Darkest Desire by Tawny Taylor Page A

movements were jerky, nervous. And she wouldn’t 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 Shelton’s 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. “Now that we’ve cleaned up, how about some dessert?”
    â€œDessert?” Lei’s eyes lit up.
    He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out three foam cartons. “I have tiramisu, cocoa pistachio shortcakes, and a crème brûlée.”
    Her gaze zigzagged between the cartons and his face. “Wow, that’s a lot of dessert.”
    He flipped the lid off the first one. “I had a weak moment.”
    â€œI guess so.”
    He opened the second and third carton, lining them up on the counter. “No strings attached. Just friends sharing dessert.” When she didn’t decline, he grabbed a couple of spoons from the drawer and handed her one. “Dig in.”
    â€œI’ll get a plate and put a little—”
    â€œNo, here.” 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. “Mmmmm . . .” she said, moving back, leaving him with an empty spoon but a warm and heavy groin. “That’s insanely delicious.”
    â€œHave more, please. I shouldn’t eat all of this.”
    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, “Okay. I’ve gorged on enough chocolate for a month. No more.”
    And he’d 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. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
    â€œWho wouldn’t?” She dropped her spoon into the dishwasher’s silverware rack. As Malek leaned over her to do the same, she wriggled away from him before he’d 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?
    â€œI have some reading to do for a class,” she said as she skittered around the granite-topped island. “Thanks again for the dinner. Everything was delicious. I guess I owe you.”
    If she felt she owed him, then he was all too happy to oblige. “You know, I like Mexican . . . ?”
    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.
    â€œMexican?” she said.
    â€œSure. How about tomorrow? After I get back from the registrar’s office? Say . . . five-ish?”
    â€œWhat have I gotten myself into?”
    â€œNothing yet.”
    She gave him some serious squinty eyes. “Why did you say ‘yet’?”
    â€œI didn’t mean anything by it. Honest.” He held up a hand, as if swearing in a courtroom. “Like you said, we’re friends. Only friends.”
    â€œBut you asked—”
    â€œYes, but it was one of those insane, stupid things you do when you’re not thinking straight. Either that or it might’ve been the bottle of wine I drank