Page 7 of The Naughty List
“What matters, Indigo?” He turns so he’s facing me, giving me his full attention. Walker is looking at me like he’s hanging on my every word. Like I’m the only person in his world right now.
“Isn’t the fun part finding out for ourselves?”
The corner of Walker’s mouth curls up into the sexiest grin. God, what that does to me. It’s almost too much. He leans down, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, Walker brushes his lips against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I can’t wait to find out everything about you,” he whispers. I let out a soft gasp when he trails his lips and nose down my neck before kissing me there. “Now let’s get some coffee. My next appointment isn’t for another hour.”
“Can I get hot chocolate instead? Coffee is gross and makes my bones vibrate.”
“You really like vibes, don’t you?” he says with a chuckle.
“Hey!” I whisper-shout, trying to sound indignant. It’s really hard when he’s being cute and playful.
“What? There aren’t any babies around here.”
“Someone still might hear you.”
He just shrugs and pulls me along toward his car in the parking lot. Walker opens the passenger side door for me and helps me inside, even buckling my seatbelt for me. To some, it might seem like he’s treating me like a child. But as someone who has never been taken care of like this before, I must admit I like it.
Once we’re inside Creamed Pie Bakery, Walker leads me to a table and orders our drinks for us. He comes back a few minutes later with a huge mug of hot chocolate that looks like it’s made of fifty percent whipped cream. Just the way I like it.
“Thank you,” I say, eyeing the mountain of delicious sugar he just set down in front of me. “Where’s your drink?”
“I’m not much of a coffee drinker. Or a hot chocolate drinker.”
“You could have gotten a pastry or something.”
“I don’t eat much sugar.”
“That sentence does not compute.” Walker’s blue eyes twinkle with the hint of a smile. “Besides, did you really take me out and not get anything for yourself? Now I feel bad having you pay for just my drink. I can pay you back, I have a few bucks in my—"
“No,” he says harshly. I jerk my head up to look at him. “I mean, no, pixie, I like getting you things.” His voice is much softer this time.
I take a sip of my drink to try and hide my blush and goofy grin. When I look up at him again, Walker laughs a little and leans forward, brushing his thumb over my top lip and gathering up the whipped cream there. I hold my breath, soaking in the feeling of his skin on mine, however brief the contact. Then he does something completely surprising.
Walker licks the whipped cream off his thumb. Fire burns right through me. I want him to lickme. Everywhere. I want his tongue on my skin, in my mouth, between my legs. Damn, I’ve never experienced any of that, never even had the urge to, but there’s no denying I want it all with him.
“I thought you didn’t like sweet things,” I tease once I’ve gotten my crazy lust under control. Barely.
“Your lips are the one exception to the rule,” he says, lifting one eyebrow up in a mischievous little look.
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I change the subject. Any more of these heated glances and I might just melt like a snowman right here in the middle of Creamed Pie Bakery. “So, um, have you lived in Christmas your whole life?”
“Born and raised,” he confirms. “I went away for college and medical school, then spent a few years doing my residency in Detroit. But I always knew I’d come back here.”
“Why’s that?”
Walker stares at me with a contemplative look. I wish I knew what he was thinking and how his mind works. He sees the world differently than me, that’s for sure.
“I wasn’t sure until last night,” he finally murmurs.
“What happened last night?”
“You.”
My eyes go wide at his confession. Walker clears his throat, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s blushing. Holy freaking cow, this guy is a sexy beast one minute, and then this totally adorable teddy bear the next. Could he stop being so perfect already? “Uh, what about you?” he asks, all in a rush, as if he’s embarrassed.
“What about me?” I say with a grin.