Page 94 of Three Steps Behind

Please don’t let him notice.

“Sorry. This clasp is a bit tricky. . . . Got it,” he said, the necklace slipping from her skin, his hands going with it.

He stepped around her. “I’ll get another mic in, maybe two for good measure.” He cocked his handsome head. “Are you cold? I can get you a sweatshirt.”

Cold. Yes. That was a far better response than It was your touch. “A little,” she said, and it honestly was a bit nippy.

He laid the necklace on the table. “I’ll grab you a sweatshirt and bump up the heat.”

“The sweatshirt should be enough,” she called after him as he disappeared into his bedroom.

“It’s no trouble,” he said, hangers rattling.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m good,” he said, exiting the bedroom, a blue sweatshirt with white writing on it. “There is a bit of a chill. Here you go.” He handed her the sweatshirt, and she opened it up, ready to pull it over her head when she got a full view of the lettering.

FBI lined the back in white letters.

“Really?”

“Only one I had.” He shrugged.

She slipped into it, the sleeves a half dozen inches longer than her arms. “I suppose it’s very ironic.” She smiled, rolling up the sleeves.

He smiled back. It was a different smile than she’d seen before. Soft, tender, with a spark of passion.

Passion? She shook off the thought. Great. Now I’m reading people wrong. That’ll be really helpful with Dalton.

“It looks good on you,” Aubry said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

She blinked. Was that a blush on his face, under his five o’clock shadow?

He cleared his throat. “I just meant . . . you look adorable with it three sizes too big.”

Adorable? Had he really just said adorable, or was she hearing things?

He swallowed. “I’d better check the mic.”

She wasn’t letting him off that easy. She stepped toward him. “You think I look adorable?” Had it been passion in his eyes, but a pure, loving kind?

“I—” He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

She stepped a bit closer, ignoring the warning bells clanging in her ears. “The sweatshirt is adorable, or I am?” She held her breath. What was she doing? Had she lost her mind?

He studied her with his deep gaze. His lips parted, then shut.

She inched closer, not letting him off the hook. Something compelled her forward.

He cleared his throat again. “Both,” the hoarse, whispered word spilled out.

She rose up on her tiptoes and ever-so-gently pressed her lips to his. Had she lost her ever-loving mind?

He held still. Very still. His lips on hers—warm, soft, and tentative at first, then he deepened the kiss, his body mere inches from hers. He caressed her shoulders in tender circles, leaning into her, and then, all of a sudden, he braced his hands on her shoulders and pressed back.

She opened her eyes, confusion and humiliation rumbling in her gut. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No need to apologize.” He stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “I . . . we can’t do this.”