I move close, snag the now empty wineglass, and gently flick up beneath her chin. “Yell at me in five minutes, Red,” I order lightly, on the go again, this time turning in the direction of the kitchen and opening her fridge.
It takes thirty seconds of those five minutes to pull out the bottle of wine, to top off her glass. Then another thirty to return it to her hand.
“I’ll be right back.”
Another drop of that mouth. This time it snaps shut after a heartbeat, the click of her teeth loud enough that I bite back a wince.
“Easy, Red.”
Her eyes narrow, but I just grin and tug at a loose strand of her hair, the same one that always escapes from her ponytail to lay across her eyes.
“Stop it,” she mutters.
I take advantage of her batting my hand away, of her scraping her fingers through that wayward strand, battling with getting it tucked behind her ear, and zip back into the hall, walking to the front door, and tugging it open.
I bend and grab the bags I stowed there when she didn’t answer the door and I knew I’d have to track her down on the back deck, straighten, then shift back inside, closing the door and locking up behind me.
“What the hell are you doing, Damon?” she snaps as I turn around.
Her hands are on her hips, one toe tapping impatiently.
Fuck, she’s adorable.
And she’s asking a question for the ages, one I already knew the answer to and yet wrestled with far too late last night.
An answer which inevitably means…I’m here now.
“You haven’t eaten,” I say instead of providing her with an actual answer. “And I brought you something you’ll love.”
Her eyes flick down to the bags in my hand then back up to my face and my dick twitches when she licks her lips, desire sliding through her expression. “You brought Dragon Delight?”
I start for the kitchen again. “It’s your favorite,” I say by way of explanation.
“But—”
I drop the bags on the counter, start pulling out containers, naming their contents one by one. “Wonton soup with extra wontons. Pork fried rice. General Tso’s chicken. Lo mein with extra bean sprouts and crispy tofu. And for dessert”—I open the other bag, grab out the box that’s not from Dragon Delight,but from the bakery down the street, Sweet Treats—“Peanut butter sundae pie.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
Then opens again.
“I don’t understand,” she whispers, her eyebrows dragging together.
“You’re hungry,” I tell her, tugging on that loose strand of hair again before turning for the freezer and safely stowing the dessert where it won’t melt before we can devour it. “I’m feeding you.”
Confusion in gorgeous green eyes. “But you didn’t know I was hungry.”
“Hungry or not, are you ever going to turn down food from Dragon Delight and Sweet Treats’ peanut butter sundae pie?”
For the first time since I showed on her porch, humor slides into her eyes.
But when she opens her mouth, I know she’s going to lie.
“Truth,” I press.
Her mouth ticks up even though she gives a beleaguered sigh and begrudgingly agrees, “Truth.” Then she sighs again and this time it’s quiet, her eyes sliding away from mine, discomfort bleeding into her expression.
