“You’ve cream on your lip.” From the tarts. She lifted her hand, but he predicted her move, capturing her wrist before she could brush away the remains of the tart. “No,” he whispered, close, the scent of him overwhelming her, soap and spice. “Let me.” She stilled, not quite understanding, but wanting it, whatever he offered. And then he was there, his lips on hers, his tongue licking out to taste the errant cream. She’d never in her life experienced anything so scandalous. Anything so . . . “Mmm,” he murmured, the sound low and soft as he lifted his head. “Exquisite.” He hadn’t been talking
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