His eyes narrow. “Only when I’m not… motivated.”
“I gave you a full evening of peace.” I lean back and reach for a taste of the next cake. We can’t keep talking like this. Not where people might hear that it’s not sweet whispered nothings.
“You’ll like that one,” he says, and his voice is at a normal volume again. “Tarte au citron.It’ll be tart. Almost bitter.”
My fingers tighten around the fork. “Aw, that’s your favorite!”
He doesn’t say anything as he takes his own bite. Itistart, in a delicious, cheek-pinching kind of way, and I have to stop myself from going back for seconds. We have several left.
“This is great,” Wren calls out. “Can we get a few where the two of you are looking at each other? We’re doing really well on the cake part. Let’s get some of you two interacting.”
“Interacting,” I repeat, and turn to Rafe with a wide smile. “We’re good at that.”
A few of the people around us chuckle. He puts his fork down and turns to face me entirely. His gaze is warm, and just like so much of his charm, it’s entirely fake.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.” He reaches over to brush a tendril of my hair back. The rough pads of his fingers briefly trace over my cheek and then my ear as he notches it.
“How are we ever going to choose?” I ask him.
“I have no idea,” he says. “We could play a game for it.”
“We’re good at games.”
“We are,” he says, and there’s a world of meaning in those words. His eyes are a deep forest green, and his hand is still playing with a lock of my hair.
“I really like chocolate,” I say.
He lifts an eyebrow. “I know. You always carry it in your bag.”
He noticed that? How? I narrow my eyes at him, and his lip curves. The dimple flashes again. Somehow I know that’s arealsmile, because he likes my annoyance.
Screw interacting.
I pull the next cake closer to us. It’s chocolate, with a thick buttercream the color of Nutella. “You like chocolate too,” I say.
“Being Swiss, it’s a must,” he says.
I dip my finger into the buttercream and hold it out for him to taste.
He stares at my finger with narrowed eyes.No,they say.Stop it.
“This is perfect!” Wren calls. “Just a few more.”
“Taste it,” I say.
He won’t do it. I can see it in his eyes, filled with hatred for me and my antics. Rafe Montclair doesn’t do public displays of affection. I bet the cake will taste almost as good as knowing I’m driving him insane right now. His gaze dips down to my finger.
But then he leans forward. His lips part, like he’s about to do exactly what I’m offering him.
He’s the one callingmybluff.
I watch in horrified shock as he closes his lips around the tip of my finger and sucks it clean in a warm slide of his mouth. Heat rushes through my body and makes my stomach tighten.
His deep-green eyes are locked on mine, and there’s triumph in them. No doubt he sees just how surprised I am by his follow-through.
He releases my finger and takes my hand in his, the one he just licked, intertwining our fingers on the white tablecloth. “You have to stop playing with your food,” he says warmly.
