Page 182 of A Taste of Vanilla

His jaw flexes. “No.”

“You like my sweet coffee.”

“I think it’s balanced,” he mutters.

“Romantic.”

“It has enough bitterness to offset the syrup.”

“Stop talking dirty to me.”

He swallows. “Halston.”

I grin.

He exhales, but I can see his control fracturing piece by piece. I love it.

I step closer again, and my sleeve brushes against his shirt. “Anything else you like?”

His eyes drop to my mouth, and my pulse jumps.

But Warren shakes his head. “Do not start something here.”

I look up at him from under my lashes. “I’m discussing coffee.”

His lips press together, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s to make sure he doesn’t accidentally smile.

Desperation sweeps through me. The overwhelming feeling of wanting him to admit he wants me.

So I reach up slowly, giving him every chance to stop me, then wipe the foam from his upper lip with my thumb.

He stills under my touch, his eyes so intense they burn into me.

“There,” I whisper. “Evidence.”

I should wipe it on my jeans. Better yet, I should use a napkin. Maybe I should make a joke.

Instead, Warren catches my wrist. Not hard, but enough to control my movement.

Then he lowers his mouth and licks the foam from my finger.

Slowly.

My entire body forgets how to be normal.

“Oh,” I say, which is embarrassing enough.

His eyes don’t leave mine.

With the coconut latte in one hand and my wrist in the other, Warren lifts his mouth from my thumb, but his gaze feels obscene.

“It’s good,” he says.

My voice comes out higher than I’d like. “The foam?”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “No.”

The word moves through me like a struck match as my breath catches.