The teenager behind the display counter looks extremely bored while Ethan scans the wide variety of flavors to choose from. We’ve been here for ten minutes. He’s having trouble figuring out which flavor is which when they’re all labeled with questionable names.
After ordering a scoop of chocolate chip for himself and a pistachio sundae for me—or thechunky and hunkyand thedelightful nut,as the employee so aptly corrected us—and bribing the cashier not to ring the cowbell for purchasing the latter, we’re both making our way back to the hotel.
It’s super windy. I’d like to be able to enjoy my ice cream without my hair running interference and flying into my mouth every few seconds. My sundae is partially melting onto my hand as we exit the elevator to our floor.
“How’s the pistachio?” Ethan asks while keying us into our room. He finished his scoop in two bites.
The muffled word coming out of my mouth sounds a lot likedelicious. He snorts, and I scrunch my nose at him while I savor another delightful spoonful.
“You got a little something here,” he says while I skirt past him, tapping the edge of his lips.
“Yeah. Delicious flavor,” I manage as my thumb swipes at the spot on my face. His deep, hearty chuckle sends a cascade of goosebumps down my back.
Right now, ice cream is the last thing on my mind. I’m more focused on the proximity of his body to mine while we’re bothstill standing in the doorway. The stray lock of hair hours after his hair gel has worn off. The way his gaze becomes low-lidded when I look up into his eyes. The length of his eyelashes and how they curl.
“What’s on your mind, Barbie?” It’s that rough voice of his again.
“I...” My heart pounds. My breath catches. My thumb touches something wet and cold. I startle, realizing a second too late I’m squeezing the sundae in my hand. “Whoops. I should finish this.”
Which I do. Slipping into the room, I rapidly polish off the rest of my dessert. It’s a bad call on my end, one I tremendously regret when I’m hit with a throbbing headache before I can take another breath of air.
“You okay?”
I feel like I’m dying, Ethan. “I’m fine,” I squeak, tossing the paper cup into the trash can. I flash him aneasy, breezy, I’m totally not dying here, Ethansmile.
He heaves out a sigh and shakes his head. “Put your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”
“How about I put my tongue to the roof of your mouth instead?” I counter, tossing him a very enthusiastic wink.
The corner of his lips twitches for a beat. Obviously, he’s at war with himself, experiencing major turmoil. His primal attraction toward me in this very instance is too much for him to bear. He can hardly control himself as it is.
“How about you deal with your brain freeze first?” he says gently.
The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is strong.
“Only if you don’t stop”—my voice sounds almost as breathless as I was earlier today, biking those damn six miles nonstop in the godawful summer heat—“bossing me around for the rest of the night.”
Powering through my headache, I bat my eyelashes at him and twirl a strand of my hair around my finger.
His expression turns inscrutable. “You want me to boss you around?”
“I need you to,” I reply in a sultry and slow cadence.
“Oh, yeah?” His brow quirks as he regards me with a heavy-lidded stare. “How’s this, Barbie? Why don’t you be a good girl for me and deal with your brain freeze?”
“And then what?” I prompt with a coy lip bite. So help me, I will have this guy giving in to temptation before the night is over.
“Then I want you to walk to that side of the bed”—he tips his head, inching closer to me—“and bend over for me?—”
“Ooh, I like where this is going.”
“—take out your laptop from your suitcase,” he continues, placing his hands on my hips and drawing our bodies close with a gentle tug, “log into your email, and agree that our cover sheets do not need to be standardized?—”
“Ooh, I do not like where this is going.” My nose scrunches while I flatten my tongue against my mouth’s roof once more.
“But Barbie,” he says, and how dare he use his sexy rough voice, “I thought you wanted me to boss you around?”
“I changed my mind,” I reply sweetly. “I want you to kiss me instead.”
