Chapter 5 #4
He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh but something close to amusement.
Then his eyes drag over my face again—nose, mouth, cheek—like he’s cataloguing every crumb.
“You have frosting on your face,” he says.
“No, I don’t.” I know I do, but I refuse to agree with the man who ruined my cake. And who currently has my nervous system in hyperdrive.
“Yeah, you do.”
“Stop looking at my face,” I snap, because my face is suddenly on fire thinking about how much frosting is probably smeared there.
His eyes don’t move.
“It’s hard not to,” he says.
I search his expression for teasing or amusement, but all I find is sincerity.
My mouth opens, then closes.
I have no idea what to say, so my eyes track back to the streak of frosting across his chest.
Thick. White. A tragic smear of perfection.
My body moves before my brain can file an objection.
I reach out and drag my fingertip through the frosting on his skin—slow, precise—collecting it like it’s evidence and I’m a very determined forensic scientist.
Connor goes still.
His gaze drops to my finger as it swipes through the frosting on his skin.
Then his eyes lift to mine, darker now. A quiet kind of startled that makes heat lick up my spine.
“Whitney,” he says, voice rough. “What are you doing?”
“Emergency recovery.” I hold up my frosting-coated finger like I’m making a completely reasonable point in a debate. “Every bite is sacred.”
His mouth parts slightly—like he’s about to say something—but nothing comes out for a moment.
“You’re taking it off me,” he says softer, almost disbelieving.
“Yes,” I say, dead serious. “Because it’s precious cake.”
He swallows once. It’s both highly erotic and completely unfair.
“More appropriate than licking it off you,” I add quickly, because my brain is sinking into chaos and humor is my life raft.
“And your plan is what?” he asks, voice low.
I blink like he’s the one being weird.
“To eat it,” I say, as if this is self-explanatory.
Connor’s eyes stay on mine. “Off your finger.”
His eyes flick to my finger again. Then to my mouth.
Then, before I can decide whether to be offended or flattered by how hard he’s staring, Connor leans in.
It’s fast. One clean motion like his body is on the move and his brain can’t talk himself out of it.
In one slow stroke, he drags his tongue over my fingertip.
And the tongue ring—oh god, the tongue ring—glides against my skin in a tiny metallic pulse that shoots straight down my spine like a livewire.
I make a sound that I’m going to pretend never happened.
Connor pulls back, blinks once, and then his face shifts—surprise first, then something like reluctant approval.
“Holy shit,” he says quietly. “That’s really fucking good.”
Really.
Fucking.
Good.
I stare at him. At my finger. At his mouth.
My brain is a snow globe someone just shook violently.
“I—” I start, then immediately switch to humor because my nervous system is currently doing the backstroke. “I told you.”
His gaze flicks to my finger again, like he wants to do it a second time.
I curl my finger toward myself like I’m protecting it from the ruin that he could cause it.
“Every bite,” I add, voice way too bright. “Sacred.”
He loses the fight with his mouth. It splits wide, exposing a wickedly perfect smile accentuated by his sexy dimples.
Footsteps click down the hallway, brisk and purposeful.
Vivi, Carolina Current’s PR manager, rounds the corner with a folder in hand, eyes already scanning like she’s looking for a problem to neutralize. “Connor, there you are.”
Connor shifts back half a step, expression snapping into something controlled.
At the exact same time, Winnie steps out of her office—tablet tucked under her arm—heading down the hall like she’s on a mission.
Her eyes land on me.
Then the plate in my hands.
Then my face.
Then Connor’s bare chest with frosting still streaked across it, minus the swipe my finger made.
Winnie’s brows lift. “Whitney?”
I clear my throat, still gripping the plate of mangled cake. “I was coming to see if you had a fork.”
Winnie’s gaze drops to my frosting-smeared mouth. “For that?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “For this.”
Vivi’s eyes flick to Connor’s chest. Then to my hand. Then to Connor’s face.
“What happened?” she asks, tone neutral but not relaxed.
“It’s cake,” I blurt.
Connor clears his throat. His eyes meet mine for one short, charged beat—like we’re both pretending this hallway didn’t just tilt off its axis.
Then he looks at Vivi. “Hallway collision.”
Winnie looks at me like she’s about to ask twelve questions and already knows the answer to all of them.
Vivi taps Connor’s arm with the folder. “I need you. Now.”
Connor’s jaw flexes once. He nods.
Then, because apparently he’s determined to ruin my day in very small, very precise ways, his gaze slides back to mine.
“Nice to meet you,” he says quietly.
My stomach flips because of course it does.
I lift my chin. “Likewise.”
He hesitates like he wants to say more, then doesn’t.
Vivi steers him away while Winnie waits until they’re out of earshot before turning fully to me.
“Whitney,” she says slowly, “why do you have frosting on your face?”
I tighten my grip on the plate.
“Do you have a fork?” I ask desperately.
Winnie’s expression doesn’t change.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yeah, I know. But that’s the only thing I can focus on right now.”