Read Online Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) by S. L. Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S. L. Scott
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“Rao’s?” I ask when I see the bags on the counter.
“I like it. It’s impossible to get into the restaurant as you know, but I have kitchen connections and get take-out every couple of months.”
“You went to a lot of effort for tonight.”
“You’re worth it,” he replies not understanding how much it means that someone thinks I’m worth the effort. He starts unpacking the bags. “Hope you like spaghetti and meatballs. I got the house salad and dessert.” He raises his eyebrows up and down when he says dessert. It’s really quite cute.
He’s quite cute.
“I love Italian.”
I LEAN FORWARD with a straight face, and say, “You must be tired because you’ve been running through my dreams all night.” I can’t hold a straight face any longer. “That line is so bad, but I remember a time that I actually thought that was clever.”
He laughs, struggling to keep his full mouth closed. His hand covers it, just in case. He’s all manners and etiquette. “You’ve got to stop, Jules. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”
“You sure it wasn’t from the large meatball you stole from my plate?” I’m kidding with him. It’s fun to eat so casually in his living room. It’s easy to feel happy around him. I need easy. I need happy. I need more laughter in my life. It’s been too long. Smiling feels good. Laughing feels freeing. “Okay,” I say, “I’ve finished my pasta. You finished my meatballs. Let’s dig into dessert.”
“You’re my kind of girl,” he replies, starting to stand.
I read his comment two ways and it makes me feel good. “No, let me. You’ve been serving me all night. Let me serve dessert.”
“No, you’re my guest.”
“Nope, you just sit there and enjoy the view.” I shake my ass, then walk into the kitchen. Peeking back out, I ask, “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”
The candle he lit on the coffee table earlier reflects in his eyes, or maybe that’s something else. “No, I liked it a lot.”
Opening the refrigerator, I spot the container of dessert. “Austin, I loooovvvveee Tiramisu,” I call from the kitchen. I bring the container out with two spoons in hand, no dishes. I sit down on the floor on the other side of the table from him. He smiles. “No plates?”
“I didn’t want to make a bigger mess than necessary. You know how to share, don’t you?”
“I do. Just forget all about the meatball stealing.”
“Already forgiven and forgotten.”
He digs in and then leans across. “You should try mine.”
“We’re eating the same thing.”
“I don’t know,” he says, eyeing his spoon. “Mine tastes so much better. You should really try it and let me know.”
I grin, leaning forward. Feeling flirtatious, I close my eyes and wrap my lips around the spoon seductively. When I’m finished, I open my eyes and catch him licking the spoon I just took my bite from.
With a contented sigh, I say, “I think you’re right. I think yours is better.”
“I’m not positive, but now I’m thinking it might not be the dessert. It might just be me.”
I’ll happily play along. “Come here then and let me taste you. You know, just to figure out if it’s you or the dessert.”
He crawls on his knees around the table, no hesitation, his body hovering over mine. My stomach tightens in anticipation as I rise up onto my knees. I want this. I close my eyes and let his kiss take me away.
AN HOUR LATER, my dress is a mess. I frantically straighten it along with my wild hair in the bathroom.
When I walk out, I blush, not being able to look him in the eyes. This behavior is so unlike me and if we wouldn’t have stopped when we did… my mouth dries, knowing it’s time for me to go home.
My tongue runs over my bottom lip—a lip that’s swollen from kissing—his wonderful and erotic kisses. “I should go,” I say, wanting to avoid any major awkwardness. “Thank you for dinner and dessert…” I wave my hand around,
“I like it. It’s impossible to get into the restaurant as you know, but I have kitchen connections and get take-out every couple of months.”
“You went to a lot of effort for tonight.”
“You’re worth it,” he replies not understanding how much it means that someone thinks I’m worth the effort. He starts unpacking the bags. “Hope you like spaghetti and meatballs. I got the house salad and dessert.” He raises his eyebrows up and down when he says dessert. It’s really quite cute.
He’s quite cute.
“I love Italian.”
I LEAN FORWARD with a straight face, and say, “You must be tired because you’ve been running through my dreams all night.” I can’t hold a straight face any longer. “That line is so bad, but I remember a time that I actually thought that was clever.”
He laughs, struggling to keep his full mouth closed. His hand covers it, just in case. He’s all manners and etiquette. “You’ve got to stop, Jules. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”
“You sure it wasn’t from the large meatball you stole from my plate?” I’m kidding with him. It’s fun to eat so casually in his living room. It’s easy to feel happy around him. I need easy. I need happy. I need more laughter in my life. It’s been too long. Smiling feels good. Laughing feels freeing. “Okay,” I say, “I’ve finished my pasta. You finished my meatballs. Let’s dig into dessert.”
“You’re my kind of girl,” he replies, starting to stand.
I read his comment two ways and it makes me feel good. “No, let me. You’ve been serving me all night. Let me serve dessert.”
“No, you’re my guest.”
“Nope, you just sit there and enjoy the view.” I shake my ass, then walk into the kitchen. Peeking back out, I ask, “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”
The candle he lit on the coffee table earlier reflects in his eyes, or maybe that’s something else. “No, I liked it a lot.”
Opening the refrigerator, I spot the container of dessert. “Austin, I loooovvvveee Tiramisu,” I call from the kitchen. I bring the container out with two spoons in hand, no dishes. I sit down on the floor on the other side of the table from him. He smiles. “No plates?”
“I didn’t want to make a bigger mess than necessary. You know how to share, don’t you?”
“I do. Just forget all about the meatball stealing.”
“Already forgiven and forgotten.”
He digs in and then leans across. “You should try mine.”
“We’re eating the same thing.”
“I don’t know,” he says, eyeing his spoon. “Mine tastes so much better. You should really try it and let me know.”
I grin, leaning forward. Feeling flirtatious, I close my eyes and wrap my lips around the spoon seductively. When I’m finished, I open my eyes and catch him licking the spoon I just took my bite from.
With a contented sigh, I say, “I think you’re right. I think yours is better.”
“I’m not positive, but now I’m thinking it might not be the dessert. It might just be me.”
I’ll happily play along. “Come here then and let me taste you. You know, just to figure out if it’s you or the dessert.”
He crawls on his knees around the table, no hesitation, his body hovering over mine. My stomach tightens in anticipation as I rise up onto my knees. I want this. I close my eyes and let his kiss take me away.
AN HOUR LATER, my dress is a mess. I frantically straighten it along with my wild hair in the bathroom.
When I walk out, I blush, not being able to look him in the eyes. This behavior is so unlike me and if we wouldn’t have stopped when we did… my mouth dries, knowing it’s time for me to go home.
My tongue runs over my bottom lip—a lip that’s swollen from kissing—his wonderful and erotic kisses. “I should go,” I say, wanting to avoid any major awkwardness. “Thank you for dinner and dessert…” I wave my hand around,
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