Page 49 of Final Proposal

“Hi.”

Who knew the sight of one shoulder could be so sexy?

“I’m sneaking an ice cream bar. You caught me.”

“Why do you have to sneak it?”

“Because that’s what women do. If we eat it and no one sees us, then the calories don’t count.”

“So it’s only if someone sees you that they count?”

She nods, her bun bobbing with it. “And now you’ve saved me the hassle of having to hide the wrapper in the trash.”

“There’s a whole routine to this, isn’t there?”

The bun bobs again as she eyes me up and down. “Where are you going?”

“For a run.”

“Like that makes me feel better.” She snorts. “This is why you have muscles that have definition, and I have curves that are squishy.”

“There’s nothing squishy about your curves, Ellery.” The comment is out without thought. Her cheeks flush, but her eyes never back down from my stare.

She nods. “Then maybe I should eat another ice cream bar while you jog. Since these calories count now, and those won’t since you won’t see them. And getting a few more milligrams of calcium is never a bad thing.”

“I think you should.”

“Never openly encourage a woman to eat more ice cream. It will cause an irrational and obsessive attachment to the person doing the encouraging.” She flashes a grin that reminds me of the first night when I thought she was adorable before I saw her as sexy.

Right now, I’m trying to hold on to that picture of adorable because this woman does things to me that shouldn’t be legal.

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“You should. It’ll save you someday.”

“I’m eternally grateful.” I place a hand to my chest and mock bow.

“Go. Run. Before my irrationality sets in,” she says as I simply stare at her and shake my head. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Because the more I know you, the more you surprise me . . . and that’s not a bad thing at all.

“No reason.” I go to jog past her at the same time she moves to the right to let me. Too bad I went to her right too.

We collide against each other, the ice cream bar in between us. Its chill hits my skin, and at the same time she yelps and jumps back.

We both look down at the vanilla ice cream mark squarely in the middle of my bare chest.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Let me—” She reaches out with her bare hand to wipe the ice cream away, but once her hand connects, she realizes her hand isn’t going to do any good.

Thoughts of her tongue on my skin as she licks up the ice cream invade my thoughts. Own them. The heat of it. The feel of it. Christ.

I force a swallow down my throat as her hand stills and her blue eyes flutter up to meet mine.

Time stands still for the briefest of moments as I realize my hand is on her wrist and her face is inches from mine.

She’s off limits, Ford.

Fucking off limits.