Christian was standing right in front of me and even though I didn’t want to give him a moment of satisfaction, I lifted my head.
He studied me. Calm. Amused.
Hungry.
“Let’s see just how sweet you are.” I’ll be damned if the man didn’t lick the end of the spatula.
Was he kidding me? Who did that kind of thing?
A man like Christian Elliot, and I was enthralled.
He pushed the handle into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the wood. Everything he was doing was done in purposeful slow motion. He was taunting me. I watched with fascination and disgust as he sucked on the piece.
As if it was a lollypop.
He was more than just annoying. He was infuriating. While he was performing like some seal, I slid off the edge of the island, scoping out the fruit left on the surface. Oh, why not? I was finished with him having the upper hand. His eyes were closed. I didn’t know just how melodramatic he could be.
Something I could use to my advantage. With a piece of fruit in both hands, I took a step back, pitching one like a baseball. I wound up again, the orange hitting him squarely in the face.
He was so shocked he stumbled backward by a couple of feet. Seeing the look on his face brought a smile to mine and a laugh in my throat. I grabbed two more, pummeling the apple into his stomach.
Maybe this wasn’t a fair fight, but what did I care? He’d egged it on.
Laughing, I snagged two more from the floor before he had a chance to retaliate, tossing them both simultaneously. This was more enjoyable than the amazing climax.
He cocked his head, still stunned, but I sensed his brain was working overtime. I was out of fruit. Maybe I could find something useful in the refrigerator.
Backing away, I kept my grin before reaching for the door. As soon as I jerked it open, I grabbed the closest object, pitching it immediately. The splat as it hit caught me off guard.
Oh, my God. Cream.
White froth covered his face and chest, drops sliding slowly from his chin.
I was shocked, cupping my mouth to keep from making a single sound.
This was surreal, or perhaps transcendent.
Neither my reaction nor his was what I would have expected. He simply reached for a towel without saying anything, turning on the water as if prepared to wash a dish.
As he slid the thick material under the heavy stream, I took a few seconds to admire his hands. I’d had the joy of doing so with every other inch of his perfect physique, yet I’d ignored his hands.
They were as perfect as the man, strong and masculine. He wore one ring, a beautiful black onyx surrounded by diamonds. I wondered why, when he’d stroked me during raw moments of passion, I hadn’t felt the edges brushing against my skin.
Or the heavy weight as he brought his hand down against my naked bottom.
His eyes were darker than before, studying me in an entirely different way.
As if the man had no control.
As if he planned on devouring me.
I watched as he wiped every drop of cream from his face, hesitating to say a word or move. Somehow, I knew he’d hunt me down, punishing me for the sins he’d warned me about.
Why was I tingling all over from the thought?
When he was finished, he tossed the towel aside, taking a deep breath that seemed far too long.
His eyes darkened even more.
