Page 53 of Sinful Sacrifice

At the sound of her name, Pippa turns to us. Her gaze catches mine, and she sets down the cup in her hand before scurrying over to us.

“Damien,” she says in a long breath, wiping her hands down her apron. “What are you doing here?”

“Ordering coffee,” I say simply.

Sasha looks past me to the long line and flicks her gaze to Pippa. “He asked what your favorite coffee is.”

Pippa’s face scrunches in confusion. “Why?”

I smirk, straightening my cuff links. “I want to make sure it’s always stocked in my kitchen.”

“Oh my God.” Sasha bumps Pippa’s hip with hers. “I think he’s hitting on you.”

Pippa shakes her head. “No, we know each other.” Her cheeks redden.

“There’s my favorite shade again,” I mutter, and she breaks out in a grin. Leaning in closer, I rest my elbows on the counter, ignoring the disgruntled customers behind us. “I don’t think I got her favorite the other morning. I can’t have that happening again.”

Sasha practically squeals in elation.

Pippa mirrors my movement so only I can hear her response. “You can’t say things like that here, Damien.”

I dip my head so low that my mouth brushes her ear. “Quit being so cute, my little dancer, or I’ll drag you out of this coffee shop and into the back seat of my car, and we’ll have a repeat of what we did the other night.”

Her blush deepens, and her breathing quickens as she quickly pulls away.

“Iced blonde vanilla latte.” She’s frazzled as she punches numbers on the order screen.

I tip my head forward. “That’s what my order is.”

“Pippa!” one of the women she’s working with calls from behind her. “Did you finish that cold brew?”

“Shit,” Pippa says, turning around, snatching the cup she had earlier, and returning to work.

Sasha tells me the total, and after I pay, I slip a hundred into the tip jar. I move out of line, watching Pippa finish the drink she’s working on and then move on to mine.

“Damien,” she calls out, handing it to me, not meeting my eyes.

I grab it and take a seat at a table in the corner. I have a free hour, and I’m spending every second of it watching her.

Pippa-watching is one of my favorite pastimes.

Taking out my phone, I text her.

Me: When do you get a break?

When she checks her phone, she hurriedly replies before slipping it back into her pocket.

Pippa: 30 min.

Me: I’ll be right here.

“How’s the coffee?” Pippa asks thirty minutes later, taking the chair across from me.

I don’t pay the drink a glance. “Not nearly as good as you.” I took one drink of that sugary shit and put it right the fuck down.

“Hey.” She dramatically frowns. “I made yours.”

I lean back in my chair, crossing my ankles. “I never said it wasn’t good. I said it wasn’t nearly as good as you.” I check my watch. “How long is your break?”

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