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Leaning in again, I keep my voice low, “Kiss me. Right now.”

She turns in my arms with a different expression than anything I’ve seen in the short time I’ve known her. Expecting her usual sass and energy, I’m surprised by what I see. It almost looks like…fear?

“Is there someone who needs to see us?” She looks around.

“No.” My voice is hoarse. I don’t take time to analyze what my sudden desire for her means because I want to kiss her.

Here. Now.

Under the pretext of cataloging yet another stolen moment so people can vouch for our authenticity.

And if I don’t do it quickly, I may lose my nerve.

It amuses me how unsure she looks. After weeks of teasing me and trying to knock me off my game, she’s the one who suddenly doesn’t know the rules. And I like it.

For once, Scout doesn’t choose this moment to run up and tackle my legs. He’s busy on the other side of the yard.

I squeeze her hand for reassurance and let one finger trail up her arm, grazing her bare shoulder, which feels sunkissed and warm. I’m buzzing and hyperaware of her, but almost every sound and sight around us falls away. She has my total focus.

It’s no secret that I’m a perfectionist, and I’m determined to get this right, even if I’m not sure exactly who I’m perfecting it for. I move my finger again, running it up the side of her neck until I can cup her cheek in my hand. Dropping my other palm to her hip, I pull her closer until I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

Looking into her eyes, I paint an exact watercolor replica in my brain because her face is radiant and I want to remember how it looks, how she’s trembling, how I’m feeling something I haven’t allowed in almost four years.

I lower my lips to hers, just grazing them, inhaling her breath, going by feel. She meets me there, pressing herself closer to me and draping an arm over the back of my neck. I kiss her once more, deeper this time, but then I back away. This is a backyard barbecue, after all. But it’s not at all what I want.

But I can’t tell her that. Those aren’t the rules of our arrangement. What I want isn’t fake.

“Okay, then,” I say, keeping my focus on her. While I hope a couple of people saw our display of affection, I can’t bear to know about it. “More proof we’re a couple. Another stolen moment no one was supposed to see.”

She takes a step back, but I keep my grip on her waist, unwilling to let her go.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” Her voice is quiet and breathy. If anyone were near us, I’d think she was playing up her swoon for their benefit. But we’re alone in our corner of the yard, though in plain view of anyone who’ll feel like gossiping about us later.

She bites down on her lip, a tell that means she’s considering various angles and trying to come up with a conclusion. But she says nothing. No conclusion to an open-ended question—did she want this as much as I did?

And I think I have my answer. That kiss seems to have thrown her off balance. Impossible to fake.

Her eyes are molten. Face slack. Lips parted and wet, willing for more. I want to give her what she wants because I like her, but I want it for myself more.

“I hope that ass weasel Ben did,” I say.

She fans herself with one hand, and I wonder if the kiss set her on fire the way it did for me. “Jealousy. Very, um, authentic and alpha male.”

It’s been months. Maybe years. But those atrophied muscles in my face start to ease back into a shape I can’t help.

Her glassy eyes widen, and she reaches out and dabs my lips with her finger. “Wow, Icy Wrangler, I never thought I’d see the day.” Putting on a fake Southern accent, she bats her lashes and traces the shape of my lips.

The heat of her touch sets my veins on fire. I stare at her, my face immovable. She nods. “Yes, I do believe that’s a smile.”

I almost feel embarrassed at having lost self-control. And for giving her one more reason to give me a hard time. But I can’t wipe the smile from my face. It feels good to get those muscles working again, stale and achy as they are.

Working to control my face, I manage to temper the expression a little, but I can’t make the grin go away entirely.

“People do that,” I say.

“People do. You don’t. But this…” She reaches up and cups my face in her hands. “This was worth the wait.”

It’s dangerous, the attraction I have to her. So badly, I want to scoop her up and carry her up to an empty bedroom in the house and strip that sundress from her body. I want to taste the bare skin that’s been taunting me all day long. I want to make her come until she’s screaming my name.