While I’m chopping a tomato, a sudden memory of his tongue in my mouth makes me falter, and the knife slips, cutting my finger. “Ouch!” “Are you okay?” He grabs my hand, sending rivulets of pleasure coursing through me. Caressing the tip of my finger, he inspects it for damage. “It’s just a tiny scratch,” I insist, pulling my hand away. Goosebumps prickle along my skin. His eyes darken to black orbs. “You should be more careful, sunshine.” Sunshine? He’s never called me that before. My throat constricts. “I will,” I whisper hoarsely as the tension sizzles between us.
