Page 27 of Make Me Love You

Emma followed him inside. “I forgot how big it was.”

The only thing that stopped him from cracking a that’s what she said joke was that the sight of her standing in the single shaft of sunlight damn near made him swallow his tongue. Everything was muted in the dim light, but not Emma. She gleamed like some untouchable goddess. He wanted to poke her in the arm, anything to assure himself she was human.

That was a good way to lose a finger, so instead he popped the last bite of donut into his mouth. “So, what do you think? Same setup as last year?”

There was a smudge of chocolate on his thumb. He sucked it off, not missing how her eyes glazed slightly as they tracked his movement. Interesting. Turnabout was fair play, even if that turnabout came eight years later. Back then, Emma had been the queen of mixed signals. The little touches. An innuendo here and there. He wasn’t a jackass; he knew at least half of it was unintentional. Could she help it if licking an ice cream cone gave him ideas? But the other half...yeah, that had made him wonder. But he had always been too chicken to find out.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. “Same old setup or something different?”

“Oh. Right.” She blinked several times, discomfited. A flush spread over her cheeks. He enjoyed that. “I was thinking...something different.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She turned slowly on her toes, taking in the whole barn. “A band. Fairy lights. Dancing.”

“What the hell are fairy lights?”

“This.” She pulled out her phone, tapped a few words, and held it up for him to see the screen. “It would be beautiful, right?”

It would be. He could imagine it all. A warm July night, delicate strings of lights like dew on a spider web, Emma in a sundress that showed plenty of skin.

Stupid. Emma didn’t wear dresses.

That was fine, because the image in his mind changed to Emma in a pair of jeans that molded to her gorgeous ass like second skin. He could live with that. More than live with that. He could—shit.

It was annoying how spending time with Emma left him constantly on the verge of being uncomfortably hard.

“What do you think?” she asked, completely unaware that a truthful answer to that question would make her run screaming from the barn. Or kick him in the nuts. It could go either way.

“I think—” His voice was rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I think that’s a good idea. Do you have a band in mind?” She was still carrying the paper bag from their donuts, now empty, he realized. He took it from her, crumpled it into a small ball, and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans, hoping she didn’t notice that he used the opportunity to create more space in the crotch region.

“Well, I only thought of the whole dance idea two minutes ago, so no. I mean, there are a few local to Asheville that are pretty good. Maybe the Lady Killers? It depends on who’s available.”

“Right.”

She took another look around the barn and then nodded. “I think we’re done here. Let’s walk around the rest of the property.”

He gestured for her to go first. “After you, Ms. Andrews.”

***

Emma gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. If he called her Ms. Andrews one more time, she would...she would...Well, she would do something terrible, to be determined later.

Why was he so goddamn polite all the time? With his Ms. Andrews and his ma’am and bringing her coffee and a donut? It made her feel feral. She wanted to scream and yell, muss up his hair, wrestle him to the ground until his ironed clothes were every bit as wrinkled as hers, bring him down to her level. He had no right to be so kind to her. Why couldn’t he make it easy to hate him? Why did he have to be so damn perfect? It was infuriating.

She followed him out of the darkness and into the sunlight, squinting until her eyes adjusted. He slid the door closed behind them, the roped muscles of his forearm tensing under the strain, and a bolt of lust sent her insides quivering in response. No. No, no, no. How dare her body betray her like this? It was worse than infuriating. It was repulsive that her body refused to be repulsed by him.

Before she could stop herself, she reached out, brushing the length of his forearm with her fingertips. He froze.

“Sorry.” A lie. She wasn’t sorry at all. “I thought I saw a spider.” There was no spider.

Her fingers tingled. She could still feel the warmth of his skin, the soft tickle of hair. Touching him had been a mistake. She clenched her hands into fists so she wouldn’t repeat it.

He still hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. It was beginning to scare her.

“Eli...” She hesitated, not knowing where to go from there.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to be mayor,” he said, his voice low.

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