Page 165 of Dirty Grovel

“I thought I’d wait and see how today turned out.”

He chuckles. “Caution can be very attractive on a woman,” he says, holding the passenger side door open for me.

“That’s not gonna work, you know.”

He stops short, hand stilling on the door. “What’s not gonna work?”

“This.” I point to his smile. “The whole charming, gentlemanly, sexy routine you’ve got going. I’m not falling for it.”

“I’ll admit, I’m definitely trying to be charming. Gentlemanly? Sure. But as for putting on the sexy?” He wags his eyebrows at me. “That’s one hundred percent natural.”

The blush creeps up my cheeks like wildfire. I try to hide it behind my eye roll.

“You’re still doing it,” I accuse. “Being charming.”

“Sorry. I can’t just turn it on and off like a faucet.”

“Huh. You certainly managed the last couple of months.”

He snorts. “Touché.”

He gets behind the wheel, looking as though he was born to drive a convertible. Casually, he runs a hand through his hair and I wonder if he knows what that small, simple gesture does to me.

I’m seconds away from thawing completely.

All it will take is another casual smile. A brush of our hands. Wouldn’t hurt to have another declaration of his love for me, either.

I barely slept last night for excitement. His “I love you” kept repeating over and over again in my head until I’d worked myself right out of sleep.

Not to mention I’d worked up other parts of myself, too.

But despite what I want, what my body wants, I know I have to temper my desires and listen to reason.

As much as this feels right, that doesn’t mean it is.

If I’ve learned one thing in the last year, it’s that my instincts can’t be trusted. It’s given me a rough blueprint to work towards.

It goes a little something like this:

In any difficult situation, just ask a Palmer woman what she would do.

Then do the exact opposite.

“Did you sleep?” Oleg asks, puncturing the tense silence.

“Erm… not really.”

“Busy planning another exit route, huh?”

I almost smile. “Would you blame me?” I ask, giving him a throwaway glance. “Especially after what I heard?”

“No, I wouldn’t blame you. But I would hope that I could change your mind.”

“My mind is easily changed when it comes to you,” I mutter. “That’s the problem.”

“Is it a problem, though?”

Sighing, I brush away the hair fluttering into my face. “We’re too different, Oleg. We come from two completely separate worlds. I would embarrass you. You would get impatient with me. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

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