Page 95 of Morally Black Betrothal

He kept looking at my mouth.

Granted, I was eating, and he was eating, and the desserts before dinner were decadent and gorgeous and worthy of watching each other consume.

But still.

He wasn’t staring at my plate or my fork or the rest of the sweets behind the counter.

The billionaire’s deep, dark eyes kept fixing on my mouth. And every now and then that expression would just…burn.

If I was being perfectly honest, another part of me was crackling in response.

I didn’t know what to do about that feeling while I finished my cannolo, taking smaller bites than I normally did to avoid leaving another bit of ricotta or chocolate on my lip.

Not because I didn’t like it when he touched me.

Because I liked it too much.

When he kept looking at me like that, I couldn’t think of anything else. And I had things to think about.

Things like Kylie. Selena. Dad. Dandelion Farm.

Things that had nothing to do with the emerald-eyed replica of a Greek god across the table.

“All right,” Brendan said, pushing up from the table as soon as I’d licked the last bit of ricotta from my fork. “My turn.”

I gathered my purse and jacket and stood. “Where to? Dinner, since we’re apparently doing things backward?”

He looked adorably guilty. “Ah, no. Shit. Do you need more food? We can stop for something if you’re hungry. Carmela is a few blocks from here, and I know the owner—I’m sure they can get us a table?—”

“Brendan, no,” I interrupted gently with a hand on his arm.

For the first time, I wondered just how many actual dates Brendan Black had ever been on. I would have guessed hundreds or even thousands for a man like him, but he was acting like a nervous teenager.

I also wondered what Brendan Black might look like if he were allowed to relax a little. Would The Black Prince disappear completely?

He stared at the hand on his arm.

Quickly, I withdrew it. “I was joking. I’m good for now if you picked something else. Where are we going?”

“Oh. Right.” A bit of the mask slid back into place.

“You leaving, hon?”

We both turned as Pearl bustled across the shop to bid us farewell. I exchanged another tight hug with her.

“You let me know when the wedding date is because I’m making your cake,” she told me. “I don’t wanna find out about no fancy chef doing that for my girl here.”

Paralyzed, I looked up at Brendan. What was I supposed to say? Every time I thought I had accounted for how many small lies I was going to have to tell, more popped up, and to the people who mattered most.

Pearl. My sister. How many others?

“I’ll have the wedding planner get in touch,” Brendan said kindly, if a bit stiffly.

“Don’t you even consider leaving without a hug too.” Pearl gathered him close before he could escape. “I know what you just did, all sly over there on your phone.”

Brendan’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t reply.

“What happened?” I asked.