Page 127 of Roulette Rodeo
"What?" I ask, defensive.
Talon's grin somehow gets even wider.
"Did you hear anything we said?"
The blush spreads down my neck as I pout.
"I was hungry."
The admission makes Shiloh chuckle, that rumbling sound that does things to my insides that have nothing to do with sandwiches.
"Do you have room for dessert?" he asks, and the question makes me perk up immediately.
"Always!" I grin from ear to ear, previous embarrassment forgotten. "There's a separate stomach for dessert. It's science."
As if summoned by the mention of sweets, Duke appears at our table. The owner moves with surprising grace for such a large man, weaving between tables with practiced ease.
"You folks want your regular?" he asks, looking at the guys.
Shiloh nods, and I lean forward eagerly. "What's the regular dessert?"
"Lemon pie," Duke says with obvious pride. "The good stuff with homemade whipped cream. Sweetest delight you've ever tasted."
The word choice makes my brain skip sideways into dangerous territory. I think about it for a second, weighing the joke against potential consequences. Then I catch sight of Rafe's serious expression and decide consequences are for people who don't have a hundred dollars of gambling money in their pocket.
I give Shiloh a playful look that makes him immediately groan.
"Don't," he warns, but his lips are twitching.
My grin widens.
"What?" Rafe asks, looking between us with suspicion.
Duke returns to collect our plates—mine licked clean, theirs various stages of finished. As he reaches for mine, I look directly at Shiloh and say with perfect innocence:
"Well, he hasn't tasted me yet, so I guess he won't know what's sweeter."
The reaction is instantaneous and glorious.
Rafe, who'd just taken a sip of coffee, sprays it across the table in a magnificent spit-take that would make comedy directors weep. Corwin and Talon burst into laughter so loud other diners turn to stare. Shiloh drops his head into his hands, groaning like I've physically injured him.
Duke absolutely loses it. The big man doubles over, slapping his knee, laughing so hard his face turns red.
"Oh, you got a good one, soldier!" he wheezes at Shiloh. "Better be careful with that mouth!"
I wiggle happily in my seat, extremely proud of myself.
Three years of keeping my mouth shut, of being appropriate and controlled and careful, and now I can just say whatever outrageous thing pops into my head. The freedom is intoxicating.
"That's indecent for an omega!" Rafe splutters, still wiping coffee from his chin.
I turn to him with wide, innocent eyes. "And? What are you gonna do about it, lead alpha?"
The growl that rumbles from his chest is impressive, but we both know he can't actually do anything. He's backed into a corner and he knows it—scold me and look like a controlling asshole, or let it go and admit defeat.
I wiggle even more happily as he settles for glaring at me with those ice-gray eyes that promise retribution later.
"Can we get some tissues?" Corwin asks Duke, still chuckling. "And maybe a hazmat team for the coffee situation?"
