Page 6 of Bittersweet

"Suit yourself." He shows no mercy. The knife carves easily through the pastry, and it splits in two. Dead. Murdered.Ruined.

I pout. “You brokeit.”

Elio laughs. Picking up the fork, he scoops a piece from the plate, then holds it out tome.

I swallow, wet my lips. Is he . . . is he going to put it in mymouth?

The thought is so intimate, so somehow naughty, despite being so very pedestrian.His hands near my face. One finger brushing away a stray crumb. My tongue darting out to touchit.

"Uh, I'll just . . ." Elio places the fork down on the edge of the plate, then swivels it around so the handle extends in mydirection.

Of course he isn't going to feedme.

Only a man who was attracted to a woman would do that, and Elio is not attracted to me. I pull the sides of my cardigan protectively around my curves, as if I can hide them fromview.

I take the fork, and all my naughty thoughts are forgotten because crap, does this taste good. Like “please, sir, can I have some more”good.

"Oh . . ." I groan, closing my eyes.Wow.

I blink them open, and Elio's staring at me with a bugged-out expression. Most likely because I just impersonated a porn star while sampling a piece of cake. What is wrong withme?

Straightening, I try to pull myself together, but I can't help popping the fork back in my mouth to get every last bit. "Elio, that is delicious. The lemon and the white chocolate go so perfectly together! And the herb—is that . . .?” I wave the fork while I think. It has just a hint of an earthy flavor. God, what is it? It’s not normally in dessert, that much Iknow.

"Thyme?" he prompts, and Igrin.

"Yes! Thyme. Of course." I shake my head. "I think you’re onto a winner. Truly, I do. If everyone isn’t lining up around the block to taste it, they’re just plain crazy because I would marry the hell out of thistart."

"Really?" The sweetest smile graces hislips.

"Really. One hundred percent." I take the fork and gesture to the tart again. "Mind ifI. . .?"

"By all means." He nods to the plate, and I scoop up some more, shoveling it in my face in case he plans to take it away. "So now you know all about my risqué little tart, it’s time to spill some of your own work secrets. What made you start your own blog? You seem to work an awful lot. It must behard."

“It’s not that hard.” I brush his reply away like the crumbs from the side of my lips, then stop. Because I’ve worked damn hard to get this blog up and running, and I shouldn’t sweep that minor detail under the rug just because a man with bedroom eyes and skillful hands has paid me a compliment. “I mean, it’s not that easy though, either. I started it three years ago, and I’ve had to spend a lot of time on it, give a lot of myself to it. While other people spend their Saturday nights with friends, or out on dates, for me, it’s time to dedicate to researching other blogs and creating plans for the weekahead.”

“You don’tdate?”

“No.” Is it hot in here? “Idon’t.”

He smiles. Wait—is he flirting withme?

My blog post from this morning flashes in my mind.Live in themoment.

Maybe it’s time to take my ownadvice.

Maybe it’s time to put a bit more of myself outthere.

“I mean, I would like to date. I have dated before. Obviously,” I say, becauseask me outalready.

He glances at my lips, then his gaze rolls back to my eyes. He steps closer. Tension thrums all around us, as taut as a bowstring. My heart hammers rapid-fire in my chest, as if trying to get out and launch itself at Elio’sfeet.

I run my tongue over my lower lip again. Is he . . . is he going to kissme?

Is Elio, sex god, and baker of the most delicious lemon tart in the universe, going to kiss me in hiskitchen?

He raises his hand. My thoughts race.He’s going to thread it through my hair, jerk me closer. He’s going to kissme.

Please, be going to kissme.

---