I
stroll toward the bedroom but come to an abrupt halt at the threshold. For a
second, I can only gape at the sight that greets me. It’s so shocking, I turn
around to check whether there are cameras rolling and I’m being punked.
“Why
are you looking about like that?” Gabriel drawls, not taking his eyes from the
TV.
“Just
checking to make sure I hadn’t wandered into an alternate reality.”
“Amusing
as always, Darling.”
Who
could blame me for being suspicious? Gabriel Scott is out of his suit and
wearing a soft, gray long-sleeve thermal and black sweats. This is shocking
enough—but at least I’ve seen it before. The fact that he’s lounging in his
bed, while eating some sort of dessert out of a bowl, is what has me
flabbergasted.
“You’re
staring,” he says dryly as he…
“Are
you watching Buffy?” My voice has a tinge of a squeal.
He
rolls his eyes. “Deal with it.”
“I’m
just so…” My hand flutters to my chest. “Are you sure I’m not being punked?”
A
snort escapes him. “You’re not famous, so no. I, on the other hand, have my
moments of doubt that you aren’t here to punk me.”
I’m
so happy, I have to fight grinning like a loon as I kick off my shoes and crawl
onto the end of the bed. “If I were to punk you, I’d change out all your suits
for polyester.”
At
that, his eyes finally slide to mine, and his skin actually pales. “That’s just
cruel, Darling.”
“Stop
calling me that.” I steal his spoon.
“It’s
your name.”
“Are
you sure that’s what you’re calling me by?” I ask suspiciously, as he moves his
bowl out of reach.
“What
else would I be doing?” There’s a glint in his eye that leads me to answer in a
sing-song voice.
“A
term of endearment? Declaring your undying lurve for me.”
His
nose wrinkles. “You’re going to put me off my pudding.”
“Pudding?
Is that what you’re eating?” I lunge for the bowl, but he’s too quick, and I
end up sprawled across his chest.
We
both go still, me clutching the spoon in one hand, my other palm pressed
against the firm swell of his pec, him with one arm still outstretched, his
other one pinned beneath me.
His
breathing goes deep and strong as he peers down at me. My attention drifts to
his lips, beautifully sculpted and softly parted. How would he kiss? Would he
start off slow, taking little nibbles, testing the waters? Or would he be the
type to go all in, possess my mouth with his?
Heat
floods my body, fluttering through my belly.
Gabriel’s
lids lower, and his breath catches.
In
the background, someone is shouting Buffy’s name. It’s enough to snap me out of
whatever fog that touching Gabriel has pulled me into.
“You
smell like apple pie,” I whisper inanely.
His
gaze darts from my mouth to my eyes. “It’s crumble. Apple crumble.”
“Why
did you call it pudding?”
“It’s
what we Brits call dessert.” He’s still staring at my mouth. Dessert indeed.
My
lips part, sheer lust making them plump. “Give me a bite.”
With
an audible swallow, he slowly takes the spoon from my hand. I don’t look away
from his eyes as he scoops up a bit of the crumble.
The
spoon shakes just a little. Cool metal slides over my lower lip, and hot
crumble fills my mouth. I barely suppress a moan, my lips closing around the
spoon as he slowly draws it back out. He grunts in response, a short, helpless
sort of sound that he quickly smothers.
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