Tilting my head a little, I gaze at him with doe eyes. I know they’re doe eyes because my entire face softens and my whole body gives a blissful, dreamy sigh.
Collin straightens in his seat. “What’s that look you’re giving me right now?”
I quietly exhale. “What look?” Even that comes out sounding breathless and wistful.
His lips curve into a knowing smile. “Don’t deny it. You’re looking at me like this.” He puckers his mouth and flutters his dark, sexy eyelashes. Lowering his voice, he arches one perfect, masculine brow. “You’re totally thinking about climbing into my lap right now, aren’t you?”
Yes. “No.”
He relaxes in his seat and crosses his arms.
God, those arms.
“Pfft. That is not how I’m looking at you.” My lying eyes go to his lips—his full and soft and pliant lips. Well, I don’t know for sure that they’re soft, but right now there’s nothing I’d love more than to find out.
I almost groan out loud at the wayward ideas running rampant through my mind that have nothing to do with enjoying the rest of our four-course meaclass="underline" Unbuttoning his dress shirt, one button at a time to expose his warm skin. Climbing into his lap. Kissing his neck. Finding out how happy his trail actually is, all the way down to his…
I take a sip of wine to occupy my hands and my tongue, guiltily glancing away.
Collin laughs. “You dirty, dirty pervert.”
“What?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that, as a romance writer, it’s practically my job to picture him naked. “If you must know, my thoughts weren’t dirty. I was—” I clear my throat so I can lie with a straight face. “I was just…” God, this is torture. “I was just thinking about how soft your lips look.”
“Soft. My lips?” If a man has ever looked disappointed by a pronouncement, it would be Collin Keller right in this moment. Actually, disappointed doesn’t even cover it; the man stares at me, crestfallen. “That’s it? You weren’t undressing me in your mind?”
“Pretty much.”
“Not my muscles or my… cash and prizes?” He raises his eyebrows again. “Soft lips don’t sound sexy. Soft lips sound like a snooze-fest.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The table we’re at is square. Small.
Intimate.
Just enough room for the two of us, a few plates, and not much else. Which means with very minimal effort I can prod. “Lean towards me for a second.”
I remove the napkin from my lap and brace my elbows on either side of our table. I watch, fascinated, as Collin’s hazel eyes run down the length of my neck, over my collarbone, and land on my exposed skin. On the smooth skin of my cleavage.
My breasts.
Lifting myself off the chair gets me closer still, my laser-like focus directed entirely on his mouth. He chooses that moment to slide his tongue over his lips. “Should I pop in a breath mint?”
He sounds so hopeful I almost giggle.
“Shhh.” My whisper is centimeters away, so close we’re sharing the same breath. Parting my lips ever so slightly, I kiss just his bottom lip. Softly, I rest my lips there before teasing him with one small suck. A tender pull. I was right: warm, tender, and so, so soft.
His large hands grab fistfuls of white linen table cloth and clench when I brush my mouth against the irresistible divot above his chiseled chin. Back and forth, back and forth, taking the opportunity to inhale the masculine smell of him. Fresh. Woodsy. Delicious. Virile.
I could have the Big O just from the smell of him.
My kiss lands in the corner of his lips. Left side… right side.
His lips part a fraction and holy mother of… it feels so good.
Eyes quivering closed, his body shivers on an inaudible moan. Collin sits utterly still when the flick of my tongue meets his cupid’s bow, and I press my entire mouth firmly against his one last time before pulling away.
Mmmmm,mmm, mmm.
Satisfied, I plop back down, settling into my cushy dinner seat. Silently, I calmly lay the napkin across my lap and sink back into my chair, trying to get comfortable. I shoot Collin a long, meaningful look across the table.
He looks about as dazed as I feel.
I grasp my wine glass with unsteady fingers and take a casual sip. “Was that a snooze-fest?”
“Uh…” Collin un-fists the tablecloth and smooths out the creases. “I don’t know. We should probably do it again to make sure.”
I tsk, giving my head a shake. “Let’s save some of that mystery for later, shall we?”
“I thought you’d be more like Rachel,” he huffs with a pout but gives me a wink. “If I start calling you Rachel, will you start acting like her?”
“In my book, Rachel and Devon had sex on the table during one of their dates, remember?” I point out. “No offense, but I think I’d rather sit and eat this sourdough bread.” I set down my glass and pull a slice of bread from the loaf. “Wait. Having sex on the table tonight wasn’t part of your plan, was it?”
A loud, obnoxious snort fills the room. “No! God no—I was trying to surprise you by doing something romantic. I mean… unless you want me to bend you over the table. Shit, sorry, that was…” Chagrined, he blushes and starts over. “You know, this date is the best idea I’ve ever come up with. And you’re the one that came up with it. The details were easy to recreate. Wine. Food. Flowers.”
Speaking of flowers… “Do you even know what any of these colors mean?”
“The color of the roses? Yeah, I Googled it.” Collin takes a drink of Chardonnay. “Red means love, or in this case, passion. Yellow means friendship—or a new beginning.” My face reddens as he prattles on. “And peach means closing the deal.”
“What about the purple one? That’s not in the book.” I already know what it means because I had researched their meanings too, but I ask anyway. Just to see if he’ll say it.
He hesitates. “Promise you won’t freak out?”
I roll my eyes and tease. “Nothing you do would surprise me at this point; you’re like a loose cannon. Besides, I’m destined to be a famous writer of smutty romance—it’s impossible to shock me.”
Hair flip.
He gives a jerky nod, steeling up his courage. Him. This handsome hunk of man, nervous. Imagine that. “Alright, smartass. Lavender means enchantment.” His voice deepens. “Tabitha Thompson, I’m without a doubt enchanted by you.”
Lavender roses also mean love at first sight, but I don’t say it. Can’t say it.
He must know it, too.
Must.
The blush creeps from my cheeks then lower to my chest, over my body, down to my legs. I’m blushing everywhere—from the roots of my hair to the tips of my red painted toenails.
My lips part and I muster a feeble, “Do you Google everything?”
He’s not fooled by my casual countenance—not one bit. His beautiful hazel eyes wrinkle at the corners in amusement. “Pretty much.”
“Maybe you should stay off the internet,” I suggest quietly.
“Maybe I should.” He leans back in his dinner seat and crosses his arms, the blue dress shirt stretching and straining over his muscles. “But then again, maybe I shouldn’t. I’m always amazed at what I find.”
His underlying meaning makes me shiver—and not from the cool air being pumped into the room. Oh boy. Is it hot in here? Waiter! Oh, waiter! Could someone bring me a fan, or a pitcher of water to pour down my pants?
Or maybe that’s his line.
“And what did you find when you Googled me?”
“Well, Tabitha Thompson—did you know if you google Tabitha Thompson, a whole history of accomplishments pop up? Track and Field scholarship. Summa Cum Laude. A random picture from a Greek Formal you went to.” He reaches forward and picks a small baby carrot off his plate, popping it in his mouth. “Sexy dress, by the way.”