Page 137 of The Neighbor Wager

“For telling me that. People don’t really share with me.”

His eyes pass over me slowly. There’s a heat to it, but it’s subtle. More affection and curiosity than anything. “You’re intimidating.”

“Still?”

“Even more, the better I know you.”

I fight my blush with my tea, but it doesn’t help cool me. “I’m trying to be sentimental here.”

“I know.”

“It’s not my strong suit,” I say.

“I know. It’s sexy.”

“But this is—”

“Serious, yeah. So what. Do you want to keep talking?”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Does it matter?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Deanna

Seduction is easier in the moonlight. Or the city light. Or the candlelight.

Here, under the fluorescent bulbs of the kitchen, with the morning sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, in the middle of the big, open room?

The dining table isn’t sexy. The counters, either. The couch, maybe.

But then he stripped me here yesterday and I didn’t really notice the lighting. And I am wearing silk pajamas. Silk is sexy. In theory anyway.

No. I’m not Lexi. I don’t need slow jams and fast cars. I need something all mine.

What would the most confident version of Deanna do?

That’s the better question.

I push my breakfast plate aside. “Is it a bad sign we’re dodging important conversations?”

“Or a sign we’re too sexy to resist?”

“Did you just say that?”

“How would you say that?” He stands and offers his hand. “Cause I know how to explain my side.”

I stand, too.

He moves around the table. “I wanted to strip you the second you stepped out here.”

“Yeah?” I meet him at the head of the table.

He looks down at me, his dark eyes on fire with need. “This.” He runs his thumb over the hem of my shirt. “This is Deanna Huntington.”

Maybe, but it’s a lot of people. “This is a really popular brand of pajamas,” I say. “A start-up run by a woman who couldn’t find any affordable luxury sleepwear.”

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