movements were jerky, nervous. And she wouldnât look at him. In an effort to fill the semi-uncomfortable silence hanging over them, Malek remoted on the TV in the nearby family room and turned it to a music station. And while he sang along with one of Blake Sheltonâs tunes as he wiped down the table and counters, Lei ran water over the dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher.
When they were finished, Malek dried his hands on a dishtowel. âNow that weâve cleaned up, how about some dessert?â
âDessert?â Leiâs eyes lit up.
He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out three foam cartons. âI have tiramisu, cocoa pistachio shortcakes, and a crème brûlée.â
Her gaze zigzagged between the cartons and his face. âWow, thatâs a lot of dessert.â
He flipped the lid off the first one. âI had a weak moment.â
âI guess so.â
He opened the second and third carton, lining them up on the counter. âNo strings attached. Just friends sharing dessert.â When she didnât decline, he grabbed a couple of spoons from the drawer and handed her one. âDig in.â
âIâll get a plate and put a littleââ
âNo, here.â He spooned up some vanilla bean custard and held it out for her.
After watching her eat that yogurt, he was aching to feed her some of this decadent dessert.
She hesitated and blushed, then hastily opened her mouth, leaning in to accept the spoonful. The second her lips closed around the utensil, her eyelids drooped. âMmmmm . . .â she said, moving back, leaving him with an empty spoon but a warm and heavy groin. âThatâs insanely delicious.â
âHave more, please. I shouldnât eat all of this.â
To his surprise, she abandoned her hesitation and helped herself to half the crème brûlée, several bites of the tiramisu, and half the cocoa shortcake. Then she set down her spoon and said, âOkay. Iâve gorged on enough chocolate for a month. No more.â
And heâd just watched enough food porn for a year. He was doing his best to hide his raging hard-on and was practically gritting his teeth, thanks to a severe case of blue balls. âGlad you enjoyed it.â
âWho wouldnât?â She dropped her spoon into the dishwasherâs silverware rack. As Malek leaned over her to do the same, she wriggled away from him before heâd gotten close enough to touch her.
Damn.
It seemed his idiotic, poorly thought-out marriage proposal might have made things worse, not better. Now she was going to be even more uncomfortable around him. Maybe more than she was with other men. That was bad. Very bad.
What the hell had he been thinking?
âI have some reading to do for a class,â she said as she skittered around the granite-topped island. âThanks again for the dinner. Everything was delicious. I guess I owe you.â
If she felt she owed him, then he was all too happy to oblige. âYou know, I like Mexican . . . ?â
She laughed and his heart did a little hop in his chest. If only he could spend the rest of his lifetime listening to that laugh. If only he could spend the rest of his lifetime seeing that stunning smile.
There has to be a way.
âMexican?â she said.
âSure. How about tomorrow? After I get back from the registrarâs office? Say . . . five-ish?â
âWhat have I gotten myself into?â
âNothing yet.â
She gave him some serious squinty eyes. âWhy did you say âyetâ?â
âI didnât mean anything by it. Honest.â He held up a hand, as if swearing in a courtroom. âLike you said, weâre friends. Only friends.â
âBut you askedââ
âYes, but it was one of those insane, stupid things you do when youâre not thinking straight. Either that or it mightâve been the bottle of wine I drank
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