Fighting laughter is even harder, but I manage. "Looks like the wrong order," I comment, since he doesn't seem capable of saying anything.
Caine sets the bag and drink on the dining table. Still not a single word.
He doesn't look at the food again; no, his eyes are already on me, dark and intent, and he stalks across the room with tight focus.
My stomach flips.
"Wait." I hold up a hand and take a step back, my attention still focused on his dragons—no, on the McDonald's. "Call the delivery guy."
He doesn't slow down and I take several more steps back until I hit a wall.
"Caine, call him back. Tell him he brought the wrong food and he needs to come back with—"
"I'll order it again," he says simply, settling his hands on my waist.
My body leans forward, already accepting the vibes he's giving off. But my frugal brain keeps screaming about McDonald's and how there's a vast difference between a Big Mac and an expensive seafood dinner.
