Page 292 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Yeah.”

“You still came early.”

Oliver appears with a basket of fries and tosses them at me with a little more force than necessary. “Eat before this becomes whatever it’s clearly becoming.”

I glance down. “You brought me food without being asked?”

He gapes at me. “I always do.”

“You really do care about me.”

He leaves with an eye roll.

Warren leans closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine lightly. “You look beautiful.”

I look up, a fry in my mouth. “Thank you.”

“You already knew that.”

“I suspected.”

“You wanted me to notice.”

Heat moves up my neck. “Maybe.”

His gaze dips to my mouth. “Well, I noticed, all right.”

I eat the fry slowly, not one to be above theatrics. He watches my mouth, the pulse in his jaw jumping.

Oh. That’s fun.

I smile, and his attention returns to my eyes with the kind of restraint that feels like it can snap at any point. He’s careful, despite the want and the heat.

I lift his black coffee and sniff it. “Still pretending?”

“It’s coffee.”

I frown. “It’s a superiority complex in a cup.”

“It’s also coffee.”

“Where’s the coconut bloom?”

“Not here.”

“So the alley?”

His mouth twitches. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’re a terrible liar, King.”

“I can lie just fine. You’re just unusually motivated.”

I lean closer. “Around you? Absolutely.”

The words land exactly as I intended. His fingers tighten around his glass, and for one second, the steady Warren slips. Not too much. Just enough to show me the man beneath the control.The one who remembers my mouth, my hands, my thighs, and the way I sound when he says, “Stop trying to be quiet.”

A flush creeps beneath his collar.