Page 4 of Gobble Me Up
“Somebody’s gotta feed Worthington Hills’ sweet tooth,” I toss over my shoulder, popping a muffin into the microwave for a few seconds so it’s extra warm.
“I just realized how much of a sweet tooth I have.” His gaze lingers on my lips, like he’s picturing them doing something a little wild. The heat in his eyes almost knocks me sideways.
I bring his drink over, the foam art swirled into a little pumpkin. Yes, I practiced that. No, I don’t care if I’m acting like a lovesick teenager. “Pumpkin spice latte, made just for you.” My voice comes out a little breathless.
Our fingers brush as he takes the cup, and holy cinnamon sticks, a tingle races straight up my arm. I feel it everywhere. The tops of my ears might actually be glowing while my girly bits tingle.
He doesn’t let go of the cup right away, just holds it, thumb grazing my knuckles. “You’re dangerous, Cydney,” he murmurs, quiet enough that I doubt anyone else could hear. “I could get used to this.”
If he doesn’t let go soon, I might just jump over the counter and climb him like a tree.
But I keep my game face on. “I aim to please.” But my words come out embarrassingly breathless.
He finally gives in and takes the coffee, lips curving in that slow, devastating grin. “Worth every penny.”
My heart is somewhere in my throat as I box up the muffin, nestling it in tissue just for him. I could make a sex joke about muffins and cravings, but I don’t fully trust my tongue to form actual words right now. Instead, I push the box across the counter, fingers grazing his hand one more time, just because I can.
“Hope you like it extra sweet,” I murmur, voice lower than I intended. “I enhanced the recipe today.”
His eyes go dark and dangerous—totally bedroom territory. “I can’t wait to try…” he pauses long enough for my breath to catch in my throat, “your sweet new recipe.”
He tucks the muffin box under one arm and actually winks at me. “See you tomorrow, Cydney.”
Oh. My. God.
As he walks away, I can’t help it. I grab a napkin from the stack and fan myself, grinning like I just won the lottery. My legs feel wobbly, and my brain is stuck in a loop, replaying every single second of our interaction. I literally sag against the counter, dizzy with giddiness.
That man is a one-man crisis team for my self-control. I already want tomorrow to get here faster, just so I can see what “living dangerously” looks like when he really means it.
Before I can catch my breath, Tessa barrels over, her apron twisted in her fists, cheeks flushed, fanning herself like she’s about to combust right here in the kitchen. “Damn, it got hot in here really fast. Now I see why you’ve been so distracted.” Her eyes flick to mine, sharp and knowing.
“I’m in so much trouble here.” The confession echoes around us.
“Yes, you are.” Her grin slowly spreads across her freckled face. “The best kind of trouble.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, fingers drumming against the stainless-steel counter in a rhythm that matches my racing pulse.
