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What’s he thinking? I wondered, studying him as I took a very tiny bite of my decadent dessert, stirring the rest of it around on the plate to make it look smaller.

God, he’s gorgeous, my fuzzy buzzed mind told me.

I wanted to touch him, to lean into him. Mostly I wanted to read his mind.

That last one was out of the question, but what would he do if I tried out the first one? If I just reached over and brushed that oh so touchable lock of silky dark hair back from his temple?

That was the problem with him. He seemed touchable no matter how untouchable he may actually be. Well that was one of the problems, another being the fact that I was married to him and he couldn’t stand me.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I couldn’t place. He grabbed the spoon, scooping up a small bite of mousse. “Do you want a taste?” he asked, the words succinct.

My mind wasn’t on the dessert as I exhaled a breathless, “Yes.”

He put it to my lips. Our eyes stayed locked as I sucked it clean.

When I was finished, he drew the spoon away. He set it down beside the dish, watching me closely. I couldn’t look away. His eyes had a way of holding me captive. I resented it, but it made me feel alive.

“Look at that. We barely know each other and here I am feeding you.”

I drew in an unsteady breath, then another.

He’d had his elbow on the table between us, keeping up a clear barrier. As I watched, he moved his arm, placing it along the cushioned seat behind me.

“Come closer,” he told me softly.

I leaned toward him, bringing my face near to his.

“Closer,” he said, voice softer still. His eyes were on my mouth.

The arm along my seat back wrapped around my shoulders, tugging me closer still until our lips were a breath away from touching.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” he breathed the words right into my lungs and yet somehow the words were remarkably dispassionate. “You’re supposed to kiss me now.”

I couldn’t refuse, but moreover, I didn’t want to. Closing my eyes, I pressed my mouth to his. I thought it would be brief and neat. Quick and clean.

It was not. It was pure filth.

His mouth on mine was not fit for public. At first it was just that brief soft press, our lips rubbing together, back and forth, back and forth. The briefest teasing contact. It didn’t matter. It was enough. It was too much. I took in a deep shuddering breath for a beat.

I wasn’t even sure how a kiss could be so indecent when he was barely touching me.

His delectable lips locked on mine and it was an R rated attack on my senses. R made slow progress into X as his soft lips slid over mine, his tongue licking deeply into my mouth, drawing my tongue out to play with his.

I was inexperienced at kissing, to say the least, and I’d certainly never expected a kiss like that. I had no defense against it. I went a little limp against him, breathing him in, letting his presence overwhelm me.

He tasted like alcohol, but sweeter, the flavor of him mixed with hard liquor. He stroked his tongue against mine in a rhythm that brought to mind another, less pleasant act.

He hooked one of my legs over his knee beneath the table. It was hidden under the long white tablecloth, but I was still aware of the fact that this brought my already short skirt up high on my thighs, exposing my panties.

He pulled away slightly.

I watched his face, trying to read his intent.

His palm was on my thigh, rubbing and moving up at an alarming rate.

CHAPTER

EIGHT