Page 29 of Fierce

“So,” he continued, determination clear in every line of his hard body, laser-focus back on me. “Brooklyn. Sister. Nervy.”

“Um…nervy?”

“Skittish,” he clarified. “Put them all together, and I got—daytime. Botanic Gardens. Chaperone. Me taking you and your sister out for a walk in the rose gardens, getting to know you, while I don’t touch your mouth, and you don’t talk to me about being a butterfly tied to my web.”

“I didn’t say…tied,” I managed to say.

“No? Must’ve imagined it,” he said with a look that told me how clearly he’d done just that. “Saturday. Ten-thirty. I’ll collect you both at your apartment this time. Sound like a plan?”

Toughen up.“You don’t do relationships,” I reminded him.

“And you don’t do sex.” If only his eyes weren’t so intense. “First time for everything, eh.”

The buzz that had begun the moment I’d seen him again was so strong now that I had to shift, trying to soothe it. I looked at him, and knew he saw it, and knew I didn’t care.

“So…” he prompted. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I told him, even though it wasn’t the word I’d come up here to say.

Who was I kidding? “No” was a word you said on the phone. You showed up in person to say “yes.” And I’d showed up.

“And by the way,” I said, trying to force myself back into some measure of composure, “the flowers are beautiful. Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, just reached behind him for a bag I hadn’t seen, because he’d set it behind another rock, and handed it to me.

I knew without looking what it was. My shoes.

“You don’t have to tell me you’re wearing them,” he said. “You don’t have to show me you’re wearing them. But I’d like you to take them back.”

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