“That painful?” She clucked her tongue in sympathy. “All right. I like your scarf.”
“My mother made it,” he lied.
“Did she make this one too?”
“Yes,” he lied again.
“I shouldn’t have worn it again,” she said, her voice low and shy. “But it was so warm and I?—”
“Keep it. It’s yours.”
She paused briefly, then continued her prodding. “You’re being very kind.”
“I’m a kind sort of man.”
“So I’m starting to see.” She leaned back and quirked a brow at him. “Though kindness is not what you are known for.”
“What am I known for?”
“You know.”
“I don’t. Tell me.”
Her cheeks bloomed, and her mouth opened and closed. She was adorable. Lovely. A delight to tease. And he could be ruthless, if that was what it took for her to tell him what she really thought.
He tilted his head back and gave her the lazy grin he reserved for the moment of conquest. He let his gaze fall to her lips, let her see where his mind had wandered. And wondered if it covered up the fact that he was on tenterhooks, almost desperate to know what she thought of him.
“You…” she began.
“Yes?”
“You have a piece of bark stuck in your skin.”
He blinked. “What?”
Then her hand darted under his collar and into his shirt. He had barely registered the cool touch of her skin before there was a sharp pain.
“Ouch!”
“You’re fine,” she replied, holding up the jagged flake of a stick with an impudent chuckle.
He glared. “You’re cruel.”
A movement on the far side of the park caught his eye. It was Robbie, skipping through the park with his hands full.
“Quickly,” he urged. “Just tell me one thing.”
“All right.” She leaned in so close he could see his reflection in her soft, brown eyes. “Emil,” she whispered. “You’re…”
“Yes, Olive? What am I?”
He was so lost in her gaze that at first, he didn’t notice the pressure against his chest. He glanced down. Found the baseball pressed against him.
“You’re out.”
He should have known Bloody Ollie would lay a mean trap.
Chapter 13
