Page 51 of With a Cherry On Top

I study her, my head shaking. “You called me pretty but...did you mean it? Or were you fucking with my head? No idea.”

“Exactly.” She looks entirely too pleased with herself. “Poker face.”

Does that mean she is attracted to me? Or does it work both ways? A poker face tohideattraction and one to fake it? “So if I have no poker face, does it mean that on Tuesday, uh, you...”

“Did I know you were lying when you said Beatrice texted you that she was on her way?” I swear her eyes sparkle. “Yes. And I don’t appreciate a man trying to dictate who should or shouldn’t enter my bedroom, but, if I’m being honest, you kinda did me a favor. Peter is...”

“The worst?” I offer. Not the kind of man she should let into her bedroom—or her bed? Someone who undoubtedly doesn’t deserve her? “I can’t say that I regret it, but...Iamsorry I overstepped.”

She grins, shrugging. “I have to say, now that you told me your whole...situation,” she says, wiping her fingers on a napkin, “it makes more sense.”

“What does?”

“How you ended up on TOP.”

“Oh, that.” I blush, staring at a faded scratch on the wooden table, suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

“Freshly divorced, probably haven’t so much as touched a woman in months, maybe years?” Charlotte muses, her voice low, teasing. I can feel her watching me, waiting for a reaction. When I continue avoiding her gaze, her fingers find my chin, the warmth of her skin a slow burn against mine as she tilts my face up.

My breath stutters.

Her touch is featherlight, her fingertips pressing just enough to send a current of heat rolling down my body, making every nerve hyperaware of her.

“How long, Chef?” she purrs, her eyes sharp on me.

“I...” My throat is suddenly too dry, my voice hoarse as I force the words out. “A couple of years.”

“Oof. That’s a long time.” Her finger drags over my bottom lip, the kind of touch that teases more than it soothes. My lips part involuntarily, my body betraying me, craving more.

Her eyes flick down to my mouth just as the tip of my tongue slips out, brushing the pad of her finger.

“Careful,” she says, like it’s a game shewantsme to lose. “You keep doing that, you’ll crave an actual bite.”

Fuck me, I do. I want a whole meal. The appetizer, the main course, the decadent dessert. I want slow tastes and fast bites. I can’t. Iabsolutelycan’t, but I’m past hungry.

I’m ravenous.

“Did I make you come? When you visited me on TOP?”

Heat rushes south, so tight and insistent that it fucking hurts.

“Yes,” I rasp.

What the fuck is happening to me?

She’s got me spilling my guts like she pressed some cheat code. One touch and I’m in full confession mode.

“Good.”

“Charlotte . . .” I warn.

“Aaron...” she murmurs, leaning forward just enough that her arms press against the swell of her tits, pushing them up. My eyes drop of their own accord, and her lips twitch in amusement.

Fuck.

“We can’t.”

With a giggle, she lets my chin go. I mourn the loss of her touch instantly. “Oh, come on. We’re just talking.”