Page 94 of Morally Black Betrothal

I looked down at the dessert in front of me. “It does look good. I’m not one for sweets, but when I am, it’s usually something tart.”

“Pearl has a sixth sense about those kinds of things. Try it. I’m not waiting for you.”

Simone picked up her cannolo and took a huge bite, causing the ricotta filling to spill onto the plate. Her eyes sparkled as she gave a soft moan that made me freeze.

Christ, if a bit of sweets made her sound like that, what did she do when a man really?—

Stop it, you fucking degenerate. This is an arrangement. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, my dick didn’t seem to be listening.

A bit of chocolate shaving lingered on her bottom lip. I stifled the urge to lean across the table and lick it off but couldn’t quite stop myself from wiping it away. Simone froze as my finger lingered on her bottom lip.

It took a Herculean effort to take my hand back, but she continued to stare as I put the finger in my mouth and licked the chocolate off.

“You’re right.” I sat back, forcing myself to act like I hadn’t done anything inappropriate. “It is delicious.”

Another blush crept up her neck and settled into the pink apples of her cheeks.

God, I wanted to lick those too.

I wanted to indulge in all of her.

Instead, I turned to my own dessert and took a bite that was far too big. A sharp explosion of lemon burst inside my mouth, and my fork fell to my plate with a clatter. “Fuckme, that’s good.”

Simone grinned, and before I could stop her, reached across the table with her own fork and stole a bite off my plate.

“Hey, that’s mine,” I protested.

The cheeky grin practically split her face. I stared, gutted.

“It’s my part of the date. And during my part, we get to steal desserts,” she informed me before poppingmydessert into her mouth. Her eyes closed as she released another moan. “And…yeah. What you said.”

That brought me back to the present, which involved another bite of what was probably the best dessert I’d ever had. “You can say fuck, you know. As in,fuckthat is sofucking good.”

I was rewarded with yet another giggle. I was starting to catalogue her laughter like baseball cards. Simone’s shy chuckle. Her giggle when she thought I was funny. The sunburst of laughter when she was truly happy.

How many others were there?

I wanted to know them all.

“I know I can swear,” she said. “I just choose not to since there is a four-year-old in my life who already hears that language too much. But that might deserve it. The limoncello soak is incredible. I wonder what it would taste like with just a little essence of basil.”

I sent a text to Ruth, then continued to eat while she mused. She was clearly in her element. I wondered if this was a glimpse of what she had been like working with her mother, or how she was when she baked on her own. Part of me wanted to call off the rest of our date, take her back to my apartment, and give her free rein in my kitchen, if only to see if she could recreate this moment there too as she baked.

Tell her it was hers for as long as she was staying with me.

Or forever, if she wanted it.

The fantasy was too tempting to consider.

Yet another indulgence with this woman I couldn’t afford.

22

BIRD CALLS

Simone