bowl of vanilla ice cream.
"Profiteroles." Logan waved at the tray. "I don't do many private dinners," he said. "My housekeeper outdid herself making my favorite dishes tonight."
"They look delicious," Amanda answered. She watched as he sliced the pastry, tucked a large scoop of vanilla-flecked ice cream inside, and swirled hot fudge over it all.
Next, he opened a bottle of white wine, filled his glass and poured her half a glass. She frowned. Was he limiting her alcohol consumption?
"You don't seem like much of a drinker," he said calmly as he placed the bottle on the sideboard.
Amanda picked up her glass with a hint of defiance. "I'm not, but your wine is delicious." She sipped, and the liquid burst in flavorful fragrance against her tongue. Yum.
She placed the wine goblet on the table, careful not to spill it. But she wasn't as lucky with the profiterole. When she pressed her fork down on top of it, the pastry skidded off her plate. She giggled.
"Allow me." Logan took her knife and fork. Never had he received a better opening.
Cutting a small portion, he lifted the fork. Amanda lowered her gaze and opened her mouth. He slipped in the morsel and watched as she savored the contrasting sensations.
Flaky pastry, cold ice cream, and warm chocolate sauce.
"Yum," she said, licking a speck of chocolate off her lips. "More."
Logan almost groaned. He could so easily imagine her saying those words in a different context. His body canted toward her as he fed her another bite.
This time her gaze locked with his. "Is cooking among your many talents?" she asked.
"My housekeeper does the cooking."
Amanda glanced around as if she expected a person to materialize beside them. "Does she live here?"
"She has her own condo in this building."
"Wow." Amanda took another sip of the dessert wine. "Nice digs for a housekeeper."
He smiled and said lightly, "She's worth it." She was an old family retainer, but he'd never told anyone in his new life that fact. The relationship he had with Mrs. MacDonald was something he could never discuss.
Amanda closed her lips over the next bite and chewed slowly. "I have to agree with your assessment," she said finally. "Your housekeeper is talented."
"Have another bite." He lifted his fork and she opened her mouth obediently. Between her parted lips, he could see her pink tongue.
Lord, she was killing him. All he could think about was something else he wanted to slide against her tongue. His hand trembled and a trickle of hot fudge slipped off the fork and onto her neck.
Quickly, he bent his head, and licked up the sweetness. Her delicate skin inflamed him. So soft. So yielding. He wanted to mark her, to use every part of his mouth, his lips, his teeth, to draw sensation to the surface, to arouse every one of her nerve endings.
Just for starters.
When he raised his head, her eyes were wide, staring at him.
He tried to smile. "Didn't want the chocolate to ruin your blouse."
"It's okay," she whispered. "It's an ugly blouse."
"In that case…" He dug into the dessert, lifted the fork again, and this time he deliberately dropped a dollop of fudge on her collarbone.
She inhaled a sharp breath. Her eyes glazed over. But she didn't stop him.
He licked slowly this time, allowing his tongue to wander up her neck, and his lips to press against her fragrant skin. He could feel her heart pounding.
"Why do you wear clothes you think are ugly?" he murmured.
She stiffened beneath his searching tongue. "So you won't find me attractive."
He was surprised into a chuckle. "You see how well that's working." He nipped her neck, then nipped it again. She trembled, and his cock, already as stiff as the knife, pressed against his zipper, seeking release.
"I don't think…" Her voice wandered off as he continued to kiss the curve of her neck.
"Try feeling instead of thinking." He raised his head, scooped up more warm sauce, and dribbled it directly into her cleavage.
She gasped, and her nipples pebbled. He could see them clearly through the white blouse.
He followed the sweet chocolate with his tongue. Down and down, deeper into her cleavage he delved. His fingers were already busy on the buttons of her blouse, although he expected a sharp reprimand at any moment. If he could get to her nipples, he'd be able to get her body working against her mind.
Buttons popped. "My blouse," she murmured. But her back was already arched and Logan knew she was losing the battle.
Her soft, round breasts pressed