“Ack, stop.” She’s laughing again, but a fine blush spreads across her cheeks. Bingo. “Pest. I’m not kissing anything.”

I let the shirt fall back into place. “Tease.”

“Flirt.”

I grin without remorse, then get distracted by the gleam in her butterscotch eyes. She’s looking at me like I’m a snack. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it, but it’s enough to make my hunger return full force. I’m this close to drooling. Just to be sure, I run my thumb and forefinger along the corners of my mouth and am gratified to find her watching the movement. She licks her full bottom lip. The gesture is so explicitly hungry that my abs clench, and my cock stirs.

Down, boy. Take it easy.

“Been thinking, Tot . . .”

Her eyes narrow. “Probably best if you don’t.”

Probably. But where would that get us? “I want a dessert.”

She turns and starts wiping down the clean counters like it’s her new mission in life. “I’ll go to the farmers’ market and get some ripe fruit.”

“Not. Fruit.” Fact is, I can’t eat a mango anymore without wanting to suck on Delilah’s tongue. “Something rich and sweet and creamy.” And now I’m thinking about sinking to my knees before her. Behind the kitchen island, I reach down and adjust myself. Having zero experience with flirting, I don’t think I’m doing a proper job of it. I’m only getting myself riled up here.

Especially since Delilah’s expression remains deadpan. “I don’t think any of that is on the approved list.”

“I think you bring up that damn list to annoy me, Tot.”

“This is true.” She doesn’t bother to hide her glee.

Like a bee to nectar, I drift closer. “Come on, Delilah. Cheat with me. Just a little?”

Shaking her head in clear exasperation, she tosses the cloth into the sink and faces me. “All right, just this once. Name your poison.”

She isn’t in my arms. My mouth isn’t on hers. But it’s still a victory, and I rub my hands together in anticipation. “Let’s see . . . oh, God, the choices. Your Totally Toffee-Chip Cookies? Your Mad Monster Chocolate Cake?” I stop to think of all the deserts Delilah has made over the years. “Ah. I know . . . Bountiful Banana Cream Pie. That’s what I want.”

It’s as if I’ve kicked her. Her happy expression ices over into something hard and angry. “You shithead. You total dick weasel.”

“Dick weasel? Why? What’d I do?”

She scoffs in disgust. “Of course you don’t remember. Typical.”