Page 55 of Lavish

Was I that desperate that holding hands sent me in a spiral?

He turned away, but not before I caught the subtle flex of his biceps as he shifted the tote bag higher on his shoulder. I felt the heat rise in my chest, that damn familiar pull. His body had always been a weapon.

My gaze drifted down involuntarily, trailing over the taut fabric of his shirt, the subtle bulge of muscle beneath it, the way his jeans fit just a little too perfectly.

God, Serena, stop it.

We reached the next stall, the one with the vivid display of peaches and plums, and Miles handed me a peach. “These are actually imported from Colombia. They taste like cotton candy.”

“I don’t try things.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Today you’re going to have a new experience.”

I bit into the peach. Juice slid down to my chin, the fruit almost melting against my tongue, sticky-sweet and ripe. Our eyes met, and the intensity of the moment sent shivers down my spine. The sweetness clashed with the bitterness in my chest. Miles didn’t move, not at first. He justwatched, his gaze dragging down to my mouth.

Without warning, Miles took the peach from my hand, his fingers grazing mine. He held another piece of fruit to my lips, not asking this time.

“Here.” His eyes locked on my mouth. “You’re not done.”

My lips parted before I realized what I was doing. He fed me slowly, watching the way my mouth closed around the soft flesh. I bit down, and his fingers lingered on the stem, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“See?” he said, softer now. “Sweet. Like I told you.”

His thumb brushed against my lower lip, wiping away some of the juices.

I pulled away, my chest rising and falling sharply as if I’d just run a mile.

“Stop doing that,” I whispered, my voice unsteady, but the words felt hollow.

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a knowing grin, as if he saw right through me. “Doing what, Serena?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“Can we look for Mrs. Fontaine, please? And get out of here?”

Miles’s head snapped to the right, and he frowned. “That guy owes me brie!”

My brows furrowed. “What?”

Miles dragged me across the aisle, nearly running over others.

“Miles, we don’t have time?—”

Then I saw her—Mrs. Fontaine. Standing near a stall just a few feet ahead, sorting through fresh flowers.

“That’s her.”

Miles frowned. “That’s the lead? Mrs. Fontaine? Serena, I?—”

“Just follow my lead, and I’ll handle it.”

I left Miles, rushing over.

“Mrs. Fontaine?”

She turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to place me. “Yes?”

I offered a friendly smile. “Serena King. We met briefly at the charity gala last month. I couldn’t help but notice your exquisite taste in flowers.”