Those weren’t her words. There was no way she could believe that with that sheer look of delight on her face. Someone had convinced her of it.
“Doesn’t look childish to me.” The very opposite actually. She wasn’t doing anything but enjoying herself—savoring every taste and texture of the treat—but it was the most sensual thing he’d ever seen.
She grabbed the cupcake out of his hand and turned it toward him. “Want a bite?”
More than a bite, sweetheart. I’d like to consume you whole.
But he took a bite of the cupcake. It was delicious. Not surprising, Violet Collingwood, the computer engineer turned baker, had never made anything less than delicious.
Quinn giggled. This prim, put-together woman giggled. “You have frosting on your lip.”
She watched with wide-eyed and breathless anticipation as he licked the frosting off his lip with his tongue, which definitely wasn’t helping his erection problem. At least she was also affected by this heat between them.
“You have some icing on your face, too.”
“I do?” She set down the cupcake and traced her fingers across her bottom lip.
Baby barely swallowed a groan as she tried to get the frosting, but only succeeded in smearing it around with her fingers. He wanted to lick it off.
With most women he’d think it was a deliberate measure of seduction and would appreciate the effort. But Quinn was just trying to get the frosting off her lips and making even more of a beautiful mess.
“Did I get it?”
There was still frosting on her chin and nose. “Eat the rest of your cupcake, birthday girl.”
She gobbled the rest of it, enjoying it as much as she had the first bite. There was a tiny piece left when she finally remembered he was there.
She held the mashed portion out to him, cheeks as pink as the frosting in adorable embarrassment. “Uh, do you want some?”
“I wouldn’t dare deny you your last bite.”
He laughed as she stuffed it into her mouth like she was worried he might change his mind. Then she grimaced as she reached for a tequila shot and washed down the cupcake.
So much for wanting her to sober up. At least it was the Patron this time.
She still made a face as she set the shot glass back down. “That doesn’t taste any different than the other shots.”
“By shot number five, everything tastes the same.”
He sighed inwardly. She was now officially past the point where he was going to be able to do anything about his cupcake-induced hard-on. She needed someone to take care of her and he could do that.
The thought of one of the other guys here at Bandits taking care of Quinn upset him way more than it should have. In general, the people around here were friendly and hospitable. This was western Wyoming, where even the big cities were relatively small.
He didn’t think any of the guys here would actually hurt Quinn, but they damned well would make themselves friendly and hospitable if she so much as glanced their way with frosting still dotting her nose and chin.
Baby didn’t judge if a woman walked into a bar with the sole purpose of picking up a man for a good time. Hell, he’d been that man more than once.
But if Quinn was doing that, he was going to be at the front of the line.
The music changed on the speakers and a country artist started crooning about slow hands.
He reached over and swiped a tiny piece of frosting from her chin with his finger and brought it to his lips. “Come on, Cupcake. Let’s dance.”
The room was spinning.
Partially because of the tequila, but mostly because Baby was twirling her around on the dance floor.
Quinn wasn’t a dancer. She definitely hadn’t danced during her ten years of marriage to Peter and had been too busy with her studies and working to do much dancing before that.
But this was fun.
Everything with Baby was fun.
The dance floor was packed. Quinn wasn’t so drunk that she didn’t realize that Baby was a big part of that.
He was quite the dancer. It was obvious that he definitely had danced in the past ten years. Regularly. He moved around her, smiling, singing occasional lyrics, pulling her close when she least expected it.
More and more people had joined them on the dance floor. Slow songs or fast ones, country music or rock, it didn’t seem to matter. Everyone just wanted to have a good time.