Project Produce(21)

Well, that killed any ideas I might have been entertaining. I had no intention of becoming a shrink, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t help me if he knew the information I was gathering was going to put be in a psychology project. I couldn’t tell him about my project now. Guilt crept down my spine. “I want to know when we’re going to eat. The food smells delicious, and I’m starved.”

“Me, too. Guess I got distracted by the unique dinner conversation.” He smiled, his sparkling sapphires roaming over my face and then dropping lower to skim over the pale-green sweater molding my bumps with nipples. “Nice sweater, by the way. It matches your eyes.”

“How would you know? My eyes are up here, Detective.” I crossed my arms over my chest, sending him mixed signals, I was sure. But I had to. My willpower had dwindled, big time.

Frowning, he cleared his throat. “Better dig in before the food gets cold. It’s my specialty.”

He scooped a moderate portion of thin spaghetti onto his plate, adding a helping of homemade sauce with meatballs, peppered with just the right seasonings. Dishing up some tossed salad, he poured on a dollop of dressing and snagged a slice of toasted Italian garlic bread. He opened his mouth as though to eat, but paused, his jaw unhinged as he gaped at my plate.

I’d served myself a heaping portion of spaghetti and had drenched it with a mound of sauce. Then I’d loaded ranch dressing onto my salad and had taken my bread, which already had butter on it, and slathered it with an additional layer. I dug into my meal with gusto. Couldn’t help it. It wasn’t macaroni and cheese, but it was pasta. Close enough.

I stared at him, with a long noodle dangling from my mouth. As I slowly sucked the noodle until it disappeared, I felt pink roses blossom across my skin. “What?” I gave him an uncertain half-smile.

“Nothing. You’re a woman who doesn’t put up pretenses. If you’re hungry, you eat. It’s refreshing.” He licked his sexy lips. “Except you have sauce,” he reached out and ran his thumb across the corner of my mouth, “right here,” then lifted his thumb to his own mouth and licked it off.

God, I wanted to entertain those ideas I’d had earlier in a big way. A veeeery big way. So not smart. “Th-Thank you,” I said on a whoosh of air, then I snatched my napkin and scrubbed my face. Picking up my fork, I continued my meal in silence, cleaning my plate in record time. “That was amazing. Thanks for everything. It’s certainly been... interesting.”

I stood, but he reached out and grabbed my hand. His fingers threaded between mine. Not a good idea, a bad idea, a monstrous--bigger than his feet--mistake of an idea, my brain hammered against my skull. Helplessly, I stared down at our hands. His were large and dark, mine small and pale. I sensed that he knew he unsettled me, but it didn’t stop him.

“How about dessert?” he asked.

“You made dessert?”

Chuckling, he released my hand and headed into the kitchen. “Cooking, I can do. Baking, however, is not one of my strengths.” He returned carrying two large slices of cake. “The corner bakery makes one hell of a dessert called Death By Chocolate.” He set the slices on the table, picked up my fork and cut off a generous bite, then lifted it. “Here, try some.”

I couldn’t do this, because if I did, I’d be opening the door to my biggest disaster yet. My lips ignored my brain and parted of their own accord. He slipped the fork inside, and I closed my mouth around it. My eyes rolled back and my lids fluttered shut.

“Damn,” he muttered. “How can you make something as simple as eating cake look erotic?”

I opened my eyes and struggled to maintain control. His glossed-over gaze locked with mine, and the undeniable desire sizzled between us. You can’t do this, Callie Anne. Not again. “Did I mention I love chocolate? A-Almost as much as pasta,” I stuttered.

Moaning deep in my throat, I worked my mouth slowly and then swallowed. Sticking my tongue out, I licked the remaining crumbs, not about to miss a single morsel. He opened his mouth, but didn’t say a word, just looked as dazed as I felt. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I would implode. The wine had weakened my resistance to the point where I was ready to ignore all the warning sirens screeching through my brain.

So much for control. Dessert hadn’t nearly satisfied me, and that fish kiss sure as heck hadn’t. I wanted more. I wanted him. I sighed, then leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his.

Bad idea.

I stared into Hot Britches’ surprised, yet heavy-lidded, electric-blue eyes and started to pull back, but his lips began to move over mine. Magic. Pure magic. My eyes slipped closed, and a powerful longing zipped through me. I couldn’t let this happen, could I? I broke the kiss, then he licked my mouth with his tongue.