“I’m a criminal,” she said. “Oh my God. I’m a criminal—”
He bent his head and kissed her, expecting those fingers to push him away, but the moment his lips touched hers, they gripped tighter, pulled him closer.
“I kind of like you, J.B.,” he said, nuzzling into her throat when they broke apart for air. “You’re funny.”
Quiet.
A long stretch of quiet.
“Are you going to tell me the meaning of that nickname?”
Not on her life. “Nope.”
She sighed. “You’re a bad influence.”
“You had fun.” He flicked out his tongue, tasted the salt on her skin, felt her rapid pulse. “Admit it.”
Recalcitrant silence.
He nipped the spot where her neck met her shoulder. She jumped, one hand sliding up, weaving into his hair.
“Stubborn.” A kiss. “Sexy.” Another. “Rule-breaker.”
Those fingers tightened enough to make him wince. Then just as quickly relaxed. “I’m not . . . buying lunch.”
Liam froze then burst out laughing, pushing off her, snagging her hand again.
As they walked down the street, back in the direction of her studio, he checked his phone. “It’s just ten now,” he said, “a little early for lunch.”
“I worked hard doing all those slides,” she said. “I’m hungry. If you’re not . . .”
“I’m always hungry,” he told her, which was true, but also in this situation, mostly about wanting more time with her. He wasn’t ready to go back to his condo alone.
“Good.” One shoulder lifted then fell in a casual shrug. “Then I guess you’re buying me brunch.” She tugged him forward. “Come on,” she said. “There’s a place nearby that I’ve always wanted to try.”
The restaurant was a tiny hole-in-the-wall breakfast joint just around the corner from the karate studio and looked like it had been there a hundred years.
Or maybe just seventy, as it had a decidedly 1950s look.
“You’ve never eaten here?” he asked, somewhat surprised. “It’s so close to your place.”
“The way I grew up—” She shook her head. “I don’t eat out a lot.”
He was more interested in the first sentence and why she’d cut herself off than the second, but before he could press her for more information, the hostess came over and led them to their booth.
Then the waiter was there almost before their asses hit the pleather, efficiently taking their drink orders.
She ordered coffee. Black.
He ordered orange juice and got a raised brow. “It’s not technically sweet,” he said, once the server had gone.
“It’s still full of sugar.”
“A man has needs.”
Her eyes met his, and his cock twitched at the heat in those chocolate depths. But then Mia’s gaze was on the menu, a studious V between her brows, and he forced himself to pick out what he wanted so that he didn’t interrupt her perusal.
Plenty of time for an interrogation after they ordered.
“What can I get for you folks?” the waiter, a young college-aged male asked, depositing their drinks and pulling out a pad of paper.
“Mia?” Liam said, “you want to go first?”
She smiled at him. “No. I want to see what you order.”
“You gonna make fun of me?”
“Probably.”
He chuckled, shrugged, and glanced up at the kid. “Orange creamsicle pancakes, please, and a side of bacon, crispy.”
Her brows went up, almost to her hairline, then she turned to the waiter and said, “An egg white omelet, please, with peppers, mushrooms, and onions.”
“Do you want cheese in that?”
“Hmm.” She was quiet for a moment. “Sure, why not? How about Monterey Jack, if you have it?”
“Got it.” The waiter made a note. “Whole wheat toast?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Of course.
Liam thanked the server again, who then walked away, leaving them alone. “Was ordering cheese in your omelet your idea of really going for it?” he asked, lips twitching.
A pink flush spread over her face, even as she leveled a glare in his direction. “You have no room to talk, Sweet Cheeks.”
“Sweet Cheeks?” he said, aghast, though inside he liked this verbal sparring. “A man has one vice.”
One black brow came up. “Why don’t I think it’s just one vice?”
“I love sugar, okay?” he muttered, not about to admit to anything.
“What else are you obsessed with?” she pressed.
“Tit for tat, here, J.B.,” he countered. “You want to know. You have to be prepared to answer all the questions.”
Concern drifted into the corners of her eyes, and Liam knew that he wasn’t going to press her about what she’d almost said earlier regarding the way she grew up. This was date one, and they’d gone from her laying him out onto the mat for touching her, all the way to stolen kisses that had his cock hardening just in remembrance of her lips on his.
He could afford to be patient, to keep things light, to gain her trust.
To help her have some fun.
Because even though they’d just met, he knew this woman was beyond deserving of it, and he also had the distinct thought that she’d had far too little of it in her life.
“Want a sample question?” he asked before she could panic too much. Before he lost her beneath those shields of steel again.
She made a face.
“That’s not a no,” he said, reaching across and running his finger down her nose. “Okay, so here goes. This is a biggie. A hugely important, make or break, it’s all over if you answer incorrectly—”
“Um—”
“—question,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. “Chunky or smooth peanut butter?”
Those lickable lips had parted, no doubt readying another protest, but his question had them freezing in place, the pink tip of her tongue darting out to moisten the bottom one. Then his words processed, and she shook her head. “You enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”
“Hey,” he protested. “This is life or death stuff.”
A roll of her eyes. “Smooth peanut butter. Obviously.”
He lifted his hand, palm out. “Damn right. Okay, your turn.”
“Hmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Tell me the truth. Do you break your diet and eat sugar on non-Cheat Days?”
“Honestly?” he asked.
“That’s a requirement.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “It was hard as hell those first few weeks, and I’ll admit I do go a bit crazy with it when I’m allowed. But I’m not going to fuck up my career because I want a cookie.”
She shifted in the booth and her leg brushed his, sending sparks flying. “That’s good.”
“Why did you ask?”
A shrug. “You don’t seem like much of a rule follower is all.”
“My family would be surprised to hear that,” he told her. “I’m the youngest, but I was left to my own devices for a lot of my childhood. I always do better in environments with clear expectations and rules.”