Page 40 of Whiskey Promises
"You should ask Nadia and Teo," I say flatly. "It's their wedding."
"I'm not sure this dessert is to their taste. I'd rather not bother them with it." His eyes actually glitter with self-satisfied humor. "Connor said he didn't mind if I stole you for a taste."
I squeeze my eyes closed, counting to three. It doesn't really help. Especially when I open my eyes again to find Jareth still smirking at me and Connor hiding a smile behind his coffee cup, like he knows damn well what Jareth is talking about.
"We can do it here if you prefer," Jareth says, his tone polite. But I see the challenge in his eyes, and I know precisely what he's threatening to do here.Me.Probably on the freaking island.
"Fine," I growl, giving in gracelessly as I turn for the door. "Just let me get dressed, and we can go."
"Have fun!" Connor calls after me.
I'm killing him, too.
Chapter Nine
Zoya
"You are a jerk,"I hiss at Jareth an hour later, dragging him around the side of the restaurant and then pushing him up against the wall. "Steal me for a taste?Are you serious?"
"Worked, didn't it?" he growls, yanking me into his arms. "You're here with me right now, and yourboyfrienddoesn't have a clue that you're the delicious treat I tasted."
"Why do you keep saying it like that?" I demand, eyes narrowed on him.
"What?"
"Boyfriend. You emphasize it every time you say it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do! You say it like…like…"
"Like what?"
"Like you don't believe it."
"What if I don't?" he taunts, crowding me up against the wall. Jeez. How did this end with me against another wall? I'm the one who is supposed to be on the offensive this time. "What if I think your little story about being in love with him is a crock of shit?"
"That's your prerogative," I say, shrugging. "But delusion doesn't look good on you, Jareth."
"You know what does look good on me?" He tips my head back, leaning down over me. "You, Zoya. You look damn good all over me."
"Jareth," I groan. "Did you drag me out here just to torment me? Was your text last night not enough?"
"So you read it, huh?" He grins triumphantly, and I want to kiss that stupid expression off his face. "How long did it take before you were coming all over your fingers, baby?"
"I didn't," I lie like the wind.
"Little liar." He dips his head, kissing me. "I bet you made yourself come so fucking hard, imagining it was me between your thighs."
"Did not." I shove him off me. "Do you actually have an issue with the catering or not?"
His eyes light up. "Come see," he says, trying to link our fingers together. And maybe I'm the delusional one, because I let him do it. I let him hold my hand all the way to the back door of the restaurant. And part of me thrills to that simple touch, eating it up like it's life-sustaining.
My stomach growls when we enter the kitchen, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts toward me.
"Sit here," Jareth orders, nudging me toward a stool pulled up at a prep station.
I reluctantly plop onto the stool, watching as he strides across the kitchen and disappears around the corner. He reappears two seconds later, juggling a covered tray in his hands.
