With her.
She’d stopped thinking of any future that didn’t involve long hours at work and mason jars full of soup.
His face was so close. His lips, so tempting. All she needed to do was lean forward and taste him. God only knew she’d thought of little else since their kiss.
Emily parted her lips, sucking in a breath to make her bold.
Just like that, he slid away, stepping back. “Anyway, I hope I’ve made my intentions clear. Let me wash these dishes for you. I wouldn’t want your soup tureen to get all crusty.” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. He headed back to the table to collect the remaining dirty plates and cutlery.
Emily stood still, unable to move. He’d been so close, a hair’s breadth away, and her body practically groaned when he walked away from her. He’d left her feeling bereft and hollow, and all too aware of the space between them. She didn’t credit Michael with playing silly games, but he’d certainly played a masterful move in not kissing her.
Because now she wanted to kiss him more than ever.
