But I can’t even think them.
How can I possibly hope to say them?
“Come on. Let’s go somewhere.” He looks to the bar on our left. “I’ll help you, Daisy, but I have to be honest. It would be easier if you just had two drinks.”
“Okay.”
“Is that a no?”
I nod.
His gaze shifts to the shops on our left. To one of the thin streets. Cobblestone sidewalk. Cobblestone road. Pretty. Bumpy in the car. But really pretty.
There’s a restaurant. A swimsuit shop.
A chocolate store.
No, a chocolate museum.
Really?
An entire, three-story place dedicated to chocolate?
My tongue slides over my lips.
My stomach growls. Not with hunger. Not the kind that’s an emptiness. With need for satisfaction.
For something delicious on my tongue.
I want to taste a piece of chocolate and enjoy it, period, end of sentence.
Like he does.
It must be possible. It’s just one piece. It’s not enough to scare me.
Holden nods that’s it. “Come on.”
“Huh?”
“You want me to teach you?”
“Yeah.”
“This is our first lesson.”
“What is—”
“No questions.” He leads me toward the street. “You don’t have to like them. But you do have to listen.”
Chapter Twelve
Daisy
Air-conditioning greets me.
Then a friendly hola.
Holden presses his palm into the small of my back. He leads me farther into the shop. Away from the hot sun. Into the bliss of air-conditioning.
Or maybe his hand is the bliss.
Right now, I don’t care what we’re doing.
Only that there’s a single layer of fabric between his hand and my skin.
Heat spreads through my body. Collects between my legs.
It’s the strangest sensation—the cool air against my skin, the heat beneath it.
Intoxicating.
He’s intoxicating.
I don’t need alcohol. Just him. Can I ask for that? Please, spend the next week near me. You can do anything, say anything, eat or drink or think anything.
Just promise you won’t go far.
That you won’t have anyone else.
You don’t have to kiss me. Or touch me. Or fuck me.
But I really hope you do.
“You’re thinking something.” His breath warms my ear.
“No.” Please keep touching me. Please keep distracting me. Please hold all of my attention.
“Bullshit.” His laugh is easy. “You sure you want to do this?”
I clear my throat.
“If you can’t admit it to yourself—”
“It’s a process.”
“Don’t tell me. Just think it. Close your eyes, and hold on to that thought.”
My eyelids press together. Beautiful mental images crystalize in my brain. His hands under my cover-up. Tugging at my bikini strings. Tossing my swimsuit aside.
I wait for the usual shyness. Those lingering feelings of shame and disgust.
That you’re still untouchable voice.
It doesn’t come.
There’s this vague sense in the back of my mind, a fear that I’m somehow not enough, but it’s quiet. Out of focus.
I know, intellectually, that I’m attractive. That my body is perfectly normal.
I’ve even stopped hating it. Stopped picking at flaws. Stopped wanting to be less.
But I’m not at loving it yet.
I’m certainly not in touch with it.
Not usually.
He can teach me. Even if it’s more leading by example.
“You got it?” He pushes my cover-up into my skin.
“I do.”
“You want to tell me?”
I shake my head.
“Figured.” There’s a smile in his voice. More than usual. “This is still good.”
“You have a plan?”
“Fuck no.” He pushes me toward the counter on the right. It’s past a shelf of chocolate bars. All kinds. White, milk, dark, even one hundred percent baking cocoa.
Sugar free. The kind of thing I’d have grabbed during the worst of it.
No, it would have still been too much. I would have found some manufactured chocolate flavor. Diet ice cream. Or a flavored yogurt. Rice cracker, maybe.
Not the real, sweet, rich chocolate that melts on the tongue.
When did I last savor chocolate? Really enjoy it?
When was the last time I ate without baggage?
Even now, there’s so much effort to it. I have to try to enjoy. I have to focus on it.
He picks up a sample of milk chocolate. Fifty percent. “Everyone likes chocolate.”
“True.”
“And no one is ashamed to admit it.”
I’m not sure about that. But I’d rather not dwell on it.
Holden places the piece on his tongue.
Pleasure spreads over his expression as the chocolate dissolves on his tongue.
He closes his mouth. Chews. Swallows. “Fuck, that’s not bad. You try.” He takes another square. Holds it up to me.
I nod okay. Open my mouth.
His fingers brush my lips as he places the piece on my tongue.
Fuck, his fingers taste good.
They’re so firm. So… right.
It’s strange. I’ve never wanted a digit in my mouth before. Sure, I’ve had vague thoughts of ahem with guys. With Holden even.
But I’ve never thought about sucking on a finger.
Right now—
“You like it?” His eyes fix on mine. Fill with a mix of concentration and enthusiasm.
It matters to him.
He wants me to like it. Wants me to savor every drop of chocolate.
Okay. I close my eyes. So I won’t stare at him. So I won’t think of how much I’d prefer his skin.
The chocolate is good. A little too sweet, but rich. Fruity.