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His eyebrows shot up. “What? Of course not. Why would you think so?”

I stopped a few inches from him, gazing into his shadowed eyes. “You seem mad.”

His hand rose to my cheek. “I’m not mad. I’m worried. And as always, I’m wondering what my father said to you.”

“Why are you worried?”

A hum was his only answer. He lowered his head, barely grazing his nose along my jawline. Goosebumps erupted down my neck and shoulders.

“I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he whispered against my ear.

I swallowed. At that moment, with his warm breath caressing my skin, my thoughts were far too risqué to describe out loud, but I wished I was the kind of woman who possessed that boldness. I would look him in the eye, smile playfully, and tell him the thoughts whirling through my head. Thoughts about his hands and mouth. Fantasies about the heat of his naked body pressed against mine. Questions about what he’d feel like inside me.

That one small sample of his hands on me Saturday night wasn’t enough, and as he pulled back to look in my eyes, I was certain he could see the lust in them.

“Do you realize I’d give you anything?” he asked. “Just tell me what you want.”

The stark adoration in his voice weakened my knees. He sounded dazed. Reverent.

In love, whispered a traitorous part of my subconscious.

It took every bit of willpower to remind myself that he didn’t have the full picture. He thought he wanted me, maybe even loved me, but would he still if he knew what he’d lose?

You could ask him. Now. Ask him, Shay.

But I couldn’t. Dangerous desires previously lying fallow had burst into bloom. A small—okay, large—part of me wanted him to forsake his entire livelihood for me. I wanted him to love me so much that the sacrifice wouldn’t faze him one bit. An even larger, logical part of me feared that despite his claims to the contrary, he wouldn’t think me worth it, and it was that fear—the fear of debilitating heartbreak—that stayed my tongue.

I couldn’t trust his words would match his actions.

The sound of his voice calling me trailer trash echoed through my thoughts, tapping once against the nail in my heart. Cracks spread inward.

What would he say when the time came? He’d certainly be polite, but that would only hurt more.

I’m so sorry, Honeycutt. I can’t do this.

Better we end things now before someone gets hurt.

My father’s right. We’re just too different.

I don’t love you.

Tears sprang to my eyes. There would be no climbing out of this pit I’d dug for myself, would there? I’d be buried alive under the debris of my own stupidity.

I hid it all behind a flirty smile. “I was thinking I might want you to meet my mother.”

That plucked a surprised laugh from him. “Mama Honeycutt? Is that something I’ll survive?”

The cold night air sank its fingers into me, and I stepped closer. He wrapped his warmth around me, identifying my wants by body language alone.

“I suffered the terrifying ordeal of having tea with your mother.” I tucked my fists tight between our bodies to keep them toasty. “You can’t survive a buffered audience with my mama?”

One of his hands sank into my hair, and he tugged so my face was illuminated by the golden light from the lamppost.

“Will I get brownie points if she approves of me?”

I rose onto my tiptoes and brushed a light kiss over his mouth. “You don’t need more points, Camden Shepherd. You’re already winning by a landslide.”

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