“The same thing you’re doing to me?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth and back up again. She moistened her lips in anticipation, hoping he meant to follow through with his unspoken promise to kiss her. He leaned closer.
Bree’s breath hitched. She could count on her fingers the number of men who’d kissed her over the years. Each kiss an experience, but none of them had blown her away. Owen’s kiss would set up a wind that had the power to knock her off her feet, she could feel it, and she wanted to fall.
“Can I ask you a question?” His voice was hoarse and gravely and delicious.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Why do you wear those shoes?”
“What?”
He dropped her hand and the waterfall abruptly cut off. “Your shoes. They’re … not cute.”
She glanced down at the white and brown oxford-style shoes she’d thrown on as she ran out the door. How had this become about her shoes? “I don’t know. I thought they looked smart.” She clicked the toes together.
He shook his head.
She leaned across the console to look at his feet. The smell of his body wash tantalized her senses. She would love to fall asleep with that smell in her head. Though if he was close enough to smell when she was supposed to sleep, she wouldn’t be able to blink a wink. He’d wanted to kiss her; the signs were all there. Why he didn’t was beyond her. She’d have let him.
He wore sneakers, shiny ones. Black. Expensive. He started the car and pulled out of the lot.
“I definitely can’t afford those.” She plopped back in her seat and breathed the non-stimulating air from the vent. “Besides, I always thought I had ugly feet.”
“Not possible.”
“You’re such a guy.”
“Thank you.”
“You have no idea what women go through to wear open-toed shoes.”
Models. Actresses. He knew. “I think I have a slight grasp on the concept.” With a sudden burst of inspiration, he headed into town.
“The next church is the other way.”
“I know. We’ve had a change of plans.”
Bree settled back into the seat. She didn’t care where they were going as long as she was going with him.
* * *
“If I’d known you were going to expose me to this torture, I would have insisted you take me home.”
Owen folded his arms across his chest. Bree’s gaze dropped to his biceps and then went back up to his face. She sat on a small bench, several boxes open, exposing the tissue and plastic coatings on the new boots awaiting her approval, and her shoes sat a good three feet away.
He’d almost kissed her in the car. Almost.
“It’s a boot store—not an open-toe shoe store.” In a town this size, they were lucky to have the boot store.
“But I don’t wear cowboy boots.”
He lifted a finger. “Yet.”
She groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you.” He took a knee and sorted through the options. The red weren’t Bree’s style. She was adventurous but not showy. The black were bad-A, but still not quite her. Although he wouldn’t mind her in those on the back of his bike. Finally, he settled on a brown pair with emerald stitching up the side. “Try these on.”
