more ice cream, but her secretly being related to the Karlssons was the first thing that had leapt to mind. How would he even have a clue?
She grinned, hoping her eyes hadn’t revealed anything. Best to distract him with more ice cream—and a lot of it. She dug out an oversized bite that was way too big for the spoon and held it out for him. “Me, too.”
Carden eagerly opened his mouth, flashing straight, white teeth. She carefully guided the spoon in, and most of the ice cream made it. The rest of it dripped onto his shirt.
“Oh no.” Lindsey grabbed a napkin, leaned in, and blotted the drip, coming up against solid muscle. “Sorry.” She raised her head to look at him, her lips dangerously close to his.
“Don’t be.” He smoothed his fingers along her jawline and lifted her chin, kissing her gently, testing.
Lindsey went light-headed with the rush of sensation, the touch of his lips leaving her longing for more. Clutching his shirt in her fingers—napkin and all—she pulled him closer, melting into his kiss. Carden took it from tentative to tender, then parted her lips with the velvety sweep of his tongue. She matched his languid rhythm, hypnotized. He was all chocolate and caramel, creamy cool and sweet.
Sinfully delicious.
No doubt he was 31 flavors of trouble, but resisting him seemed impossible.
He pulled away just inches, setting his piercing-blue gaze on hers. Reaching up, he slowly skimmed the pad of his thumb over her lips.
Lindsey’s breath hitched. “That was one heck of a housewarming present,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else except kiss me again .
Carden nodded slowly. “My pleasure.”
There was that expression again. No wonder he used it often. From what she could tell so far, he was an expert when it came to the subject. She sat back and crumpled the napkin in her hand. The stain from the ice cream was barely visible on his plaid shirt.
Carden tilted the ice cream container toward her. “Want more?”
Do I ever…
She shook her head. “Nothing can beat that last bite.”
He dug his spoon in, ate another mouthful, and glanced at her expectantly. “Nothing but more of the same.”
The guy didn’t say much, but he sure had a way with words. And with his hands…And with his lips… But Lindsey wasn’t sure how wise “more of the same” would be. She’d only been in Thistle Bend a few days, but she’d managed to eat enough to last her a month, and to kiss the super-sexy bachelor whose family had a historical rivalry with hers. On the bright side, she’d mastered driving a rickety U-Haul and learned how to fix stuck windows.
Carden set the ice cream on the coffee table, picked up one of the books about Thistle Bend he’d pushed aside earlier, and thumbed through the pages. “There might be some Crenshaw history in here.”
Probably some Karlsson history, too.
“I’ve got so much to learn about this place,” Lindsey said. “Reading to do, people to interview. I just have to figure out where to start.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I can give you a crash course.”
“Like a SparkNotes version?”
“Yep. With the special touch of an insider.”
Lindsey shivered at the mention of his special touch, imagining the rasp of his hands against her most tender skin. His long fingers…
As if directed by her thoughts, he slid said fingers up her bare thigh, where goosebumps had risen. “You cold?”
“Just a chill. Believe it or not, I might have to close some of these windows before I go to bed.”
Carden grinned and shook his head. “The temperature swings here are another thing that might take some getting used to.” He closed the book and tapped his thumb against the cover. “I can show you the perfect place to start with the museum. In fact, I plan to donate it.”
Lindsey narrowed her eyes. “You plan to donate the perfect place to start?”
“Intrigued?”
Clearly there was no doubt about that—on all fronts.
She grinned, hoping her eyes hadn’t revealed anything. Best to distract him with more ice cream—and a lot of it. She dug out an oversized bite that was way too big for the spoon and held it out for him. “Me, too.”
Carden eagerly opened his mouth, flashing straight, white teeth. She carefully guided the spoon in, and most of the ice cream made it. The rest of it dripped onto his shirt.
“Oh no.” Lindsey grabbed a napkin, leaned in, and blotted the drip, coming up against solid muscle. “Sorry.” She raised her head to look at him, her lips dangerously close to his.
“Don’t be.” He smoothed his fingers along her jawline and lifted her chin, kissing her gently, testing.
Lindsey went light-headed with the rush of sensation, the touch of his lips leaving her longing for more. Clutching his shirt in her fingers—napkin and all—she pulled him closer, melting into his kiss. Carden took it from tentative to tender, then parted her lips with the velvety sweep of his tongue. She matched his languid rhythm, hypnotized. He was all chocolate and caramel, creamy cool and sweet.
Sinfully delicious.
No doubt he was 31 flavors of trouble, but resisting him seemed impossible.
He pulled away just inches, setting his piercing-blue gaze on hers. Reaching up, he slowly skimmed the pad of his thumb over her lips.
Lindsey’s breath hitched. “That was one heck of a housewarming present,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else except kiss me again .
Carden nodded slowly. “My pleasure.”
There was that expression again. No wonder he used it often. From what she could tell so far, he was an expert when it came to the subject. She sat back and crumpled the napkin in her hand. The stain from the ice cream was barely visible on his plaid shirt.
Carden tilted the ice cream container toward her. “Want more?”
Do I ever…
She shook her head. “Nothing can beat that last bite.”
He dug his spoon in, ate another mouthful, and glanced at her expectantly. “Nothing but more of the same.”
The guy didn’t say much, but he sure had a way with words. And with his hands…And with his lips… But Lindsey wasn’t sure how wise “more of the same” would be. She’d only been in Thistle Bend a few days, but she’d managed to eat enough to last her a month, and to kiss the super-sexy bachelor whose family had a historical rivalry with hers. On the bright side, she’d mastered driving a rickety U-Haul and learned how to fix stuck windows.
Carden set the ice cream on the coffee table, picked up one of the books about Thistle Bend he’d pushed aside earlier, and thumbed through the pages. “There might be some Crenshaw history in here.”
Probably some Karlsson history, too.
“I’ve got so much to learn about this place,” Lindsey said. “Reading to do, people to interview. I just have to figure out where to start.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I can give you a crash course.”
“Like a SparkNotes version?”
“Yep. With the special touch of an insider.”
Lindsey shivered at the mention of his special touch, imagining the rasp of his hands against her most tender skin. His long fingers…
As if directed by her thoughts, he slid said fingers up her bare thigh, where goosebumps had risen. “You cold?”
“Just a chill. Believe it or not, I might have to close some of these windows before I go to bed.”
Carden grinned and shook his head. “The temperature swings here are another thing that might take some getting used to.” He closed the book and tapped his thumb against the cover. “I can show you the perfect place to start with the museum. In fact, I plan to donate it.”
Lindsey narrowed her eyes. “You plan to donate the perfect place to start?”
“Intrigued?”
Clearly there was no doubt about that—on all fronts.
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