Page 37 of Wild Love
“You’re different,” is all I come up with to say.
He leans closer, bumping his shoulder against mine. “So are you.”
“Probably a good thing, eh?” I tease, bumping him back. “Didn’t like me much when we were kids, if I remember correctly.”
His lips lift in a smug smile, gaze still latched to the fire he built with his daughter. Then he turns and looks me dead in the eye. “You’re not remembering correctly, Rosie.”
My heart pounds. I don’t know what to say to that, so I pretend it never came out of his mouth. I think I assigned a deeper meaning to it in my head, and that’s why it made my stomach flip. I likely exaggerated the way my body feltwhen the words met my ears—the way his voice rumbled deep enough that I could feel it in my chest.
“I think she had fun tonight.” I force the words from my otherwise parched throat, just as I realize all our joking elbows and shoulder nudges have brought us a hell of a lot closer than we should be.
Neither of us moves to pull away. Instead, I find myself face-to-face with him. His dark forest eyes almost glow, like the sun through a broad green leaf in the summer.
I lick my lips and his gaze drops.
“Cora?”
“Yeah. She ate. She laughed. She talked a bit about music. I think…” My gaze races over his face, and I wonder when he got so damn handsome. If he changed bit by bit or if it happened overnight.
Or maybe I’m the one who changed.
I hung around with lots of West’s friends. Hell, I even had crushes on some of them. But with Ford, it was different.
The pull to him was less physical. Something deeper. He was alluring to me. A specimen I’d never encountered. He was intellectual and introspective, but there was a debonair quality about him, even as a gangly teenager.
He was challenging. Smart and cutting and always watching just a little too closely.
A mystery wrapped up in an enigma.
He feltnothinglike the boys in this small town. And now? Now he feels like no man I’ve ever met.
“Rosie?” He gives me a verbal nudge and I realize I trailed off while staring at his chiseled, manly features.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I think music might be a good common ground for you guys. She talked a bit about it today when I picked her up. I think she needs to feel like she’s not a burden to you.”
He nods and continues staring at me.
My skin does that awful itching thing, and I wonder if I’m allergic to Ford Grant. His proximity gives me a rash.
I touch my palm to my cheek and his eyes follow.
Apparently, a fever too.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” My words are a whisper in an already hushed night.
His gaze meets mine, and this time he’s the one who licks his lips.
I watch the motion before adding, “You should stop.”
His dark brows drop low on his forehead, two small lines popping up between them like he’s concentrating. “I know.”
My fingers press into the sides of the aluminum can in my hand hard enough that I hear it crinkle. It draws my gaze down. I can’t handle staring at him anymore anyway.
“Are you single?” The second the words leave my lips, I hate myself for saying them. They’re enough to make him draw away ever so slightly.
I hear the bristling of his stubble against his palm as he scrubs a hand over his mouth.
“Yes. Are you?”
