Way too easy to lie.

His actions were clear.

They spoke for him.

“I should go,” he said, the soft murmur of his voice breaking into her thoughts. Bringing her back to this moment where his palm was still pressed against her chest. His other hand still holding hers. Her thighs, bare in her loose, white shorts, pressed against his jean-clad ones.

He was right. He should go. They were taking their time.

But then his gaze dropped to her mouth and she felt it like a touch. Remembered that too-soft, too brief kiss from moments ago.

There was never, not one moment when she wasn’t aware of him in a physical, sexual sense. It might get muted when they were around other people, might get buried beneath big discussions and important truths, but it was always there, humming under the surface of every word. Every touch, no matter how sweet. How casual.

Everything, every cell, every molecule, every strand of DNA inside her body, yearned for him.

When she was with him, she felt most like herself. Or at least, she felt closest to the person she was striving so hard to become.

Confident. Strong. Resilient.

Whole.

When she was with him, she felt like she was home.

It had always been that way with Miles.

It was always going to be that way with him.

That was the real reason she’d slowed things down between them. Not only because she didn’t want them to repeat their old habits. Not just because she was testing him, pushing him to prove she could trust him.

But because when he touched her, there was only truth between them. They couldn’t hide.

She wouldn’t be able to hide.

He’d see exactly what she felt for him.

All the things she still wasn’t brave enough to say.

So, yes, he absolutely should go.

But she didn’t want him to.

She might not be able to tell him what was inside her heart.

But she could show him.

Stepping even closer so that their bent arms were pressed between them, their forearms touching, she rose onto her toes and spoke close to his ear. “Or you could stay.”

His heart kicked, hard and heavy, beneath her palm. He leaned back to meet her eyes, his expression hungry. Heated.

But when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Are you sure?”

No pressure. No expectations. No pouncing on what could easily be construed as an invitation for sex.

No taking advantage of what could possibly be a moment of weakness.

She’d just described him as impatient and overprotective, and here he was, all patience, letting her take the lead and make the final decision.

Protecting her from herself.