“Where else does honesty begin, if not with the self?” he challenged, catching her eye.
Swallowing, a faint blush dusting the apples of her cheeks, she nodded. “So wise. Honesty begins with admitting who we are.”
Her voice had gone slightly light and airy, her skin brightening, and he knew she was thinking about last night—and not in agony over it happening but the other kind of agony.
The kind that wished there had been more.
Licking his lips, a thrill lifting his pulse though he maintained a steady hand of control on himself, he said, “And what we want.”
Blinking and clearing her throat abruptly, Miri broke the stare first, reaching for her mimosa as she did so.
“It’s a good thing we want the same thing,” she said, quickly adding, “A good gala, I mean, that is.” Stumbling over her words for the first time in his acquaintance, her voice pitchy in its forced lightness, after taking a swig.