops it to the kitchen floor.
His hair is tousled from my fingers. His mouth lands on my neck, and I angle it to give him more room. My chest heaves as his soft suction caresses my pulse point. I’m sure he can feel the way the blood is bounding through my body.
He drops south, his mouth skirting my breasts above my bra line. He tugs down the left cup, and his tongue darts out to taste my already-hard nipple. His hand squeezes the other side, the pad of his thumb circling my sensitive tip through the material. I grow wetter with each pass.
