The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient #1)(23)
The biggest part was the eager sparkle in Michael’s eyes. He wanted to go, and he wanted her to go with him. It was like a date. But not, of course. She knew it wasn’t a date.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to dance.”
“Does that mean you’ll go?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
She lifted her chin and nodded.
White teeth flashed as he smiled. “Great. I’ll make plans and keep you posted. Looking forward to it.” He leaned down and pressed a fast kiss to her cheek before he left the room.
Stella bolted the door and sank onto the bed in a daze. These were supposed to be simple sex lessons. Why was it getting so complicated? Why had her body betrayed her? And why did she want to please Michael so badly she’d go clubbing for him? Who was she? She didn’t know herself anymore.
{ CHAP+ER }
9
“It’s really bad to eat dessert first, you know,” Stella commented.
She knew she sounded pedantic and boring, but she couldn’t help the nervous chatter spilling from her mouth. Her anxiety over clubbing had been escalating exponentially during the past week, and the main event was just hours away now.
Also, Michael was holding her hand.
Her palm sweated so badly she didn’t know how he could stand touching her, let alone act like it was the most normal thing in the world. Oddly, she’d handled foreplay better than this—up until the end, that was—and she’d been naked for that. She couldn’t blame her reaction on her usual aversion to touch. She liked Michael’s touch.
As she and Michael walked down the busy San Francisco sidewalk hand-in-hand, passersby smiled at them. An old man in a newsboy cap winked at her.
They thought she and Michael were a couple.
Stella would have laughed if she didn’t feel like she was somehow taking part in a duplicitous charade. A gaggle of party girls in low-cut dresses flocked by, giving Michael double takes, then triple takes as they giggled into their hands and whispered to one another. They glanced at Stella with open envy that she enjoyed even as she knew she didn’t deserve it. Wearing a slate-gray suit and black oxford shirt, he was particularly scrumptious-looking tonight.
“Here it is.” Michael released her hand and held open the door for her as she walked into the old-fashioned gelato shop. Black and white tiles checkered the floor. Pink chandeliers illuminated display freezers filled with gelato and toppings. “What’s your flavor?”
She could barely think about ice cream with his hand resting at the base of her spine like that. Did he know he was doing it? She’d seen men do that with their girlfriends. Stella wasn’t a girlfriend.
“Mint chocolate chip,” she said.
“Really? That’s my favorite, too. I’ll get something else, then, so we can try something new.” He idly rubbed her waist as he considered the gelato flavors, and her body heated with awareness.
“Wait, what do you mean by ‘we’?”
A mischievous grin curved on his lips. “You don’t want to share with me?”
The college-aged girl behind the counter stared at Stella like she’d kicked a puppy.
“No, that’s not it.” Not entirely. After all the kissing they’d done, she knew it was silly to worry about germ transference. The fact was she’d made a detailed analysis of ice cream flavors, and she’d decided this one was the best in existence. “I just know what I like.”
“We’ll see about that.” He tapped on the display case. “Mint chocolate chip for her and green tea for me.”
Stella wanted to pay, but he dug bills out of his wallet before she could pry the credit card out from the bodice of her sapphire-blue sheath dress. Once they were seated at a black wrought-iron table by the window, he dipped his spoon into his gelato, tasted it, and grinned a slow, wide grin as he slipped the clean spoon from his mouth and scooped out more.
“Oh, that’s just ridiculous,” she said. “You look like you’re auditioning for a H?agen-Dazs commercial. No one smiles like that after eating ice cream.”
He laughed. “It really is good.” His grin was out in full force, and, God forbid, did he have a dimple?
“Now, I have to try it.” She lowered her spoon toward his bowl.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Instead of letting her scoop up some herself, he held his spoon to her lips. Her eyes jumped to his, and conflicting thoughts skittered through her mind.
She shouldn’t do it. This was too intimate. It was crossing a line of some kind. It felt too much like dating—which they weren’t.
It was just gelato. Just his spoon. He might take it as rejection if she didn’t do it, and she could never, ever in a thousand years hurt him, not even in a trivial way.
She parted her lips and let him feed her the gelato. Her heart knocked around her chest like a pinball as sweet green tea melted on her tongue. He watched her with expectation, oblivious to his effect on her.
“Okay, it’s good.” She tried to sound casual. This didn’t mean anything. This wasn’t a date. She was just another of his clients. Keep a cool head. She stabbed her spoon into her gelato.
“I told you so.”
“I still like mine best.” She put a spoonful of mint chocolate chip in her mouth. The complex combination of vanilla and mint exploded on her palate. Bits of chocolate crunched between her teeth. Perfection.