Page 65 of Digging Up Love
“Very good,” he said, then breathed out a small laugh. “Too good.”
“No such thing, Quentin.” She caressed the back of his neck, bringing him down for another kiss. This time she parted her lips from the start, slipping her tongue into his mouth, daring him, and he responded in turn, fitting her up tight against him. His hand swept up across her rib cage, and she gasped and sucked on his lower lip, like a reflex. Then she released it and sank back, panting.
Sucker punched, he drew in a shaky breath. She moved her hand to his chest, fingers splayed across his thundering heart, cherry lip locked between white teeth. “What?”
“You,” said Quentin. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Alisha’s curly lashes swept down against her cheek. Replacing her hand with her head, she nestled into the hollow of his chest. Their breathing settled into a shared rhythm.
When she spoke, her words slipped right into the heart of him. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dr.Harris.”
CHAPTER 23
ALISHA
They’d danced for a full set, then wandered off in search of more food. Walking backward, Alisha asked, “Funnel cake?”
“Definitely.” Quentin caught up to her at the booth, and they placed their orders. She slotted her fingers through his, and at his answering squeeze, a shimmery tingle coursed through her.
A minute later a worker opened the window at the far end and slid two funnel cakes onto the ledge, one dusted with powdered sugar, the other laden with cherry topping. A fan blasted inside the stuffy booth, not doing much to push away the heat, and Alisha stuffed some extra cash into the Styrofoam cup by the window. She pulled her grease-soaked paper plate off the windowsill and stepped aside.
Quentin picked his up and drew the plate close to his face, inhaling.
“Knew you were a keeper.”
His brows shot up.
Oh gosh, had she said that aloud? Her face heated, but she didn’t shy away this time. “You’re a sugar connoisseur. I should’ve seen the signs.” They walked down the street toward a wooden footbridge, theasphalt beneath them radiating heat. “What made you go for the cherry topping?”
“Is this a quiz?”
“Absolutely not.” Alisha traded hands, the heat seeping through the paper plate. “I just like picking people’s brains about flavor.”
He speared three glossy cherries on his fork, eyeing them, then quirked a brow. “It’s delicious?”
“Okay, yeah. But why?” She put a hand on his arm to bring them to a halt, and the solid curve of his bicep sent a bolt of energy straight to her gut. Limbs shaky, she used her fork to pierce a cherry. “Take another bite, and this time, close your eyes.” His lashes fluttered down, and she slid the fork into his mouth, waiting for him to chew. “What do you taste?”
“Tart. Sweet. Gooey.” His eyes popped open—silver-gray shot through with green, precious metals and gemstones. When would she stop needing a defibrillator after that sight? “Sorry, gooey’s not a flavor,” he added.
“Actually it is. Well, not a flavor, but texture is an important component of what makes a great dessert. Take a cherry pie, for instance. With just the filling, you’d have a bowl of mush.” She broke off a piece of funnel cake and held it up. “Tasty, sure, but add crust, and you get crunch, chew. Variety.”
They stopped on the bridge and set their plates on the railing. Below them, the water idled along, sluggish in the heat of the day and dotted with water striders.
“So, what do you taste?” Quentin angled toward her, one elbow on the bridge.
Alisha tore off a small piece of funnel cake and went to put it in her mouth, but Quentin shook his head. “Close your eyes.”
She twisted her lips but did as he said, letting her eyes drift closed before she popped it into her mouth. The bite melted on her tongue.Golden oil and toasted flour. Powdered sugar clinging to the roof of her mouth like summer and sunshine. But all that faded away when Quentin stepped closer, cupped her elbows.
Her senses filled with him—earthy spices—cloves and cinnamon and the cleansing hit of ginger. Deep notes of molasses, unique unto itself. Her eyes opened.
“Alisha? What did you taste?”You.
“It’s delicious,” she said.
“Now you’re messing with me.”
“I’m not.” Should she tell him this? “I just ... I wasn’t thinking so much of the funnel cake. I was thinking about you.”
