Page 62 of Blame it on the Kiss
He stood. “I am and I know just the place.”
“What if I know just the place?” She put a little extra swing in her step as he followed behind her.
“There’s no way it’s as good as mine.”
“Oh, really?” She loved getting back to the playful banter between them. He lifted the fragile memories she hated to let inside her head and kept her rooted in the present.
“Hands down, you’ll love this joint.” He held the pavilion door open for her.
The sun rested high in the sky and a warm breeze brushed over her skin. She brought a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the brightness. “And if I don’t, promise to do whatever I say with those hands of yours?”
He put said delicious hands on her hips and bent his head so his mouth grazed that sensitive spot just under her earlobe. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
She shivered. “I guess we’ll go to your place then.”
“Damn right.”
He made sure she got in the car okay and then hurried around to his side. His polite gestures quirked up the corners of her mouth every single time. She loved that he was a gentleman out in public, but dirty in the bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a food truck parked at the beach along the coast highway.French Fry Heavenwas stamped on the side in big gold letters with a halo around ‘Fry.’ A ton of people stood in line.
Bryce handed her a blanket he pulled from his trunk. “Find a spot on the sand and I’ll grab us the best fries you’ve ever eaten.”
“We’ll see about that.” Although given the crowd, she felt pretty sure they would be. “And by the way, this isn’t a joint.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s an establishment where food is served.”
“Or it’s a truck.” She smirked and made her way toward the water.
Lying back on her elbows, her feet digging in the sand, she watched the waves push onto shore. A little boy scrambled to keep his feet dry, running forward and back, giggling with his mom close by his side. Honor had played the same game as a young girl.
“Close your eyes,” Bryce said, his shadow falling over her.
She did as he asked, a wave of excitement and anticipation sweeping from her fingers to her toes. The blanket rustled. She almost peeked at him, her curiosity getting the best of her, but the element of surprise kept her lids closed.
The first thing to hit her senses was the smell of delicious fried potato and something else—something sweet, but she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.
“It smells yummy,” she said.
Bryce’s arm brushed hers, setting off the usual flurry of tingles when they touched. He sat close. Super close. She wanted to roll over on top of him and line their bodies up so that she could nibble her way down a French fry he held in his teeth. Kiss. Swallow. Repeat.
“This isn’t an ordinary French fry,” he said, his husky voice making her even tinglier.
She pushed up off her elbows and tucked her arms underneath her legs. The sunshine and the ridiculously hot and adorable man next to her were a killer combination, and she needed a more fixed position before she melted into the sand. “No?”
He feathered his lips over her jaw, scooted closer so she could rest against him. “Would I give the most interesting woman I know a regular fry? I don’t think so.”
“You just gonna talk or feed me?”
“You like the way I talk.”
“Not really,” she lied. Would he get on with the French fries already?
“Your body says otherwise.” And he proved it by brushing his hand across her breast and feeling her nipple strain to reach him.
She sucked in a breath. The brush had been quick, but just feeling his nearness had her pressing her thighs together. “This needs to stay G-rated, Mr. Bishop. We are on a public beach.”
“Right,” he said, as if the reminder supremely disappointed him. “So this particular French fry is known as a waffle fry.” Something warm—the edge of the fry, she guessed—touched her lip for a brief second. “Orpommes gaufrettefor you word connoisseurs.”
