I scooped up a generous portion with my fingers, abandoning any pretense of utensils. Hudson’s eyes widened as he realized my intent, and he pushed his chair back, but not quickly enough. I lunged forward, smearing the chocolate across his chest, deliberately ruining the crisp white shirt farther.
“You’re an infuriating dick,” I informed him as he looked down at the damage, chocolate dripping onto his pants.
“Unbelievable,” he said, his voice low. Hudson moved with a speed I hadn’t expected, grabbing my wrist before I could retreat. With his other hand, he reached for the raspberry filling. “Hold still.”
“Don’t you dare?—”
Too late. The cold, sticky jam slid down my neck, disappearing beneath my collar. The sensation sent goosebumps racing across my skin.
“Red’s an excellent color on you,” Hudson observed, his voice rough. He was still holding my wrist, his thumb pressed against my racing pulse. “Brings out the fire in your eyes.”
I twisted out of his grasp, but only to reach for the vanilla buttercream. “Let’s see how it looks on you.”
I smeared it across his jaw before he caught both my wrists this time, holding them firmly in one of his large hands. His other hand dipped into the zabaglione with blackberry compote.
“You keep pushing buttons, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my chest, “be prepared to find out what they do”
The sweet, cool custard slid down my chest as he traced a line from my collarbone to the first button of my blouse. I couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped my throat; not quite a gasp, not quite a moan.
“That’s cheating,” I protested, my voice embarrassingly breathless. “My hands are trapped.”
“In other words, you didn’t think this through,” he murmured, his face inches from mine as he leaned across the table.
I glanced down at the tiramisu within reach of my mouth. Hudson followed my gaze.
“Don’t even think about?—”
I leaned forward and took a mouthful of the coffee-soaked cake, and before he could stop me, pressed my lips to his jaw, just below his ear. The cake smeared across his skin as I pulled back, leaving a trail of mascarpone and espresso-soaked crumbs.
“You are insane,” he growled, releasing my wrists to grab a handful of my hair instead. The slight tug sent a shock of pleasure down my spine.
“All’s fair in love and cake wars,” I said, breathless.
His eyes darkened to forest green. “Is that what this is?”
“War? Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Then enough playing. You’ve made your point.”
“Have I? What point is that?”
“That you can make me react.” His gaze bored into mine. “Congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”
There was frosting in his hair, chocolate on his shirt, and tiramisu on his jaw. His perfect appearance was destroyed, and somehow, he’d never looked more attractive.
“You still look too composed,” I decided, reaching for the whipped cream.
This time, he didn’t try to stop me. Instead, he watched as I scooped up a dollop of cream. Slowly, deliberately, I reached forward and smeared it along his bottom lip.
Hudson remained perfectly still, his eyes never leaving mine, as the cream clung to his mouth. A single drop slid down his chin.
Without thinking, I leaned forward and licked it off.
The taste of sweet cream and Hudson’s skin sent a jolt through me. I pulled back, suddenly aware of what I’d done, but before I could retreat further, his hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place.
“If you’re going to light the fuse, you don’t get to walk away from the blast.”
His mouth descended on mine, and any pretense of restraint shattered. He tasted of sugar and coffee. The kiss was hungry. Demanding. I melted against him, my hands sliding into his hair, smearing more frosting but not caring in the slightest.
