Chapter 3
MY FINGER IS. IN. HIS. MOUTH.
BILLIE
More interesting is severely downplaying the situation, because the Viking across from me is equal parts smoke show and adorable.
He’s also polite. Says please and thank you every time he needs something, like an extra napkin for the drop of water he spilled on the table and insisted on cleaning up himself.
Instead of ordering a fancy dessert, he asked if there was anywhere we could get ice cream close by. It’s a ridiculously charming request, and I would never say no to ice cream.
Despite what I told him regarding being willing to change my mind about hooking up with a woman tonight, I wasn’t fully convinced less than an hour ago. Now? I’d be willing to take him upstairs the moment this bill is paid.
He’s charming and he knows it, but I don’t mind it because he’s not cocky. It’s a fine line he manages to walk beautifully.
The server comes back with the bill, and I set my credit card on the table a second later than he does, Peter doesn’t do the typical I got this, babe bullshit. He grins widely at me and says, “Guess I win this round,” as if there will be a next one.
When asked if he’d like a receipt, he shakes his head, and as we’re thanked for coming in, he finally looks away from me to look up at the person whose name I’ve unsurprisingly forgotten. “Thank you for everything tonight, Jace. You’ve been great.” Of course he remembered their name.
I look up, intent on saying a simple thank you, but the look on Jace’s face when our eyes meet is all-knowing. As Peter busies himself with tucking his card back in his wallet, Jace mouths, “you lucky bitch,” and I can’t help the giggle that bursts out of me.
“Something funny, Liz?” Peter pushes his chair back, and it hits me that we haven’t made plans beyond dessert.
I answer with a question of my own, “Want to go for a walk before we get ice cream?”
“I do,” he replies, standing and draping his jacket over one arm as he extends the other to me, his hand open and waiting for mine.
I place my hand in his, and rather than letting go once I’m standing, he links our fingers together and leads me toward the stone steps outside.
The streetlights have come on, though the sun isn’t fully set.
His warm palm and the shock of such a simple gesture I haven’t shared with anyone in a long time have distracted me enough that I don’t hear the words coming out of his mouth.
He squeezes my hand gently, surely repeating himself. “Where to?”
I remain speechless and nod to the gates across the street, where the city’s garden is blooming with spring flowers.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, Peter’s grip on my hand never faltering.
Quiet isn’t something I’m particularly fond of, at least not with people I don’t know.
My brain gets loud in the silence, and I start to scramble for something to say.
But, of course, the moment I need a topic of conversation, I can’t think of a single thing worth saying, and I’m not about to comment on the weather. Ugh, that’d be so lame.
“I’ve come to Halifax several times and never walked through the gates of the garden. This is nice. With the sunset and the twinkly lights, it’s even a little romantic, you know?” Peter squeezes my hand again, and I look up to find his eyes creased as a teasing smile graces his handsome face.
“Wait until you see what’s next. You might fall in love with me tonight, Peter.
” I’m teasing, but the intensity in his stare and the low hum of his response makes my stomach flip-flop, a surprising weight settling low in my pelvis.
Our moment is broken by a bicycle bell ringing too loudly close by.
I use that as my cue to pull us in another direction.
After going through another gate, I quickly turn, hoping against all odds the little ice cream place tucked away is open this early in the season.
When I spot the colorful lights and the chalkboard sign propped against the stone wall, I smile, knowing Peter is going to love this place. This hidden gem is next level.
“Hello there,” the young person with bright purple tips greets us cheerily. “My name’s Cherry. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“This is amazing,” Peter whispers, making both me and the girl laugh.
His eyes roam over the board with flavors like maple pear, candied ginger, strawberry basil, and blueberry balsamic.
“What do you recommend, Cherry? Because I don’t think I can choose on my own.
” He smiles, giving her his charming, disarming eye contact and making the kid blush.
“Uh, well, what do you like, like? I mean, like, do you like fruity or chocolaty or whatever?” She winces at her own words, and I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling.
She’s having a very normal reaction to Peter’s undivided attention.
She’s frazzled and likely overheating, based on how red her cheeks are.
I would know, because this is exactly how I feel on the inside when he looks at me.
“Definitely fruity,” he answers easily, and I swear he leans a little closer into me, taking a deep breath.
Despite his warmth, it makes me shiver, and he doesn’t miss the movement.
“You know what, I’m going for the Chamilot.
Chamomile and apricot sound like a nice mix.
What about you, darling?” As he asks the question, he pulls back to regard me.
Although I already know what I’m getting, I stall when he drapes his jacket over my shoulders, the tender nickname making my stomach flutter again.
“Uh, the um, Basil Instinct, please,” I say without tearing my gaze from the jacket now hanging over my torso.
“Sure,” Cherry responds cheerfully. I’m still frozen to the spot, a mere spectator of my own life as Peter tucks my arms into the sleeves of his jacket and begins to roll them up.
I’m tall, but he’s taller, so he curls up the ends of the sleeves that go past my fingertips, making sure they won’t be in my way.
Every time his fingers graze my skin, my heart rate accelerates.
It seems… dangerous for someone to affect me in such like this, but I don’t mind it.
“There,” he breathes. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Yes. Literally everything about my life right now is better because I’m not only warm, but I’m also surrounded by the fresh linen scent of him. And I’m about to eat ice cream? Yeah. This is the best.
“Thanks,” I mumble as our cups are placed on the counter.
I lift my phone to my face, hitting the button on the side twice to pull up my wallet.
“My treat this time.” I hold up the device, letting Cherry know I’m ready.
As I go through the prompts on the machine, Peter grabs extra napkins, slipping them neatly into his pocket.
I wonder whether he’s taking them for himself, or if they’re precautionary.
There’s no way he could possibly know I constantly spill things, so I know it’s not for me, and yet the action is inexplicably hot.
They’re just napkins, and I’m standing on a sidewalk tingling all over.
This makes no sense, but I’m in no hurry to dissect any of it.
When he hands me the cup topped with a strawberry and fresh basil, our fingers brush, and I hold my breath to keep the gasp building in my throat at bay.
After saying our thanks to the girl whose blush officially looks uncomfortable, we head into the garden. There’s a bench beneath a tree, a little off the path, and we naturally walk toward it.
We sit, simultaneously reaching for our spoons and taking our first taste of dessert. Peter closes his eyes, shaking his head as he throws it back. I’ve never had the flavor he’s got. It must be new, whereas the strawberry basil has been around for a couple of years.
I chuckle around my mouthful of ice cream. “You gonna share some of that, Petey?”
He levels me with a stare, forcing my legs to cross as pressure builds at their apex.
“After you just called me that? Not a chance,” he says, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.
I gasp in mock outrage, shoving my own spoon into my bowl and then scooping up some of his orange ice cream with my index finger. Before I can celebrate my victory, however, Peter’s hand is wrapped around my wrist, and in the blink of an eye, he’s got my finger in his mouth.
My finger is.
In.
His.
Mouth.
And he’s sucking on it with an indecent moan, his eyes closing in pleasure. Not for the first time this evening, I’m excessively turned on by this man.
He lets go of my finger with a loud pop. “I said I didn’t want to share my dessert, didn’t I? Gotta say it tastes better this way, though,” he says slowly, deliberately, as he opens his eyes. As he takes in my wide-eyed shock, he releases my wrist as if it’s on fire. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t—”
“My turn now?” I interrupt his obvious terror and extend the hand holding my ice cream toward him. His gaze moves to the basil-topped dessert, then back to me. I lift my brows in question, and he swallows hard, clearly battling with his decision as he dips his finger into my ice cream.