He was standing near the bar, helping Jack string up decorations, and the grin that spread across his face when he saw me made my traitorous heart skip.
No. Absolutely not.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, crossing the room in long strides.
“I’m here for Grace,” I said firmly. “Not you.”
“Sure you are, darlin’.” His eyes sparkled with amusement as he stopped directly in front of me, too close, invading my space like he had every right to be there. “You look beautiful.”
I’d worn a simple blue dress, nothing fancy, but the way he looked at me made me feel like I’d shown up in diamonds and silk.
“Don’t start,” I warned.
“Start what?” His hand came up, fingers brushing against my arm in a touch that was far too casual, far too deliberate. My skin burned where he touched me.
“You know what.”
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something woodsy and masculine that made my knees weak. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Can’t help it if I’m happy to see you.”
“Stephen—”
“Wanna feel just how happy?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows.
My gasp was louder than I intended, and I could feel the heat flooding my cheeks. “You?—”
“Nana, where do you want these?” Tyler appeared at my elbow, holding the bags of pastries, and I seized the distraction like a lifeline.
“Kitchen. With your mom.”
Tyler looked between me and Stephen, his expression far too knowing for an eleven-year-old. “Right. Kitchen. Got it.”
He disappeared, and I was left alone with Stephen and his insufferable grin.
“You’re making this hard,” I said, then closed my eyes when I realized what I’d said.
Stephen leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re makingmehard.”
“Stephen—” My voice came out strangled.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” His hand settled on the small of my back, possessive and warm. “You look a little flustered.”
“I’m not—” I tried to step back, but his hand held me in place. Not forcefully. Just... there. A reminder that he could touch me whenever he wanted. That I’d let him.
“You sure about that?” His thumb traced a slow circle against my spine, and I felt the touch all the way down to my toes. “Because your pulse is racing. I can see it right here.” His other hand came up, fingers brushing against the side of my neck where my pulse hammered.
I swatted his hand away. “Stop that.”
“Stop what? Telling the truth?” His grin widened. “You want me to lie to you, Trudy? Pretend I don’t notice the way you look at me? The way you react when I touch you?”
“I don’t?—”
“You do.” His voice dropped lower, intimate. “And I fucking love it.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re gorgeous when you’re mad.” His hand was still on my back, fingers splayed wide. “Especially in this dress. Blue’s your color.”
“It’s just a dress.”
