She laughed. “Go on, then. What options do you have?”
“There’s fruit in the bowl on the counter.”
“Nope,” she said. “That won’t satisfy these two. What else?”
He ran through the options in his mind. “I’m pretty sure there’s ice cream in the freezer.”
“Now that’s more promising. What flavor?”
“To be honest, I don’t remember.”
“Are you serious? You have ice cream in the house and you haven’t paid enough attention to it to know what type it is?”
“It doesn’t matter that much, does it? It’s all ice cream.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if aghast, but her eyes were twinkling. “The flavor is everything.”
He burst out laughing. She was laying it on thick, but she clearly cared about ice cream a hell of a lot more than he did. “Should we go and check?”
“I think we should.”
He stood and held out a hand. She put her smooth palm on his, and he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled her to her feet. For several heartbeats, he didn’t move, just held her hand, standing a little too close. His body heated, and her eyes widened a fraction, but before he could do something stupid like kiss her, he remembered that the purpose of offering dessert was to distract himself from wanting her.
He released her hand and stepped back. “I can guarantee one thing,” he said, trying for and luckily finding a light tone. “It’s not mint ice cream.”
“You don’t like mint?” she asked, clearly trying to match his tone.
“Sure I do. In toothpaste. Why would I want toothpaste-flavored ice cream?”
She shrugged. “Point taken.”
They reached the freezer, and he pulled out an unopened tub and read the label. “Peanut butter with caramel swirl.”
She frowned, so he held up the container for her to see.
“You’re a man of surprises, Nick Tate.”
“What were you expecting?” he practically drawled.
“I’m not sure. Maybe coffee, maybe dark chocolate. But not—” she looked down at the label “—peanut butter with a caramel swirl.”
He kept a poker face, but he liked this playful version of Harper. “Don’t knock something until you’ve tried it.” He pulled open the cutlery drawer and grabbed a spoon. “You’re going to be singing my praises in a few minutes.”
“Is that so?” She grinned, her brown eyes dancing.
After removing the lid, he scooped out a small spoonful and held it out to her. Harper leaned in. Her lips closed over the ice cream and pressed firmly together. His pulse spiked, and he realized the flaw in his plan. Dessert was meant to distract him from his wanting, not increase it.
He clenched his jaw and tried to suppress every scrap of desire that hummed through his blood.
Then she moaned, and her eyes drifted shut. “That. Is. Sinful,” she murmured.
Her eyes opened again, and he focused on the spoon in his hand. On autopilot, he dug out another bite-size scoop and fed it to her. This time, she leaned forward to meet him partway, and as she opened her mouth in readiness, he glimpsed her pink tongue and damn near groaned himself.
Her eyes closed again, and the look of bliss that stole over her face almost did him in.
“Harper,” he rasped.
Her eyes flew open, and the want, the need in her gaze were as strong as ever, but she was looking at him instead of the ice cream.