Free Friends to Lovers by Christi Barth Page B

it work for you? Are you ready to straddle me and go at it like a pair of minx?”
    She finished chewing, eyes hooded. “Not quite yet.”
    “Ah, well. My turn, then.” Gib nudged the plate toward her.
    “What?” With the precision of a laser sight on a rifle, her gaze whipped back up to his face.
    “You have to feed me. This is finger food. Be Daisy, a woman on the cusp of possessing the man she so greatly desires. Touch the food, all the while pretending that you’re touching me. Use the food to seduce me.” Knowing she’d never back down from a challenge, Gib leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “If you can, that is.”
    The determined jut of Daphne’s chin told him she’d rise to his teasing bait. “Not a problem, Graham.” She lingered over his fake name, dropping to almost a whisper. Then she reached across him for the next card by two wine goblets. “‘Red Burgundy mixed with ginger, cloves, vanilla and sugar is known as the potent Hippocras aphrodisiac. Vanilla in particular is believed to increase lust.’”
    “I am partial to vanilla pudding.” Gib swallowed a laugh. He could practically see the cogs turning in her head, trying to figure out how to make him crack. This felt more like a strategic chess match than a seduction. Either way, he was having scads of fun.
    Daphne shifted until she knelt on her chair. She squinted for a second, as though trying to get a read on a wary target. After hitching in a quick breath, she picked up the goblet. “Tip your head back and close your eyes.”
    “Why?” Last summer, after working nine days straight during the political convention, he’d fallen asleep on her couch during an Iron Man marathon. Her soft heart allowed him to nap there for four hours, undisturbed. Her wicked streak, however, woke him up by pouring a tumbler of ice water over his head. Gib was no fool, about to fall for the same trick twice. “Play nice, Daph.”
    “It’s Daisy,” she corrected. Her shirt slid off one shoulder as she raised her arm to bring the goblet nearer. Suddenly there was a whole lot of creamy skin a breath away from his face. The long, perfect line of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone—on any other woman, he’d be unable to resist the urge to map a trail of kisses along it. Gib gripped the edges of his chair. Hard. And thanked God he’d spread a napkin over his lap. Otherwise she’d see about eight rock-solid inches of wholly unsuitable reaction to her proximity tenting his trousers. Now that he’d acknowledged—just for tonight—his attraction to her, the intensity of it overwhelmed him.
    “Now close your eyes, or the dance is over.”
    What did she have planned? Closing his eyes, he tipped his head against the high, tufted chair back and waited. A droplet of liquid hit the seam of his lips, and Gib flicked out his tongue to catch it. The rich darkness of wine swirled with spices warmed his taste buds. The feel of her finger grazing the tip of his tongue shot heat straight to his cock. Gib’s eyes flew open.
    “Tastes good,” he said.
    Daphne smiled, a Mona Lisa smile, both innocent and mysterious. Then she dipped her finger back in the wineglass and rubbed it against his lips once more. “Does it taste like lust?”
    It tasted like eight kinds of trouble. Like there should be sirens blaring and red lights flashing. “Tastes more like Christmas, I’d say.” He sat up straight again, and she slid back onto her chair. Now he had space to breathe without inhaling the citrus scent of her. The scent as bright as her hair, and as cheerful as her smile. She so rarely wore perfume, not wanting to conflict with the aromas of all her flowers at work. Gib always noticed when she spritzed herself with the sunny scent. “But I wouldn’t want to pass judgment without its proper food pairing.”
    “Good point. Let’s try everything once, make our notes for Mira and then we can go back to our favorites.”
    “Did you pre-snack or something? This is