Page 41 of Sterling Heat

Leaning forward my mouth waters for hers. Her lips are the color of fresh-picked raspberries. The hue of her eyes is more tempting than chocolate. I’m fighting the desire to devour her when the timer on the oven buzzes.

Quickly, I step back, foolish to think I could kiss her after the confession that just left my lips.

“Hang on.” Releasing her, I turn toward the oven. Retrieving the tray with a mitt, I set it on the counter to cool before reaching for the fridge door. I pull out whipped cream and fresh raspberries.

When I turn around, Enya has stepped closer to the hot tray.

“Did you make chocolate soufflé?” Her head lifts. “A master of tangy lemon wonders and now melt-in-your-mouth sweetness?” A dreamy glaze covers her eyes.

She’s melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

With a smirk, I step to the counter and set down the additional ingredients. Generously, I cover a souffle with a dollop of whipped cream and several fresh raspberries.

“I never understand why bakers only give you one piece of fruit. You need a raspberry for every bite.”

The simplicity is for presentation, but I agree with her assessment, thus the additional smattering of berries.

Reaching for two spoons, I hold one out for her, reminding me of the day we met and shared a celebratory cake.

She takes hers and taps mine like we did that day.

“What are we toasting to?” I ask.

“You,” she whispers.

“Sugar,” I groan, catching on her gaze and staring at her, momentarily recalling the memory of her stepping into my bakery and letting me kiss her. If I only ever have that one kiss, I’m a fortunate man.

“To you,” she says again, stepping closer to me, mesmerizing me with those eyes, rich and chocolaty, and full of warmth. How would it feel to have a woman like her heat my body?

“Shall we?” I say before I do something stupid, like drop the spoon, skip the soufflé, and simply taste her.

We dip into the soufflé at the same time, and I watch with bated breath as she lifts the spoonful of chocolate, whipped cream, and one raspberry to her mouth. Wrapping those lips around the utensil, she closes her eyes and hums in appreciation.

She whimpers as she drags the spoon out of her mouth. “Oh my God. It’s so good.” Her lips purse, savoring each flavor bursting on her tongue. Eventually, she swallows. When her eyes slowly open, she licks the well of the spoon free of any remaining chocolate.

“Dammit, Enya,” I groan, watching her tongue like I’m one of those Bridgerton fans drooling over some dude nearly French kissing a silver spoon.

“What?” The innocence in her voice playfully contradicts the flirtation in her eyes. Does she want me to kiss her? Is she provoking me?

To tease her in return, I lift my sample and swipe my lips over the decadent treat, holding it on my tongue before allowing myself to swallow. The flavors are exquisite. The combination of warm chocolate, cool crème, and a burst of fruity sugar is perfection. This treat defines Enya.

I lap at my spoon like she did, allowing the flat of my tongue to take its time to swipe up the last streaks of chocolate.

Enya watches me. Her eyes mesmerized. Her mouth slightly open. Her spoon softly thuds to the countertop.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

“We both know that’s not a good idea.”

“We won’t do anything more than kiss.” Enya has already told me that she’ll meet with her doctor in a few weeks to ensure everything down there is healed. Tonight doesn’t need to lead to sex. Just a kiss.

I cup the back of her neck and lower my forehead to hers. “Won’t ever be enough.” Because one kiss would lead me to wanting more kisses. Like more raspberries on a soufflé. One is never enough.

“You’re too good of a man,” Enya whispers as her forehead holds on mine.

“I’m not.” Closing my eyes, I gently roll my forehead against hers, wanting to be a better man while also wanting to be so, so bad with her. I run my nose along the side of hers, swiping it over the tip and breathing her in.

“Let me show you”—she whispers, her voice breathy—“how good we can be.” She has no idea how much I want to take her up on that offer. For her to gift me her goodness. Share with me her purity. How I want her to show me what love is. Or at least, what it might look like for others as I don’t expect to fully have it for myself.