Her stomach rippled with a combination of nerves and desire, but she was aware of the fact that she hadn’t eaten dinner and somehow managed a nod.
“Good because I’m starving.” He infused the word with a double meaning she couldn’t mistake. His fingers trailed a path along her spine, and she shivered, her nipples puckering beneath the soft material of her dress.
“This night is about you.” He paused. “Us, really. I thought we could really get to know each other. Ask me anything and I’ll answer. And I can do the same with you. Okay?”
Olivia trembled, but this time, it had nothing to do with sexual desire. Tonight was special. Meaningful. He’d gone to a lot of time and effort to set this up for her. Them. She didn’t want to ruin it by blubbering about her past. But she did want to know about him, and he deserved to learn more about her. So if he asked a question that led to the baby conversation, she’d tell him. If not, she’d wait, because if anything was a mood killer, that would be. And despite the get-to-know-each-other game, the stage had been set for seduction. And she wanted that too.
He remained silent, waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” she murmured.
He grinned. “And so we begin. Do you like sweet potatoes?” he asked, taking her off guard. From the grin on his face, he knew it too.
His question had the desired effect. She relaxed and laughed. “Yes, I love them.”
He picked up what looked like an orange tater tot and held it in front of her. “Open.”
She leaned forward and parted her lips. He popped the potato inside. She deliberately closed her mouth around his finger.
His gaze narrowed and he drew in a shallow breath. She sucked on his salty digit briefly before letting go, and she chewed the delicious food, closing her eyes and moaning as she savored the explosion of sweet potato flavor.
“Do not make that sound unless you want me to act on it,” he said gruffly.
She couldn’t hold back a grin. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not. Now … favorite color?” he asked, again surprising her. Was he building up to the more difficult, personal questions?
“Turquoise.”
“I should have known it wouldn’t be just blue.”
She shrugged. “What’s yours?” she asked, picking up a piece of pita bread and dipping it into hummus.
“Navy.”
She smiled and held out the bread, allowing him to take a bite. He played nice and didn’t touch her fingers with his mouth, but she squirmed, thinking of the possibility.
“Your turn to think up a question,” he said when he finished chewing.
“Favorite holiday and why?” she asked.
“July Fourth. Love the fireworks.”
He chose a generic holiday, not one associated with warm, family feelings, making her feel bad.
She sampled a bite of a chicken wrap and was mortified when sauce ended up on her face. Before she could grab a napkin, he swiped the sauce with his finger and licked the remainder off, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Favorite holiday?” he asked without missing a beat.
That was easy. “Thanksgiving because no matter what my father did, my mom always made sure we had a traditional family dinner,” she said honestly.
Shadows flickered behind his eyes, and she knew she’d been right. He didn’t have fun family holidays to look back on.
They continued to eat and exchange tidbits of information. Favorite book, song, type of movie. They both liked action films, and he was glad she didn’t pick sappy romantic comedies. By the time they finished eating or, rather, by the time they finished feeding each other, they had a solid knowledge of their likes and dislikes, and she realized they had a lot in common. They’d also have to compromise on sports during non-football season as she wasn’t a basketball fan and Dylan was.
“I’m full,” she said, unable to eat another bite.
“One more question.”