Page 44 of Healing Kiss

He flashed a smile, pulling her from her sad thoughts, and the atmosphere magically lightened again. He tipped his drink and swallowed, and she found herself mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple moved in his throat.

He refilled their glasses and offered her the salad. Pieces of tomato, cucumber, and black olive peeked out from under romaine lettuce drizzled with some kind of homemade dressing. She took a bite and chewed and swallowed, the combination of flavors bursting on her tongue.

“This is fantastic.”

“Thanks. I’ll let Chef Batz know.”

He had put on a pair of gray oven mitts with white writing on them. She squinted—one had a whisk and said, “Whip it good;” the other had kitchen tools and said, “Choose your weapon.”

She giggled, and he glanced over his shoulder.

“I like your oven mitts.”

He held them up and grinned. “A gift from my mother when I bought this place. Wait until you see the dish towels.”

He carried the steaming casserole to the table and set it on another hot pad in front of her. The smell alone had her drooling. The bread toasted in the oven came a few minutes later with melted garlic butter. My God, she’d forgotten how good home-cooked food could taste. Living alone, she didn’t make elaborate meals, and she rarely ate at restaurants.

She’d eaten most of the serving on her plate before she realized he wasn’t eating but watching her. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she grabbed for the champagne.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He laughed. “I’m having too much fun watching you eat. I like a girl with an appetite. You have a bit of tomato sauce on your face.”

She grabbed the cloth napkin and wiped. “Better?”

“Not quite.”

He got up and came toward her. What was he doing?

“Let me.” He took the napkin from her hands and wiped her nose. His hands were gentle and strong and for a mad moment she wanted to melt into their solidness. Then he set the napkin down and pulled her up and into his arms.

And God help her, she let him.

ChapterFifteen

She shouldn’t let Tristan hold her. But she had to admit, it felt incredible.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Lillian whispered, which had the satisfying effect of giving her a flash of Tristan’s dimple.

“Ravenous,” he said and dipped his chin until his mouth found hers.

He didn’t lie. His mouth stripped away any lingering resistance, nipping at her lips until she opened and he plunged inside. His tongue swept her teeth and the roof of her mouth, tasting of champagne and magic.

She threaded her hands through his thick, dark hair like she’d itched to do ever since they’d first kissed. She moved her hands around his neck, enjoying the feel of corded muscles and the cool mint and leather scent of him. His arms smashed her breasts against his hard chest, and he groaned into her mouth, his breath raspy.

They may have only remained locked together for minutes, but it felt like forever. Eventually, they had to come up for air, but he didn’t let her go, and she didn’t object. He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing labored.

“Don’t leave after the party. Stay for at least another day. I promised you a tour of the garden.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She sighed and pulled herself from his arms. “I have a job. My life is…complicated.”

“Too complicated to delay your departure by a single day?”

She took a breath and tried to pretend her pulse wasn’t racing. “Yes.”

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