Page 35 of The Sinner’s Desire (The Sinner’s Touch #1)

“I didn’t think I was hungry, but the idea of having breakfast at dinner has totally woken up my appetite.”

“Pick whatever you want. I need food,” he says, and I think I see the hint of a smile.

“You’re laughing at my indecisiveness,” I accuse, blushing, when I catch the crinkles forming near the corners of his eyes.

God, I need to get used to his mood swings. When he showed up at the university, I could’ve sworn he was about to murder Ben.

Was he jealous? I think so—especially with that whole ‘yours is a great way to describe me, baby’ thing.

And when I called him my boyfriend, he looked genuinely surprised.

Did he think I was cheating on him? At college? In broad daylight?

“Why don’t you tell me what you like, and I’ll help,” he says, snapping me out of it. “Then we’ll try different dishes every time we come.”

I don’t even know if he realizes what he just said.

Every time we come.

That means coming back here, with him. Amos is making plans for the two of us—and right now, my stomach feels like a circus at the thought of spending an indefinite amount of time by his side.

“Can we really?” I ask.

“Yeah. Until you’ve tried everything,” he says without breaking eye contact, and now I’m certain he meant it.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I focus back on the menu. “I’m torn between the blueberry pancakes and the waffles with hot chocolate sauce and almond shavings.”

Amos is staring at my mouth—and that makes it hard to think about pancakes. “Why don’t we order both and share?” he suggests.

“I’d like that.”

The food arrives, and the waffle is perfectly crisp. I have to hold back a moan when I taste the chocolate sauce.

Half an hour later, he’s already devoured an omelet, a quiche, and now a pancake. “So . . . Paris. Tell me what it was like living there.”

“You really want to talk about that?”

“I want to know more about you. Not Ethan’s version. I’m pretty sure your brother doesn’t really know you anymore. I want your take on it.”

“Well . . . honestly? Amazing. I mean, it’s Paris.

Have you ever been there?” I silently thank him for choosing a topic that’s easy for me.

Paris is a safe space. Something I can talk about without fear of slipping up and revealing too much.

Who would’ve thought watching someone eat pancakes could be so sexy?

“Yeah, sure. Just for work, though. Where did you live there?”

“Michelle's apartment is just a few minutes from the Eiffel Tower, on Avenue de la Bourdonnais. I love Paris. It’s my favorite place in the world.”

I lose myself describing the streets I adore, talking nonstop.

“You’ve only been there for work? That’s a crime.

We need to fix that. Would you trust me to give you a proper tour of the city?

I know the kind of places that never show up in guidebooks.

But if you’re thinking clubs or bars, you’ll be disappointed.

I’d love to take you to a bistro I adore—it's run by a former chef from the Ritz. It’s called Café Constant.

Martina and I used to go there all the time.

I even bought one of his cookbooks and tried a few recipes. ”

Jesus, what am I saying?

I just invited him on a trip. That’s got so many layers, I don’t even want to start unpacking it.

Maybe he was only talking about the near future, and here I am throwing Europe into the mix?

“I mean . . . you don’t have to go with me. I just meant . . . I could make you an itinerary.” A quick and painless death would be welcome right now. Or a power outage. Anything to make me stop talking.

“I’d like that.”

“You would? You’re not serious.”

“Why not?”

I don’t know, let me think . . . Maybe because in the real world, people like you and me don’t end up together?

For God’s sake, this man could have any woman he wants—and he’s saying he’d go to Europe with me?

I’m freaking out. I’m not the type to make plans I don’t follow through on. Once I get something in my head, I do it. If this thing between us doesn’t last, I’ll get hurt. So maybe it’s better to just let time run its course before jumping into future plans.

Unable to speak without giving myself away, I shove another piece of pancake into my mouth.

“Lilly?”

Why do I feel like he’s testing me—knowing full well I can’t lie to save my life?

I drop my fork and finally give in. “Okay, I said that without thinking. I have this problem where thoughts fly straight from my brain to my mouth without a filter.” I shake my head, frustrated.

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up, alright?

I know we’re from different worlds, Amos.

Maybe this thing between us won’t even last the semester. ”

“We don’t know that.”

“Exactly. And if I make plans and they fall through, I’ll be crushed.

That’s a real issue for me. Nora used to break promises all the time.

My dad too. And me? Lucky me, I remember everything.

When the day came, and it didn’t happen, I felt lied to.

And before you say anything, yes, I know I’m dramatic. ”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “And you talk really fast, too.”

“I’m just really nervous.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want this—whatever this is between us—to end too soon.”

“You’re the easiest person in the world to interrogate. I wouldn’t even need truth serum.”

I gape at him. “You guys use that? Wait. Does that even exist ?”

“No,” he says, dodging the question a little too fast. “Why do you seem so anxious?”

“Because I am. Wait, no, scratch that. I’m always anxious. But I don’t want to lose what we have. Still . . . you can’t just say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like casually saying, ‘I’d love to go to Paris with you, Lilly.’ The way I am? I’ll start packing tonight.”

“You have plans tomorrow, baby. You won't be able to fly to Paris.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

“I do?”

“You do.”

“What are they?”

“They actually starts tonight. I made you a promise when we were at the beach—and I always keep my promises.”

Every drop of blood in my body boils at those words. “Can we go now? I don’t want to . . . uh . . . get in the way of that promise being fulfilled,” I say, feeling my whole body ignite.

He stares at me for what feels like forever—and it’s hard not to squirm in my seat. Finally, he waves over the waitress—who looks like she might throw herself at him, she’s so eager. I want to dump the rest of my chocolate sauce on her head.

I purse my lips, watching his body language closely. Amos doesn’t even notice the girl, which soothes my jealousy. After paying, he stands and offers me his hand.

We wait for the valet in silence—but he doesn’t let go of me.

When the car arrives, the valet opens the door for me. Instead of taking the wheel, Amos waits for me to sit, then leans in and buckles my seatbelt himself.

And that’s when he whispers in my ear, “What you really wanted to say in there . . . was that you can’t wait to feel my tongue on that sweet little pussy, isn’t it? You’re dying for me to go down on you, aren’t you, Lilly?”

I’m fighting a war between the way I was raised—to be modest and composed—and the raw, aching desire burning through my body.

The desire to have everything from him wins.

“Anything with you. I don’t want to wait.”