the knot in his chest, which bunched up whenever he thought about his parents, actually loosened a bit. When he looked down into her eyes, it wasn’t pity he saw, but understanding.
Her thoughts whispered inside his head as she wrapped her arms around him, soaking up his sorrow with every whirling stroke of her hand against his back. He held on to her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing the coconut smell of her shampoo. Unlike him, with his probing questions, she said nothing, and he felt like a lumbering bastard.
In a span of time that seemed to pass as quickly as a dozen human heartbeats, powerful in its simplicity, yet way too fleeting, they finished their dinners and started in on a second bottle of Voignier. If her empty plate was any indication, Mackenzie had thoroughly enjoyed what Dom prepared for her. He rested his chin in his hand and watched, enthralled, as she took another piece of bread and swept up the remaining sauce from her plate. She licked a stray crumb from her lips and her eyelids fluttered shut while she slowly chewed, as if she were committing the taste to memory.
“I hope you’re not too full for dessert,” he said.
“Never. I always have room for something sweet.” Her eyes held his for a moment before her cheeks colored that enchanting shade again and she looked away.
He returned a moment later with one plate and an enormous piece of coconut cream pie.
“No, you didn’t,” she gasped. Was she surprised he’d heard her say she loved coconut? Or that he remembered? “I must be in heaven. Did you make it?”
“I picked it up from Tom Douglas’s restaurant.”
“This is his triple coconut cream pie? I’ve heard how good it is, but I’ve never actually had it myself.” She dug into the thick cream and moaned when she pulled the empty tines from her lips. The sound she’d made was almost identical to the one she made when she came against his fingers that night at the auction. Dom shifted in his seat to make a little more room in his jeans.
“Are you not having any?” Whipped cream lingered on her lips.
“No, I don’t do sweet. Not usually.”
“You mean you got this just for me?”
He nodded.
“Oh, but you have to just try it.”
He hated coconut. Always had, or at least he’d thought he did until tonight. Taking the same fork, she sectioned off a huge piece and lifted it to his lips.
“Holy Christ, that’s way too big.”
“Just wait. You’ll love it. Trust me.”
When he opened his mouth, she opened hers, mirroring his actions as though she were experiencing the bite along with him. He closed his lips over the creamy filling and she slowly pulled out the fork.
Candlelight sparkled in her widened eyes as she leaned in close for his reaction, probably oblivious to the fact that her breast pressed against his arm. “Amazing, am I right? I am, aren’t I?”
The filling was rich and the crust was flaky, tinged with coconut, as well. He mumbled his agreement and had to admit it was pretty good. For a diehard aficionado, this pie must be the pinnacle. When she offered him another bite, he started to lift a hand in protest, but she got so much enjoyment feeding him, he wanted to continue to be a part of it. No, it was more than that. He wanted to be the cause.
He wasn’t expecting her kiss. She leaned over so quickly, he had no time to prepare himself, no time to double-check that his deadly instincts were still safely tucked away. With his mouth clamped shut, he ran his tongue over his palette. Nothing. So he softened his lips and kissed her back.
“Thank you for this.” Her words rumbled against him. He wasn’t sure if she meant the dessert or the kiss. “You taste delicious.”
All day, all evening, he’d been hoping she’d touch him first, kiss him first. He wanted any contact to be on her terms, and now they were. He cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand, held her lips close to his, her tongue sticky and sweet.
When she sidled closer and a tiny moan from her throat vibrated against his lips, it was the only encouragement he needed. In one swift movement, he pulled her on top of his lap and kicked the settee backwards. Dishes clattered as her behind clipped the edge of the table. He didn’t care that glasses were broken,