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“Yes, you did.” He cradled his jaw. “Our mouths.”
She grinned cheekily. “You may have me there.”
“Is there any part of your resume that’s actually true?”
“Of course.” She ticked off her fingers. “I’m female. My hair is blond, and my eyes are green. And I’m five-foot-four.”
He looked her up and down. “My sister is five-foot-four. There’s no way you’re that tall.”
“I rounded up.”
“By three inches?”
She sniffed. “Everything else is true.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “So you really are an elite ice skater. Would you like to go to the rink and show me your triple axel?”
She paled, but quickly recovered. “I would, but my ankle’s been a little sore. Wouldn’t want to push it.”
“Your ankle looks just fine to me. But anyway, there’s nothing on your resume about ice skating.” She glared, but he just shrugged. “Did you even read your resume before you created it on an AI generator? I’ve heard of people inflating their experience, but usually they remember its contents.”
“Of course, I read it. I mean no, I didn’t copy it,” she growled. “I know its contents, and I know I’m not an ice skater. I was just joking.”
No, she wasn’t – she’d truly forgotten. Who was the real Destiny Dane?
She certainly wasn’t an ice skater.
Or a chef.
Maybe not even an actress.
“I should be heading out.”
He started at the unexpected comment. And immediately rejected it. “Do you think you’re getting out of the date early just because you tried to kill me? There’s still dessert.”
Her lashes fluttered rapidly. “You can’t possibly want me to cook again.”
He looked up and down that beautiful body, breathed in the intoxicating aroma of woman and sugar. “I know a dessert where no cooking is involved.” Without breaking her gaze, he strode to the refrigerator and retrieved a bowl of whipped cream. He closed the fridge, removed the cover and approached his delectable houseguest, as her cheeks flushed bright pink. “I’m hungry for something sweet. Can you think of anything suitable?”
She bit that saucy lip, as her mouth formed a little O. Her eyes darkened with desire.
He dipped a finger and tasted the sweet concoction. “Of course, whipped cream isn’t enough. I figured we’d bake something to go with it, but I’m not sure how jalapeño pepper tastes with vanilla.”
She didn’t respond to his jab, instead licked her lips. Now it was his turn to feel the sensual heat while she explored. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, since you can’t bake dessert, how about if youaredessert?”
She gasped. Then…
She smiled.
“I have a better idea.” She grasped the cool bowl. “How about if you are dessert? Isn’t that the fantasy of every woman in America?”
Right now he didn’t care about any woman except the sassy, beautiful and sexy female before him. “But it’s only fair that you offer dessert. Since you ruined the lasagna and all.”
She shrugged, offering a tantalizing taste of sweet vixen. “I still maintain it’s your fault.”
Sexual energy sizzled, charging his senses. “I tell you what,” he drawled. “Why don’t we do this fairly? We’ll take turns.”