Page 40 of That Rush

“I paid attention.”

“You read one sentence.”

“I read more after I got home.”

Her lips part. “You bought it?”

“I needed context.”

“For your research.”

“Exactly.”

She releases the guide, leaving my hand on it. “And what did all that context tell you?”

“That he talks too much.”

Paige’s eyebrows rise. “The fictional man talks too much?”

“He spends three paragraphs explaining what he’s going to do.”

“Some women enjoy anticipation.”

“I’m better at the follow-through.”

The space between us goes tight.

She could step around me. Instead, she tips her chin up and studies my mouth with the same open interest I’m giving hers.

“That’s a confident claim,” she says, her voice low.

“I can back it up.”

Her fingers curl around the edge of the shelf. “Maybe I’m waiting for a better offer.”

I let go of the book. I’m close enough to feel the warmth of her body and see her inhale when my eyes drop to her lips.

She isn’t retreating, and the awareness coils low in my gut. I could close the remaining distance with one step. The thought of finally learning how her mouth feels is strong enough to make my hand tighten at my side.

“Miss Paige?” a man calls from the computers. “The printer ate my document again.”

Her focus shifts to a point somewhere over my shoulder. When her gaze returns to mine, amusement has replaced the heat, though her cheeks are still pink.

“The public awaits.”

“I can wait.”

“I’m sure you can. You’ve been circling this for over a week.”

She slips past me, then stops at the end of the aisle and turns.

“Why do you keep inviting me to things instead of asking me out?”

The patron calls her name again.

“I have to rescue a document,” Paige says. “Try to come up with an honest answer while I’m gone.”

“I already have one.”