“You absolutely look at spreadsheets like that.”
Something shifts in his expression. The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s the closest he’s been to relaxed since we sat down.
It’s marginally more convincing.
“Give me your hand,” I say.
He offers it like we’re about to shake on a business deal. I take it and place it on my waist, pressing his palm flat against the curve of my hip.
His fingers flex against the fabric of my shirt.
“Now the other one.”
I guide his free hand to the back of my neck. His fingers slide into my hair. The touch sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the conservatory’s climate control.
I open my mouth to give him the next direction and find I’ve temporarily forgotten what it was.
“That’s more like it,” I say once my brain comes back online.
His thumb grazes a small circle against the back of my neck. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s doing it.
I’m very aware he’s doing it.
“Good,” I say, and my voice comes out roughly half an octave lower than intended. “That’s…yes. That’s convincing.”
“And where do your hands go?” Leo’s voice has gone slightly rough.
Good question. Where do my hands go?
I settle one on his shoulder, feeling the tension in the muscle beneath his shirt. The other I place against his chest, over his heart.
It’s beating very fast.
“Now,” I say, and my own voice isn’t as steady as I’d like. “You need to look at me like you want to kiss me.”
“How do I do that?”
“I don’t know. How do you look at someone you want to kiss?”
Leo’s dark eyes search my face—forehead, cheeks, before settling on my mouth.
“Like this?” he asks quietly.
My brain short-circuits.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Exactly like that.”
“Now what do we do?” he asks.
Fuck.
How the hell do I survive this? Produce a kiss that is convincing enough for Elizabeth, but doesn’t completely annihilate the last remaining shreds of my emotional defenses against this man.
The conservatory hums around us. Water is dripping somewhere. There’s the distant murmuring of other visitors. Leo’s thumb has stopped moving against my neck. He’s just holding me there, steady and warm, and the air between us has gone very, very quiet.
“We lean in,” I say. “And we?—”
I close the distance before I can overthink it.
