Page 23 of Between the Lines

“Amy!” Meg glared at her sister, gesturing toward Jo with her head in a not-at-all-subtle manner.

“What?” Amy tossed her mallet to the ground with exasperation. “We’ve known him forever. You can’t just erase that because he went on some rich-boy rumspringa and grew up.”

“That’s right.” The sound of his own voice surprised him—he hadn’t intended to say anything. But as all four of the women looked at him curiously, he cleared his throat and continued, flying by the seat of his pants. “You can’t erase it.”

He focused in on Jo, offering her the bouquet he’d plucked. “Here.”

The expression on her face wasn’t one he’d seen before, a cross between confusion and terror. “Did you pick these?”

“I—yes.” Damn it. He should have thought this through better. Gotten something made up at a fancy florist. Something spiky and tropical, with lots of wild greenery—something that suited her better than a bunch of garden roses. “I’m here to woo you.”

“What?”Jo threw her hands in the air. Behind her, Meg choked on her swallow of beer, and Amy cocked her head, watching him intently. “Woo? What the hell does that mean? Who says that anymore?”

“Shush, Jo.” Meg wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Or you won’t be able to hear the wooing.”

Jo growled at her sister, who smiled beatifically back at her. The fact that Jo’s sisters hadn’t run him off the property with their mallets restored the smidgen of confidence that had been misplaced by doubt.

Jo hadn’t told him to leave yet, and the heat of her skin was still on his lips. She wasn’t immune to him, and her sisters hadn’t chased him away. He was going to take that and run with it.

Shutting out the other women, he crossed the lawn to Jo. Her expression was stony, but he saw her swallow thickly when he got close.

He held out the roses. She looked like she’d as soon eat them as accept them, but she reached out a wary hand.

“I want to take you on a date.” She sucked in a sharp breath, and he felt a stab of vindication. No, she wasn’t immune. “Tomorrow night. Dinner. You and me.”

Jo opened her mouth but never got a chance to speak.

“She’ll go!” Meg and Amy shouted at the same time. Jo turned to glare at them, but her gaze stopped at his hand.

“You’re bleeding.”

He looked down at his hand. Multiple scratches from the rosebush striped his skin, and a drop of blood welled up from one. “I didn’t notice.”

He wiped it on the thigh of his suit pants, and Meg winced. Amy watched him thoughtfully, and Beth pretended to be busy moving clips on the hoops, though he knew that she was paying attention, too.

Jo, though, squinted at him as though trying to peer into the dark recesses of his brain to find what his motivation was. He really thought she should have known.

Her. His mind was full of her. She’d never been far from his thoughts, even when he’d tried to tell himself that choosing to locate the offices of Crossing Lines in Boston was because of the location, or when he’d dated other women—fucked other women—in a desperate attempt to wipe her out of his mind.

He’d gone to that party knowing damn well that he’d see her, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d let Ava give him what she wanted—his cock in her mouth—to try to tell himself that the only reason he wanted to see Jo was to check in, to make sure with his own eyes that she was doing all right. That the job offer was really just a job offer.

And then there she’d been in the dark, watching him. Watching him and liking it. And just like that, it all came roaring back.

She looked up at him with an indecipherable glint in her eyes.

And then she nodded. “Okay.”

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