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I lick my fingers clean of the chocolate, and his gaze goes a shade darker. “I baked.”
Three cakes and two pies, on top of the cookies, but who’s counting?
His brows shoot up. “You bake?”
“Of course.”
The interest gleaming in his eyes is encouraging. Phase Three may be a go, after all. Mom was right: men are governed by their stomachs.
“What about your friend, Riddick?” he asks.
I blink. “What?”
“Is he okay?”
Okay, now… “All this,” I wave a hand at his office, “was to ask me about Riddick? What’s up with you and him, huh?”
To my surprise, color rises to his cheeks. Is that a guilty look in his eyes? “You like him. I like him, too.”
“Ah-huh
.”
“Look, all I want to know is… did he kiss you?”
Really.
I turn to go, but a hand clamps over my wrist and suddenly I’m pinned to his desk, his powerful body pressed to my curves. His eyes bore into mine, and his mouth is so close…
“No one has kissed me,” I tell him. I try for defiant, but it comes out a little breathlessly. “Ever.”
“No one?” He frowns. “But…”
Will he do it? Will he kiss me? Is this why he came looking for me?
His nostrils flare. His lips part. “This is a bad idea,” he whispers, like he did at Riddick’s before walking out.
But his head dips, and his mouth covers mine. I gasp at the sensation—warm, soft, insistent—and then his tongue traces my lips, the roof of my mouth, strokes my tongue. It sends shocks of pleasure through me.
He tastes dark and spicy, like licorice. His lips move over mine, harder, and I clutch at his arms, drowning, losing all direction.
Ryan is kissing me.
He’s kissing me.
My toes curl inside my shoes. My body arches against him. He’s hard. I can feel his hot length through his pants, and a whine of need leaves my throat. His hands slide down my sides, behind to curve over my ass, squeezing, hauling me up, against his hard-on.
It feels so good.
We kiss for what feels like years, until I have to breathe and pull back.
His eyes are dark, the green swallowed by black, and his chest is rising and falling so fast. He swallows and produces a faint groan.
Then he puts a hand on his chest as if about to profess his undying love to me—but instead pushes off me and stumbles out of the office, leaving me to stare after him.
Dear God. He walked out on me.
Again!
