“Oh my god,” I moan. “That is so freaking good.”
“I told you,” he says, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Best thing on the menu.”
“I don’t know. Mom’s panna cotta sounded really good, too. Seems like the only way to know for sure is to come back and try something else tomorrow.”
He chuckles. “Do you want to try a bite of my affogato?”
“Sure, I love coffee.”
I expect him to slide his plate closer to me so I can reach it. My breath catches when he scoops a bit of ice cream and espresso onto his own spoon.
He reaches across the table.
“Go on,” he says, his voice deep and a little hoarse. “Try some.”
Hypnotized by his words and the heat in his gaze, I lean forward and wrap my lips around the spoon. The bitterness of the coffee is tempered by the cool vanilla ice cream. It’s delicious, but if I’m being honest, I hardly notice the taste.
All of my attention is focused on Christian.
His gaze darkens as an expression I’m not sure how to decipher crosses his face. Slowly, he slides the spoon out of my mouth. I let the creamy mixture coat my tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.
“Good?” The husky baritone rasp in his voice zips down my spine like electricity, and without realizing it, I squeeze my thighs together under the table.
I lick my lips and nod, stunned by the fact that he’s definitely still watching my mouth.
“You missed a spot.”
He reaches over and gently rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. My heartbeat stutters. Instead of wiping the cream on his napkin, he brings his thumb to his own mouth.
Arousal burns low in my stomach, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes me. Time seems to stretch on forever between us. The tension is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Can I get you anything else this evening?” our server asks, like a blade slicing through the moment.
Christian’s eyes, still dark with longing, widen, as a look of almost-horror floods his face. He clears his throat.
“No,” he says. “That will be all.”
“Very well, sir. Shall I charge the bill to your room?”
Christian nods. His chair scrapes the floor as he rises from the table. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finding his voice again.
“It’s late,” he says, his tone robotic. “I’ll see you and your mother in the morning, Eden.”
I’m still scrambling to find my own response long after he’s left the restaurant.
“What the hell just happened?” I whisper. I sag into the chair, my face on fire and my mind reeling from the insanity of it all.
Did I just…flirt with my future stepdad?
My heart pounds at that realization. I’ve never really flirted with a boy before, much less a man, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. Christian and my mom aren’t actually dating, but he’s still technically her fiancé. I don’t have to be a dating expert to know you’re not supposed to flirt with your mom’s fiancé.
Cheeks still aflame, I grab my mom’s panna cotta and scurry out of the restaurant, leaving behind the espresso-drowned ice cream melting on the plate.
Mom is already in bed when I get back to the room.
“I brought your panna cotta,” I say, holding up the container like a trophy. Guilt coils in my stomach as I try to look and sound casual.
She gives a weak smile. “Thanks, sweetie. Can you put it in the fridge for now? I’ll have it tomorrow.”
I store the dessert in the fridge and then cross over to the closet to look for my swimsuit. On the way here, I passed one of the resort’s half-dozen swimming pools. The thought of trying to fall asleep with my mom in the next bed after what happened with Christian makes me want to curl up and die. I’m hoping a night swim will help cool the embarrassment burning inside of me.
“Are you going out?” Mom asks, as I tease my swimsuit off the hanger.
“Yeah.” I pad into the bathroom to change, leaving the door open a crack so I can still hear her. “I was thinking I’d check out the pool.”
“Okay, just don’t stay out too late. And don’t forget your key card. I’ve already taken my meds, so I’ll probably be asleep soon and won’t be able to let you back into the room.”
I fasten the halter tankini top behind neck.
“I won’t forget it.” I wrap a towel around myself in lieu of the swimsuit cover-up I don’t want to bother hunting for, then grab my keycard.
“Hey, Mom?” I ask tentatively, pausing at the door.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“You don’t…like Christian, do you?”
“I like him well enough.”
“Right, but…” I struggle to muster the words. “You don’t like him the same way you liked Dad, right?”
She lets out a puff of air that sounds like a laugh. “Of course not, Eden. Christian is a nice man, but you know we’re not getting married because we love each other.”