Page 63 of Blame it on the Kiss
“Also known as crisscross fries,” she offered, breathing in the delicious scent. With her eyes closed, the smell came across stronger.
“That’s right.” The waffle fry touched her mouth again, but when she parted her lips, he pulled it away, the big tease.
She licked her bottom lip. He groaned. Warmth, want, need, desire, all swept over her.
She’d never forget this simple act of being fed a French fry.
“What makes this better than other waffle fries is that it’s dusted with something special. Ready to see if you can guess what that is?”
“Yes.”
“Damn, you are so sexy, Honor.” His warm breath fanned over her jaw. “I want to feed you my mouth and nothing else.”
“Nothingelse?” She leaned closer, her side softening against his chest.
“Okay, one other thing, but we’ll get to that later. Open up, beautiful.” He put the fry in her mouth and she took a bite.
“Mmm. Gimme more.”
He fed her the rest of the crispy fried potato and then two more.
“What do you think?” he said.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Hence the name of the truck.”
“And I think the mystery flavor is Nesquick. Can I open my eyes now?”
He laughed. “Yes.”
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the brightness, tiny white dots dancing in front of her before she focused on the handsome man beside her. “There you are,” she said, thinking she’d like to open her eyes to see him every day.
“Want another?”
“Yes, please.”
Their eyes never left each other as he fed her another fry. This time when he pulled his hand away, she grabbed his wrist so she could lick the tips of his fingers.
The hazel ring around his pupils glittered with lust. “Is that G-rated, Ms. Mitchell?”
“Feeling a little hot under the…belt buckle, Mr. Bishop?” She let go, gave him her best flirty smile.
“Hard, Ms. Mitchell.” He bent his head and took her earlobe between his teeth. “I’m feeling hard and you’re going to pay for that.”
“I can’t wait.” She broke eye contact and reached for the white paper bag. “Should we hurry and finish these amazingpommes gaufrettes?”
“We should. By the way, the dusting,” he nodded at the fry in her hand, “is cocoa powder so good guess Smarty Pants.” He grabbed his own fry out of the bag and popped it into his mouth.
“I never would’ve thought to combine the two.”
“Surprise.”
“You are the King of Surprises.” He’d caught her off guard in the best, most wonderful ways. What would it be like to be surprised by him next week? Next month? She blinked away the thought.
“And fun?” He traced his finger down her arm.
“That, too.” She’d never experienced this much joy and happiness. Panic boiled over inside her at the magnitude of it. She turned her attention to the water, worried he’d see all the admiration—and fear—on her face.
