Page 65 of Champagne Fizz

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not kidding. Abacus!” I point at his hands. “Keep those to yourself.”

“I have a car,” he says, nodding past the restaurant to the road beyond it.

“Not right now!” I hiss, already drained. “I haven’t eaten my breakfast.”

“Then after breakfast,” he clarifies, “how about we go for a drive? This is Hawaii. There are a thousand tiny roads and tree-laden groves for us to hide in.”

“Eager,” I chide.

He laughs, like the word eager doesn’t even begin to describe it. Simon’s dark eyes flick to my mouth, my chest. I just shuddered in his arms and it’s clear he’s addicted.

“Eager isn’t the right question,” he says hoarsely. “The real question is how am I going to keep my hands to myself?”

“Aba—”

“Abacus, yes, I know.” He doesn’t touch me, but the mischievous smile on his face is almost as naughty as him stroking my skin.

“Simon—” I warn.

“A drive. After breakfast,” he reiterates. “I need to know where your lines of comfort are. Where your threshold is.”

“My—?”

“We’ll take it slow, Kendall,” he says, echoing my own words from earlier. “Reeeaaallly slow. I promise. I just need you to teach me what the sensitive parts of you are.”

Lady Lada does a back flip in her private pool between my legs.

“Um … the answer isall of me,” I squeak.

“Okay, okay,” he says softly, trying to reassure me that he hears me. Only, he leans his head in close to my ear, his breath touching me. “I think we’re going to need to build you some stamina, if we’re ever going to get to … pina colada time.”

I bite my lip, but the moan that breaks my lips is too powerful to stop it.

“I completely agree,” he practically growls, “and from the look of things so far, if we take a drive, it sounds like we won’t even get close to second base if all of you is this sensitive. So slow, Kendall. PG-13. I promise. Just kissing.”

Tartar-my-sauce, kissing sounds incredible.

“You realize some PG-13 movies have nudity,” I reply.

“Not real nudity,” Simon corrects, “and never in a sexual connotation. It’s always some old guy’s backside.”

“Just a drive?” I ask.

“Yes,” he confirms, smiling at me below those horn-rimmed glasses.

“A drive and kissing?”

“PG,” he offers.

“Kissing is never PG when it comes to me,” I counter.

“Okay, forget the rating, it’s a stupid comparison,” he says, grabbing his plate of food from across the table. “Do you have anything better to do this afternoon?”

I pick up my fork and start poking at the eggs on my plate. I have plenty to do, but I don’t mention any of it. “I might have a few free hours,” I admit, noncommittally.

“Oh, you might, huh?” he teases, deliberately scooting away from me and starting to eat his omelet. “Well, I might have a very important all-afternoon business meeting with this nightmare of a wedding planner that drives me completely crazy.”

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