“Hardly.” She scoffed and crossed her arms. “This is a one-off miracle. No one should trust the culinary instincts of a man who thinks gas station coffee is a valid life choice.”
He chuckled, but it wasn’t the charming, calculated kind. It was real.
And it felt good to be... real with her. He gave his head a shake.
There she went again.
Slipping beneath his defenses like she’d done last night with that talk of food and grandmothers. Authentic. Unfiltered. And for some reason... more dangerous than flirting.
“Food can be terribly persuasive, Ms. Austen.” He leaned a little closer. “I might just win you over with it.”
She rolled her eyes in a way that should have been ridiculous. It wasn’t. It was unfairly charming.
Her grin tugged up at one corner like she enjoyed their back-and-forth just as much as he did.
Too much.
Like a daily dose of something he didn’t know he was craving.
Like something he might not want to live without.
He tried to shake it off. Keep things simple. Light. Like the past relationships.
Kiss and leave.
His gaze dipped to her mouth.
Right.
That’s all.
“Sweetness can be powerful, Mr. Perfect Teeth,” she corrected, lifting an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean the rest of your cooking is.”
“Mr. Perfect Teeth?” He blinked. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“I was taught tobenice, not justplaynice.” That soft Southern drawl wrapped around her declaration and tugged at something inside him.
He should’ve backed off. Thrown a joke in. Flirted just enough tocover the fact that she was getting under his skin in a way no one else had in a long time.
But she was standing so close, and her gaze kept flickering like she didn’t want to look—and couldn’t quite help herself.
That’s when the real trouble began.
“What’s wrong with both?” he asked, his voice lower now. “A little fun, a little... sweetness, all rolled into one?”
She snorted, even as her gaze drifted slowly down his frame and then locked with his again. And lingered.
His skin prickled with a sudden need.
“Fun, maybe,” she said softly. “Butsweetis not a word I’d use to describe you.”
“No?” He stepped in. Just close enough to make her eyes widen slightly. “And how would you describe me?”
She hesitated, her attention snagged at the corner of his mouth—where a little smirk tugged, daring her.
“Dangerous,” she whispered.
The way she said it—barely there, barely brave—sucker punched him.
