The testosterone evaporating out of his pores was raw and potent. Her primal nature missed that.
A lot.
Trepidation warred with excitement in her chest. She tilted her chin up and stared at his nose. She hadn’t noticed the little bump in it before. Had he played sports? Been in a fight? Or maybe he’d been born that way.
His nostrils flared. She took a fortifying breath, then raised her gaze another inch. His dark lashes were so low, they brushed his cheeks.
It wasn’t fair for a man to have lashes that long and thick.
It wasn’t fair that he seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move either. She’d taken charge every other time. It was his turn.
Because if he’d kiss her already, she wouldn’t have to worry if she was doing it right, if he wanted to kiss her, or if he was only holding her to make sure she was steady. Which would’ve been nice of him since she wasn’t sure there was ground under her feet.
Hedidwant to kiss her, didn’t he? Or was there anotherreason for him to be caressing her waist with his thumbs?
“Okay, Anna Grace?”
That low, husky voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Peachy.” Except for the part where every nerve ending in her body had a couple of loose electrons.
“Next time, I’m gonna make you ask for help.”
He dropped his hold on her. Those electrons skittered off into the ether. Radish sniffed at the pie, but Jackson snapped his fingers, and she sank onto her haunches again.
Was the dogpouting?Anna could sympathize. She swallowed her disappointment and tried to put on her happy face. Maybe she smelled too bad to be kissed. His momma’d probably warned him about trashy girls. She gestured to the pie. “Sorry I missed your message Thursday night. I wanted to make it up to you.”
That big, goofy grin sent her heart pitter-pattering again.
“Darlin’, you just did, and it didn’t have anything to do with the pie.”
She shifted from one foot to the next. Her back was cramping in a weird place. “I didn’t want to leave it out where bugs might get it.”
He reached over the fence and clicked the lock open. His dog trotted through. “Come on in.”
That sounded like a very bad idea. A very good, very bad idea.
“You got supper plans?” he said.
Her plans hadn’t included wondering half the night if he wanted to kiss her. She had too few brain cells left to figure out that puzzle. “I have some leftover hot dish I should eat before it goes bad.”
“Hot dish?”
“The original Minnesota casserole.”
“I’ve got homemade fried chicken and biscuits.”
“You make it?”
Did her heartalwayshave to do that pitter-patter thing when he grinned at her?
“My momma sent it home with me.”
Shedidhave a freezer, and hot dish froze well. She hadn’t had real Southern fried chicken in—well, longer than it had been since she’d been turned on by a hot, sweaty man. “I wouldn’t want to?—”
“Of course you wouldn’t. But you brought dessert, so let’s call it even.”
“You really think a pie makes dinner and coffee even?”
His lips were twitching again. He shot a glance at the garbage can. “Maybe, maybe not. But you look like you could use a good meal, and I never object to pretty company.”
