“I know what it is.”
“Of course you do. I’m sure it’s standard issue for all your girlfriends.”
Now the south pole was rising.
Damn it.
He bit his lip to keep from smiling. “And if I said it was?”
She tossed her head. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
He had the feeling he’d seen her tilt her head like that before. But he didn’t remember her doing it.
She attempted to stand up but stopped.
“Ow!” she cried.
Her hair had gotten caught in the zipper of his shirt.
Shit.
He grabbed the collar of his shirt and placed his espresso on a nearby table.
“Come closer,” he said.
“Why?”
“So I can get your damn hair out of this zipper.”
She hesitated. And there was a moment. Was it her breathing? The flush in her cheeks? He wanted to remove those sunglasses and see her eyes.
And then a sudden thought came to him and he grinned. “Are you afraid of me?”
You should be, once we’re out on that track.
She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She sounded breathy.
His grin widened.
“Well, then,” he said, his voice low and husky, “come closer.”
She sighed as she leaned forward.
When he tried to release the zipper by pulling the tab, it took the hair with it, forcing her to bend lower. Her hands grabbed the armrests of the chair for support, and she dropped the box of sugar cubes.
She looked down at his lap where they’d landed.
He saw where she was looking and chuckled. “Like what you see?”
Her eyes shot up, meeting his. The sunglasses had slid down the bridge of her nose.
Her eyes were dark. Real dark.
They might be black.
She shoved the glasses back up and then quickly grabbed the arm of the chair again to regain her balance.
