She plunged the spoon into the mousse and brought the chocolate to her mouth. Heaven. Ever so faintly bitter, sweet, delicious, sliding over her tongue… She let out a moan of pleasure.
She looked at him. He was watching her intently.
“What?” she said.
“I never thought I’d be jealous of a dessert before. Right now I want to grab that mousse away from you and challenge it to a Death Challenge for making you moan like that.”
She clutched the mousse closer. “I’ll stab you with my dessert knife.”
“Well, I can promise you I’m going to make you moan louder than that mousse.”
She snorted with contempt. “I highly doubt it.” She dove back in, eating a little faster than she would have liked to.
She kept glancing at her watch. Two minutes. She shoved another bite in her mouth and savored it. As long as she could get about two hundred feet away from him in time, she would be fine.
“Christopher Marlowe,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“The author of one of your favorite poems.”
She was sitting under a moonlit sky, eating delicious chocolate with a duplicitous bastard of a werewolf who somehow knew who her favorite poets were. Why was doing the wrong thing always so tempting?
“How could you know that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because you and I took the same English class in high school, and I paid attention.” It was true – she’d taken AP English, which had put her in the same class as him even though he was two years older than her.
Wait. She was under a moonlit sky. Moonrise.
Oh, crud.
And then it hit her.
