I feel awkward but compelled to respond with the answer I know he wants to hear. I nod and solemnly say, “I promise.”
He releases his grip on my arm and his expression is back to normal, as though this grave moment never happened at all. He opens his mouth to speak, but just then Jason arrives with my food. I offer to share with McHottie, but he waves me away.
“I already ate, but I would love to watch you enjoy yourself.”
I watch the way his mouth moves around his words, lips and tongue and air creating sounds. I flush, wondering if he means ‘enjoy yourself’ as a double entendre or if my lust is just projecting. Clearly, he is just being a friendly new neighbor.
After all, he is so far out of my league, we are in different sports on different intergalactic teams playing on different planets. But oh, would I love to score a touchdown with him. Hell, I’d settle for first base.Stop with the sports analogies, Lieshe,I scold myself, knowing I have it all mixed up. Sports never were my thing.
We fall into an easy banter as he asks me to tell him all about the neighborhood. I relax into the normalcy of a mundane conversation as I fill him in on the other businesses and residents I know. I wave around my fries as I talk, taking bites between talking.
He seems genuinely interested in what I am saying, asking questions and for clarification. Before I know it, over an hour has passed.
I go to eat the lone fry on my plate, scooping up the last of my favorite aioli sauce with it. I get a little overzealous with the sauce, though, and just as I go to pop it in my mouth, a drop falls, landing on my exposed chest.
McHottie’s eyes zero in on the drop. I look down at it, embarrassed to be making a mess in front of my hot new neighbor. But before I can grab my napkin to wipe it off, he reaches out with a lone finger and lifts my chin, so I am looking back up at him.
My face flames as he trails his finger lightly down my throat, across the top swell of my breast, and deftly swipes the drop off my skin. I wait with bated breath to see what follows. Time feels suspended as I fall into his golden stare.
I’m pulled back to the present when Jason comes by to ask if I want dessert. Since I always say no, I think he is actually checking in to make sure I am okay with the newcomer.
McHottie’s eyes flash at the intrusion and for the briefest second, he casts a withering glare at Jason. He immediately schools his face back to neutral and asks, “Do you havecrème brûlée?”
“Yes, coconut is the seasonal flavor,” Jason answers slowly. He must have caught that look; I’m surprised he didn’t burn to ash under its intensity.
I almost moan out loud. Coconut crème brûlée is my absolute favorite, but I'm always more worried about my weight than I am willing to indulge.
“She will have one please,” he replies, turning back to grace me with that panty-melting half smile.
Eek, this guy’s voice. Everything is a little formal and oh so freaking amazing that he says. He makes me feel like a fangirl.
As I quirk a brow at him for ordering for me, he turns on the charm to the full megawatt smile and says, “Please, I love to watch a beautiful woman enjoy herself.”
How could I resist?
As Jason turns and walks away, I realize I didn’t even know McHottie’s name to introduce them. And I certainly couldn’t call down the street to him, “Hey, McHottie.” I feel a little bad for Jason, who has always been such a sweet flirt, to both witness me sitting here with another guy and then catching the evil eye from him.
“You still haven’t told me your name, “ I say.
“What is a name but the sounds that fall from your lips only to get someone’s attention?” he asks.
“No one ever seems to get the right sounds from their lips with my name, yet they still usually manage to get my attention,” I grouse with a laugh.
“You absolutely have mine,” he confesses, his amber eyes intense.
His words are an exact match to his ardent focus on me. I feel a flush creep up my neck for the second time tonight to know that I am holding his full attention. Jason slides my crème brûlée in front of me, diffusing the intense moment. Perfect timing, again.
I drag my gaze away and check out the dessert. My eyes light up in anticipation of cracking the hard sugar layer open with my spoon. The first crack is my favorite part of the decadent dessert, and this one doesn’t disappoint.
I tap, tap, tap it, and scoop up a perfectly composed bite of creamy decadence topped with the slightly burnt sugar that I know will leave a smoky sweet flavor on my tongue.
I contemplate if my tobacco and leather-scented new neighbor would taste the same. If I crack open his hard exterior, will he be sweet and smoky inside? Or I worry, will he leave behind the acrid burnt taste of a broken heart?
I offer a bite to him since he ordered it for me, but he shakes his head and follows the spoon to my mouth. I can’t help but close my eyes as I take the first spoonful and let out a small hum of appreciation.
When I open my eyes again, he is staring at my mouth. His nostrils flare, like he is scenting me. I look into his intense amber gaze, finding the moss-green flecks so very much like mine, and watch his pupils dilate.
In every late-night romance novel I read, that is a response to desire, and I wonder if that is indeed true. Could he really desire me?
