Perhaps over dessert, because the waiter appeared with a chocolate lava cake that looked so delicious her mouth watered.
“Your Molten Pleasure,” he said, using the official name of the dessert while grandly setting it on the white linen tablecloth, before returning to the kitchen.
“My chef said this is the best lava cake in town, and that’s saying something, because the one we have at the hotel is pretty damn fantastic,” Nate said.
“You’re getting me all excited now,” Casey said as she picked up her fork, ready to dive in. She pointed to the cake as he finished off the remainder of his champagne. “You’re going to have some, right?”
He laughed and nodded, his amber eyes even warmer than usual when he smiled. He had one of the best smiles she’d ever seen. Plus, he had great teeth—straight and white, the best kind to have. “Yes. I’m going to have some. I just wanted to finish my drink first.”
She dipped her fork into the soft cake and brought it to her lips. But before she bit down, she flashed back to Grant’s words, and the way he’d ordered her drink. Taking control. Wanting to decide. Could she truly do that? Could she hand over the reins like he wanted? As Nate dug into the cake, she sniffed an opportunity. An odd one, but an opportunity nonetheless.
She set down her fork.
He eyed it curiously. “I thought you were excited to eat it?”
She swallowed, then spoke softly. “I have a request,” she squeaked out.
“You want me to ask her to play the Pina Colada song?” he said, gesturing to the sultry singer in the slinky cream-colored dress, gripping a microphone tight as she sang about love gone wrong.
Casey laughed and shook her head. Just woman up and ask him to do it. She called on her best demure voice. “Would you feed me a bite of the cake?”
He furrowed his brow. “Feed you?”
She nodded quickly, before red flared in her cheeks. “You know, because we’re celebrating,” she said, even though she really wanted to say I’m trying a different tactic.
“When in New Orleans,” he mused as he shrugged and dug into the cake, then offered it to her, his arm stretched across the table. The sleeves on his white cotton shirt were rolled up; his strong forearms on display. Nate was an exercise fanatic. He’d played soccer when he was in college, and he put a premium on fitness now, too. She’d still be friends with him even if he weren’t so easy on the eyes, but it sure as hell didn’t hurt being fed chocolate by someone so . . . gorgeous.
She parted her lips. She was poised. Waiting.
Tense beyond belief.
Everything about this felt off to her. But she told herself to just let go as he fed her the cake—delicious, sinful, chocolaty cake that melted on her tongue. She rolled her eyes in pleasure. “Mmm,” she said in a low moan as she finished.
Something dark flared in his eyes ever so briefly. “You like being fed that much, Case?” he joked, shifting back to his playful side.
“No, I actually hate being fed. This cake is just fantastic.”
“So why’d you want me to do that?” he asked as he took a forkful for himself.
She took another bite, savoring the chocolate once more before setting down her utensil. The songstress warbled a tune about longing, while outside the window a group of women in short dresses teetered on high heels as they held hurricane glasses. Returning her focus from the action on the street to Nate, she decided to do what she did naturally—be straightforward.
“Okay, confession time,” she said in a conspiratorial voice, wiggling her fingers for him to come closer. He scooted his chair near to her. They were inches apart, and she was vaguely aware of how he smelled. Clean, and freshly showered, and he looked handsome in his dark jeans and white shirt. He wore suits well all day long, but at night he could rock the good-looking casual vibe like no one she’d ever known. He had the tousled hair, the warm honey eyes, and the slightest bit of scruff on his jawline to pull it off.
“Confess,” he said, like he was luring it out of her.
She held up her hands. “I don’t get it. I don’t get the whole ‘let it go’ thing.”
He shook his head as if her words didn’t compute. “What whole ‘let it go’ thing?”
“The whole let go of control.”
“Is this about cake?”
She shook her head.
“Yeah, I didn’t think it was about cake. What’s it about?”
She took a deep breath, grateful she’d had a glass of champagne tonight to take the edge off her own inhibitions. Her drinks from this afternoon had worn off as she’d returned to the hotel, finished some other work, taken a shower and then slipped into a flouncy dark pink skirt and a silvery silk tank for their dinner. She’d refueled though, and the little dose of liquid courage was what she needed to forge ahead.
“We’re friends, right?”
“Obviously.”
“And you know about Scott.”
He nodded resolutely. “The douchebag,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Is Scott Nixon really a douche?”
“He let you go. I’m going to assume that makes him a douche.”
She couldn’t help it. A smile took over her features at his sweet words. Instinctively, she reached out her hand, and rested it on his arm. A friendly gesture. But it was odd that he hitched in his breath as she touched him. His muscles tensed under her hand. “You know what I mean. You know what he said to me when we broke up.”