Over the next hour, we try every button, every nozzle, every cup size the coffee gods allow. I burn my tongue on the first espresso shot and burn the beans on the second. The third tastes watery as hell, and the fourth is way too bitter for me.
“Say ‘ah’.” Adam holds the tiny cup to my lips, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Do not make me spit this all over your expensive floor.”
He chuckles. “I dare you.”
God, the way he’s looking at me should be illegal. My thighs press together instinctively, and I grab a spoon just to have something to do with my hands. Otherwise, I’d have them all over him, exploring that deliciously muscled body.
“You know,” I say, stirring foam that doesn’t need stirring, “I’m starting to think you didn’t buy this machine for coffee at all.”
He rests a palm on the counter and moves close enough that my elbow touches his abs. Abs! I can feel the six-pack even through our clothing. “What did I buy it for, then?”
“For seduction,” I say primly. “Obviously.”
Adam smiles and lifts both palms in the air. “Busted. Well, since you got me, you should check out my new mirrors too.”
My mouth goes dry. Adam really is going through my ‘deepest, darkest desires’ list like a man on a mission. Maybe the bar is in hell, but no one has ever paid this much attention to me before, to what I want, and it’s doing so many things to me.
And I’ve done nothing but work these past three years, trying to get my events organizing business off the ground, that I haven’t had much time for myself. Hence, my best friend’s dare. She said if I wasn’t going to meet men at random places because of my busy schedule, I might as well try dating platforms online. I didn’t like those apps, though, because it just felt like everyone was portraying someone they actually weren’t. And that’s when I stumbled upon the online pen pal program. The idea appealed to me. Sending emails telling a virtual stranger about your desires? Well, sign me up.
Only … I had no idea it would lead to this. I never planned on meeting him, but after feeling that connection, I said yes. And I wasn’t wrong. There is a connection. It sizzles in the air, thickening the space between us.
I cross my arms over my chest, hoping he doesn’t hear the way my heart thuds. “Mirrors? As in plural?”
He doesn’t even try to play dumb and just casually sips his coffee, eyeing me over the rim of the cup. The intensity of his stare is enough to make my breath catch in my throat. If I were wearing underwear, it would have been damp … no, soaked.
He looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world, and I love it. God, I love the attention so much.
I groan dramatically because he’s not making it easy for me. “You don’t even try to be subtle, huh?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “You put it on the list.”
“You remembered everything.”
He sets the cup down and walks toward me, with an almost predatory glaze in his eyes. “Of course I remembered. You thinkI was going to read that filthy little email and just forget number four?”
“I thought this was a date, not ticking things off my list.”
“It was a date, but then I thought, why stop at dinner? I’m nothing if not a people pleaser.”
Butterflies flutter in my belly, so hard and fast, I think I’m about to fly. “And number five?”
His eyes darken as he leans in, his hands bracing the marble on either side of me. “Depends on whether you think I’m a serial killer.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “No, I don’t think so. Then again, I’m too deep to care even if you are.”
“You didn’t Google me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “I figure if you want me to know something, you will.”
“God, you’re not making it easy on me.” His voice has turned husky, and I almost moan at the sound.
“Why?”
