Sinfully Sweet

Carlie stood in front of him, her heart beating ridiculously fast at the thought of feeding Daniel her remaining bite of chocolate, at the thought of her chocolate slowly melting in his warm mouth. Heated awareness jolted through her, making it impossible to deny she’d like to share a heck of a lot more than her chocolate with him. And based on the way he was looking at her-with enough heat to actually melt her chocolate-he wouldn’t be adverse to the idea. Something that was further proven when instead of simply taking the proffered half truffle from her, he reached out, snagged her wrist, then slowly drew her hand toward his mouth.

He leaned forward and his lips brushed over her fingers, stalling her breath. And, oh wow, was that his tongue? Before she could decide, he straightened. Still holding her wrist, and with his gaze behind his glasses steady on hers, his jaw moved slowly back and forth in a way that let her know he knew exactly how to eat a truffle. No chewing, just a long, slow melt into pleasure. She practically experienced another chocogasm just watching him, imagining his tongue slowly sweeping over her skin rather than her chocolate.

After he swallowed, he said, “Wow. That was incredible.”

Yeah, for me, too. She found herself involuntarily licking her lips.

Before she could recover her aplomb-which she normally had buckets of-he looked at her index finger and said, “I missed a tiny bit.” And with that he slowly drew her fingertip into his mouth.

Holy cow. His mouth was satiny and warm and, oh boy, there was no missing the wet, velvety sweep of his tongue this time. His teeth lightly grazed her skin, turning her insides to the consistency of chocolate fondue

After another slow swirl of his tongue, he slid her finger from between his lips then released her hand. “Delicious.”

She nodded. Probably she nodded. It was her intention to do so, but with all her faculties still engaged in recalling the incredible feel of his mouth on her skin, she couldn’t be sure.

“Now that you’ve shared, I guess it’s my turn,” he said.

She had to swallow twice to locate her AWOL voice. “Right.”

“Are you free this evening? Could I interest you in coming over for a truffle?”

The look in his eyes suggested that he had more than truffle tasting on his mind.

Thank God. Because she sure did.

Obviously a fling was all they could have given his imminent move, but since she wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, that worked out fine. Even if their fling only lasted one night-hell, one hour- the way this guy had her hormones turning cartwheels, she’d take what she could get.

But his invitation brought reality back with a thump and she regretfully shook her head. “I’d love to, but I have a class and study session tonight. I have to head out in about an hour.”

Amusement kindled in his eyes. “Listen, I know you like to savor your truffles, but it won’t take you an hour to eat one.” He jerked his head toward his house. “C’mon over. I’ll even make a pot of coffee.”

Wow. He sure knew how to tempt a girl. All the warnings in the stacks of books she’d read about how women shouldn’t make themselves too available, how they should never accept an invitation for the same evening, flashed into her mind. And right back out again.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t play hardball.

Tapping her finger against her chin, she said, “Hmmm. That sounds good-except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“This nonsense about a truffle, as in one. That’s pretty stingy for a guy who has an entire box.”

He smiled, flashing those killer dimples, and she made sure her knees were braced. “Okay, more than one truffle. But that’ll present a problem for you, sharing-wise, as it seems you’re fresh out.”

“Of truffles, yes. But…” She hesitated, her courage suddenly failing her. C’mon, Carlie. You want him? Go get him. Be bold. Be daring. The worst he can do is say no and if he does, you’ll only have to avoid him for the next two weeks until he moves. If he says yes…

Drawing a deep, bracing breath, she shot him her best suggestive look then murmured in her best seductive purr, “But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to share.”

Her heart rate quickened at the unmistakable flare of heat in his eyes. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

You. Me. Chocolate. Naked. And not necessarily in that order. “Well, of course it would have to be in the form of an IOU since there’s no time tonight, but I was thinking that you might perhaps enjoy…”

“Enjoy what?”

“A massage.”

Which, she hoped, would lead to her. Him. Chocolate. Naked. And not necessarily in that order.

4

“MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME,” Daniel said, pulling out one of the oak stools around the green granite snack bar that separated his kitchen from the small eating area. “I’ll be right back. Gotta change my shirt.”

“No problem,” she said with a smile.

He headed quickly down the hall and into his bedroom. After closing the door behind him, he leaned back against the wood panel and pulled in several slow, calming breaths.

What the hell was wrong with him? His heart was racing, his hands weren’t quite steady, and his stomach was jittery. But even as he asked himself the question, he realized the answer.

He was nervous. In a way he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a teenager asking out his first major crush. Which was totally crazy. But there it was.

Pushing off from the door, he pulled his dirt-streaked T-shirt over his head then entered the adjoining bathroom. After tossing his shirt into the hamper, he washed his hands, frowning at himself in the mirror. Why the hell did he feel so unglued? She was just here for coffee and chocolate. A little conversation.

Well, that could certainly explain part of his nervousness. He found the whole “make small talk with women” thing very intimidating. It was like being lost in the jungle-scary, unfamiliar and you never knew when something might jump out and bite you. All those long, awkward pauses. Trying to think of something clever, or at least not boring, to say to fill the silence.

He knew zilch about the stuff women liked to talk about-shoes, make-up, clothes. Those topics invariably led to some variation of that trick “does this make my ass look fat?” question that has led to more conflicts than nations at war. Truth be told, the only interest he had in women’s clothes was what was underneath them.

Bottom line, he sucked at small talk, and when he walked back into his kitchen, he’d be required to make some since he couldn’t very well say to Carlie, “You just eat chocolate and do that sexy moaning thing, I’ll listen and we’ll leave it at that, okay?”

He dried his hands as he walked back into the bedroom, then selected a black polo shirt from his drawer. After pulling the soft cotton over his head, he tunneled his fingers through his hair and forced himself to acknowledge that the thought of making idle chitchat wasn’t the only thing that had him unsettled. No, it was her offer of a massage. The thought of her hands on him…he blew out a long, careful breath. Better not think about it now. No, now he had coffee and small talk to manage. If he started thinking about her touching him, he’d swallow his damn tongue again-not conducive to making small talk.

After taking one final deep breath, he opened his bedroom door. As he walked down the hallway, he saw Carlie, in profile, sitting on the oak stool, legs crossed, elbows resting on the snack bar, her chin propped in one hand, and his heart performed another acrobatic stunt. She looked really nice, just sitting there at his snack bar. Kinda like she belonged there. Which was ridiculous-just like the hundred other ridiculous thoughts he’d had about her today. Sheesh. He must be sleep-deprived or something.

When he entered the kitchen, she smiled. “Your kitchen is impressively tidy. I thought bachelors were slobs.”

“Can’t say I’m a neat freak,” he said, snagging the glass coffee pot then heading to the sink, “but I have to keep the place picked up or I risk being flogged by my Realtor. Apparently dirty dishes piled in the sink are bad for resale value.”