Chapter 19 #3
At the moment, he was heroically trying to determine if her eyes were periwinkle or gray-blue and failing spectacularly.
“I’ve since repented,” he said solemnly.
“Oh no.” Her brows lifted. “You’re going soft on me.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?”
At this range, with her braid still warm between his fingers, she was much too close not to kiss. And if Lucy wasn’t directly
in his peripheral vision, he absolutely would have.
This amount of willpower ought to win him an award. Maybe ten.
“Actually, my thoughts were much more amicably directed.” He stood, because if he didn’t find some privacy right now, he would kiss her, right here, in front of his kid and a beribboned dog. “I actually came bearing gifts.” He offered her his hand. “In the kitchen?”
Her fingers slid into his. “Lead the way.”
Daphne had never related more to tea in her life.
Or maybe—to the kettle.
Because this attraction to Finn? It had simmered for weeks, but now that she’d finally accepted her feelings—and trusted his—it
was a rolling boil. And she was absolutely about to bubble over. And kiss him.
She looked down at the hand he offered. With a smile, she slid her fingers into his. If touches were preludes to the next
act of her story, then the way his warm fingers curved around hers promised a heart-thudding performance.
“We’ll be in the kitchen, lamb,” Finn called over his shoulder to Lucy, not breaking eye contact with Daphne as they rounded
the corner into the smaller room. He scooped up a little container as they crossed the threshold and, without asking, went
straight to the drawer where she kept her silverware.
Releasing her hand—unfortunately—he plucked out a spoon and offered it, along with the container.
“Your turn to try a new creation of mine.”
Okay, she had hoped that gleam in his eyes meant he wanted to kiss her again.
She lifted the lid.
Ooh—chocolate. Mousse, by the looks of it.
Not kiss-you-again-until-your-toes-curl good.
But still—solid.
“What is it?” she asked.
He tilted his head and gave her a look that read, Turnabout is fair play.
“Fine, I’ll figure it out myself,” she said, wrestling down her grin as she sniffed the contents. Hazelnut and . . . was that
coffee? She almost narrowed her eyes at him but instead dipped the spoon in and brought it to her lips—her attention fixed
squarely on Finn.
And his shift in expression.
Predatory.
Which she would have appreciated more if the mousse hadn’t just hijacked her undivided attention. Dark chocolate melted over her tongue,
silky and rich, with that whisper of coffee deepening the flavor. Her eyes fluttered shut as she chased every last note, the
texture, the nuance—heaven on a spoon.
“Oh my goodness,” she murmured, licking the last bit off her lips. “I love you.”
Her eyes snapped open. Finn had gone still. Staring at her lips like he envied the mousse. Heavens!
“I . . . I mean . . .” She squeaked, her breaths pulsing, his spicy scent melding with the chocolate to make a rather tantalizing
combination. “I love that you get inspired by the same things I do and can do something about it. Like this.”
His gaze finally rose to meet hers, dark and dangerous. “Is the way to a woman’s heart through her stomach? Because I really
want your heart, Daphne.”
Her name on his lips vibrated straight through her. She reached out for balance and—naturally—latched onto his shirt. “Mousse
is a great starter.”
“And what would you suggest as—”
He hadn’t even finished the sentence before her fingers curled into his shirt and tugged him the final few inches forward.
She’d kissed Finn before. Or rather, he’d kissed her, but nothing prepared her for the instant connection of their lips meeting. Everything was different this time around. It wasn’t just chemistry and sparks. It was so much more. Intentional. Full.
Sure, the chemistry was still there. And the way his palm smoothed up across her cheek to delve into her hair had sparks flying
inside her chest, but she knew him better now. Saw him. The flirt, yes—but also the soft heart behind the teasing. The man
who showed up, who protected, who loved quietly and fiercely. A man who didn’t just flirt—he stayed.
Her palms slid up to crest his shoulders, linking at the base of his neck, her fingers threading into his glorious hair. A
rumble rose from his chest, reverberating into hers. Her entire body weakened as his mouth took more control and she shifted
back against the wall; his body followed, warm and solid, holding her up, pressing her back.
He cocooned her. His scent and strength surrounding her.
And she’d never felt so safe. Or . . . so on fire.
When he finally pulled back—one arm braced above her head, the other snug around her waist—he looked down at her with a grin
so soft, so reverent, she forgot how to inhale.
Safe . . . and loved?
“You know,” he rasped, “the mousse has coffee in it.”
She pulled her brain from the intoxicating post-kiss mental fog and blinked up at him. “What?”
“Do you feel like a traitor?”
Her hand slid from the back of his neck to press lightly against his chest, her thoughts clearing just enough for her to muster
a teasing brow lift. At least she hoped her look conveyed more sass than dazed wonder. But with a kiss like that . . .
“I guess it’s not so bad if you add just the right amount of chocolate and sugar.”
He leaned forward, his nose skimming over her cheek before he placed a gentle kiss there. “With that kind of answer, I may
reward you by drinking some of your strongest tea. Fair?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her lips curled as he brushed another kiss to the corner of her mouth. And then—an idea. Almond lace cookies. One stuck into the mousse glass like a fancy garnish. Perfection. “You know what would go really well with that mousse?”
He raised his head from placing another kiss to the other side of her smile, gaze locked with hers and the tiniest tip to
his grin. “Seconds?”
And he kissed her all over again. Much more than seconds.
So she decided the cookie suggestion could wait.