Page 25 of A Game of Ruck
He seals his point with a slow, open-mouthed kiss—lazy, delicious, and laced with just enough tongue to make my toes curl in my sandals.
I’m still recovering from the heat of it when he pulls back and grins like he didn’t just melt my brain into pudding.
“Come on,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across my cheek like we’ve done this a thousand times.
“I’m starving.And you didn’t eat this morning either, remember?We can’t have you fainting in my arms.Yet.”
“Yet?”I echo, heart thumping as he leads me toward the bow, where the brunch spread looks like it was pulled straight from an influencer’s Pinterest board.
Fresh fruit glistens beside golden mini quiches and fried delicacies along with a delicate tower of steamed vegetables.
Everything smells faintly of cilantro, citrus, and danger.
Luca grabs two bottles of water, shoves one into my hand with a wink, then stacks a plate with generous bites of everything.
I try to help—really—but he swats my hand away.
“Relax, Angel.Let me take care of you.”
I should argue.I don’t.
He guides me to one of the padded benches and sits, only he doesn’t sitnextto me.
Nope.
Luca straddles the bench next to me like he owns the space—and maybe me, too.
His solid thighs bracket my butt on one side and my knees on the other, and his chest brushes my body with every breath he takes.
Warm.Steady.Infuriatingly smug.
First, he lifts a strawberry to my lips, and I freeze.
“Open,” he says, voice all velvet command.
I do.
Because of course I do.Would you say no?
The fruit touches my tongue, and I moan—quietly, I hope—and his grin grows cocky enough to deserve a smack.
He feeds me next a bite of quiche, then a slice of peach.
Some grilled zucchini.
A chunk of melon.
Every time, I open my mouth, and he watches.
Like he’s cataloging reactions.
Like he’s savoringme.
He doesn’t eat until I’ve had my fill, and even then, he keeps one arm around my waist, the other lazily poking at the plate like feeding me was the whole point.
He’s wrapped around me now, legs spread wide, torso warm against my back, his chin occasionally brushing my shoulder as he leans in to murmur something ridiculous and infuriatingly sexy.
“So what’s the plan, Angel?Do we make a grand gesture?Or do I feed you one more berry, then kiss you until your cousin spills her mimosa and falls into the Gulf?”
