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There. Finally. Words.

“So?”

“So?” He repeated it quietly.

That low Texas drawl wrapped around one syllable and somehow made it sound like an accusation.

“Yes. So?”

“You really don’t care.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

His head moved slightly. Disbelief.

I felt another spark of temper. “Why would I? I’m comfortable in my own skin. What I was wearing showed less than my running clothes. It showed less than half my swimsuits.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“All those guys were staring at you.”

“So were you.”

That landed. His mouth went still. I turned toward him more fully.

“You were watching me just as closely as everybody else in there.”

“No.” The answer came too quickly.

I raised my eyebrows. “I have eyes, Declan.”

“I was watching what was happening.”

“To me.”

He didn’t answer.

“That’s usually called watching me.”

His grip shifted on the wheel. The road was darker now. We had left the strip of businesses behind.

Fields and fencing appeared beyond the headlights, occasional houses set far back from the road.

The quiet should have cooled me off.

It didn’t. Because suddenly I was thinking about the kitchen.

His body jerking away from my hand. Don’t touch me.

Megan arriving twenty minutes later. Her fingers on his chest. Her mouth on his.

Him letting her. Something inside me went raw.

“You know what?” I said.

His eyes flicked toward me.