“Exactly. See how dangerous he is?”
Reid glanced toward their table then, like he’d heard his name through the music and the crowd.
His mouth curved slowly when his eyes found Eleanor.
Not the easy smile he gave everyone else.
Something more private.
More amused.
Eleanor felt his attention like a hand at the center of her back.
He smiled at everyone. Jurors. Witnesses. Waitresses. Half the women in Sylva.
But this was different.
This was the expression he only ever wore for her.
Her gaze caught and held, an instinctive pull she refused to name.
For a beat, the noise of the rooftop seemed to fall away.
Then Reid lifted his glass in her direction like they were sharing a private joke.
Eleanor refused to react.
“Mm-hmm,” April said beside her. “That right there is exactly why you need therapy.”
“Or a restraining order,” Eleanor muttered.
Reid crossed the rooftop toward them, stopping beside their table just long enough to look directly at her.
“Harper.”
“Calloway.”
“You still planning to turn me down if I ask you to dinner?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” he said, amusement flickering across his face. “Wouldn’t want you getting predictable.”
April made a soft choking sound in her drink.
Marla looked delighted.
“You two are exhausting,” she announced.
“And yet,” Reid said without looking away from Eleanor, “you keep inviting us to the same places.”
“Because eventually one of you is going to crack,” April said.
“Not likely,” Eleanor said.
Reid’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.
“We’ll see.”
