Page 57 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
To combine the liquids, I kind of have to guess the proportions, which makes me nervous. What if I make it too strong? Online, there weren’t many warnings about overdoing it, but one website did say that some people respond to it more strongly than others.
Still, what’s the worst that can happen? I’ll get him to sit down on the couch so that when he falls asleep, he’ll be comfy. He’ll be awake before breakfast.
I place the slice of cake, dessert plates, forks, and two cups of tea on a tray and carry it over. The teas look nearly the same, but mine is just a mint and chamomile infusion.
Giorgio looks up from his phone as I enter and slips it into his pocket. The awkwardness that was there a few minutes earlier is now gone, and his lips twitch in a smile. “What’s this?”
“Torta Caprese.”
That smile grows. “One of my favorites.”
I unload the tray and serve him his cup of tea. “It might be a bit bitter. That’s on purpose to cut through the sweetness of the cake.”
He takes the cup, not a hint of suspicion in his expression and takes a small sip.
I watch for any unusual reaction, anything that would suggest he’s onto me, but there’s nothing. I clamp down on my bottom lip to stifle a grin. Hehasto be impressed with me after this.
Giorgio pierces the cake with his fork and takes a bite. His eyes flutter shut. A low moan vibrates in his throat, and the room suddenly grows too warm.
He cracks his lids and pins me with a look that sends a shiver down my spine. “Cazzo, Martina. What did you put in this?”
I hide my smile behind the rim of my cup. “It’s a secret.”
He takes another bite, devouring half the slice in one go. “And this tea…” He lifts his cup. “An interesting flavor.”
“I blended a few things from the cupboard.”
While I eat my first slice, he inhales his second, and his enthusiasm fills me with satisfaction. This used to be one of my favorite things about cooking—seeing others enjoy my food.
When I see him finish his cup, I rise from my seat, worried he might notice the strange sediment at the bottom. “I’ll bring these back to the kitchen.”
To my dismay, he stands up too. “I’ll do it.”
“No, it’s okay—”
He’s already started loading up the tray.
I clamp my jaw shut and follow him into the kitchen even though I’m not carrying anything. Crap, I wanted to keep him seated until the tea worked. What if he falls and cracks his head open on these hard stone floors?
I bend my leg at the knee and tap my toe against the floor. This is literally the worst surface to fall on.
When I see him make a sudden movement, I don’t think twice before I lunge to his side.
My hands grip his biceps, but he doesn’t fall, just turns his head and gives me a befuddled look. “What are you doing?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I thought you…tripped.”
His gaze drops to my hand. “I’m fine.”
I should let him go, but for some reason, my touch lingers on his muscular arms. My hand looks tiny in comparison, and something about that contrast makes my stomach tighten.
My breath comes out hot and shallow. “My mistake.”
I drop my hand and move to back away, but he stops me, moving in front of me and caging me against the counter with his arms.
My eyes double in size. What is he doing?
His jaw ticks as he gazes down at me, his expression conflicted. In the small space between us, there’s suddenly no oxygen, only the heady scent of his cologne and the awareness that this is bordering on inappropriate.
