Page 35 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

And he clearly had the money.

“Go sit,” he demanded as we got to the car, and I reached open the trunk.

“I can load a trunk,” I said, reaching for the twelve-pack of paper towels under the cart, only to have him try to yank it from my hands.

“Sure you can. But you’re not going to. So go sit.”

“I’m not your dog, August. You don’t bark sit commands at me,” I said, pulling the paper towels.

“Are we really fighting over paper towels in a grocery store parking lot?” he asked, sounding a mix of amused and frustrated.

“No, we’re fighting over you barking demands at me like I’m actually going to follow them,” I said, but I let go of the paper towels because we did look pretty fucking ridiculous tugging the pack back and forth.

“I always—“

“I’m sure you do. And now you’re not,” he said, grabbing one of the bags, and putting it in the trunk. When I crossed my arms and glared at him, he sighed as he grabbed another bag. “It’s how I was raised,” he said. “Ma always did a lot for us, so when we were with her, we did all the heavy lifting.”

“Oh,” I said, arms falling. “Okay then. You could have just said that instead of barking orders at me,” I said, making my way toward the passenger side.

“Hey, snookums,” he called, making me turn back with slitted eyes.

“I swear if you insult me one more—“

“Can’t fucking stop thinking about the taste of you,” he said, effectively stealing all thought from my head and words from my mouth.

While he just smirked as he slammed the trunk, then walked the cart back to the return.

For the rest of the day, he kept his hands and sexy comments to himself.

Which I was glad for.

Or, you know, so I was telling myself.

While my body spun a completely different tale.

The whole drive back to the hotel, I felt like I was buzzing, like that naughty little part of me was imagining us being able to sneak into my bed, and fuck this sensual tension right out of our systems.

We said nothing, though, as we walked into the lobby. I tried to veer off to the stairs, but August grabbed my hand at the last possible moment, and pulled me into the open elevator doors.

They were closing before I got a chance to rush back out.

Then, yeah, I went ahead and lost my shit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

August

I understood her logic about a healthy, active lifestyle. But, for fuck’s sake, we walked a solid five miles, all said and done, over the course of the day. Taking the stairs again after all of that was overkill.

Besides, the doors were open.

So I grabbed her and pulled her in with me before she could hightail it to the steps.

I mistook it for a faulty AC vent for a second, this strange hissing sound. But when it was joined with a tapping, I found myself turning.

And there she was.

Shoved into the corner of the elevator car, hands clutching the metal bar that spanned the length of it, her knuckles white, as one of her fingers tapped an odd beat.

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