Just heat.
His jaw tightened just slightly, like he was clenching down on something. His hand—which had been resting loosely against the bar—shifted, his fingers flexing once before settling at her waist.
It didn’t feel like it was simply for show. It was firm and claiming.
And she was thoroughly enjoying the feel of it.
“Yeah,” he said, voice lower than it had been a second ago, rougher. “We did.”
The other woman’s smile faltered and Evie felt the shift in the air immediately. This wasn’t just him playing along. This was something else. And it suddenly hit her that maybe she had gotten in over her head.
Slater stood. And when he did, she didn’t step back. He simply moved in closer. Close enough that her hand—still splayed against his chest—rose with the movement. Close enough that she had to tip her chin up to keep eye contact.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. Then back to her eyes. “You ready?” he asked.
It was a simple question, and yet…it didn’t sound simple. It sounded like a challenge, like he was throwing down a gauntlet.
Evie swallowed hard, her heart racing. “Yes.”
The blonde cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well, have a good night.”
Slater didn’t even look at her. “Planning on it,” he said quietly.
The woman walked away, and Evie became acutely aware of two things at once: First, she had absolutely started this. And second, Slater wasn’t done with it.
His thumb shifted at her waist, just barely brushing the fabric of her sweater. A slow, deliberate stroke that made her breath hitch.
“You kiss all your friends like that?” he murmured.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs. “It was strategic,” she said, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere closer to breathless.
“Strategic,” he repeated, eyes darkening as his hand slid just slightly higher on her waist—still entirely appropriate—and yet nothing about it felt innocent.
Nodding, she said, “I thought it was better than just grabbing you and kissing you like we did yesterday. I didn’t want to make a public spectacle out of it.” And then, because she was feeling as sassy as she was nervous, she added, “Some things deserve to be private.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, Slater groaned, his eyes closing briefly before he looked at her and said, “Good to know.”
She wasn’t sure whether he meant it as a warning or a promise. “Slater…”
“You smell like warm vanilla sugar,” he interrupted quietly.
Her brain short-circuited. “What?”
“Just noticing,” he said. That heat was still there, both in his voice and his eyes. And she was definitely losing herself in that gaze.
Then he leaned in—not kissing her, not even close—but near enough that his mouth brushed her temple as he spoke.
“Next time,” he said softly, “give me a little warning.”
Her fingers tightened reflexively in his shirt. “Why?” she asked.
His gaze dropped again to her lips. “So I’m prepared,” he said.
Prepared? Prepared for what? She wondered.
He released her waist, but not before his thumb made one last deliberate sweep. “C’mon,” he said, voice steadier now, but only barely. “Let’s get you back to our cabin.”
Our.
