“How about certain hockey players with your books?”
He tilted his head down, lifted the stack of paperbacks he held under one arm.
“Ugh.” She reached for them.
He held onto them, stepping back out of reach. “This is your happy place?”
She froze again. Then shook her head, turned away, and sighed. “You’re not going to give those back, are you?”
“Of course, I am.”
A glance over her shoulder, and he finally registered something other than sleek bare legs. The turquoise sweater she was wearing was fucking adorable, especially when paired with those glasses and sandals. He was so used to seeing her in casual clothes—sweats, T-shirts, hoodies—that he’d always pictured her in something similar. To see her so girly gave him another intriguing insight. Well, that along with her choice of reading material—which as he glanced over the titles again, he could approve strongly of, even the trio of historical romances that he assumed were inspired by her recent foray into Bridgerton.
“What do you mean, of course you are?”
“I mean,” he said, “that I’ll give them back after I walk you to your car.”
Her eyes narrowed.
He nodded over her head. “Let me rephrase,” he said. “I’ve been walking you to your car, and now it’s less than ten more feet, sweetheart,” he said, “and then you can get rid of me.”
More narrowing, more sparks.
And so much less shy.
Months ago, Ethan had already slid down the slippery slope of being infatuated with this woman, but that fire beneath the surface, the sass she was—rightfully—throwing his way . . . well, he was no longer gripping at the hillside, trying to crawl back up. He was plummeting right down into the crevice below and not giving a damn in the least.
He was happy to keep falling.
She twisted to face him again, the fabric of her skirt brushing his bare knees, exposed to the warm fall air by a pair of cargo shorts. But he wasn’t thinking of his fashion choices when she stepped close, her chin lifting. “I’m not your sweetheart.”
“But you could be,” he murmured.
Her breath escaped on a long, slow exhale. He smelled mint and coffee in the air, was fascinated by the bright pink color of her lips. Had she intended to match her toes? Did she always wear dresses and cute little sandals? Why didn’t she ever wear glasses at work? What other lipstick colors did she have? Would she let him kiss all the colors off?
“Ethan,” she whispered.
And he would have had to have been inhuman to not love the way his name sounded on her tongue. Maybe that put another tally in the creeper-pervert category, but he was who he was, and the slightly husky tone of her voice as she said his name was the most intense aphrodisiac he’d ever heard.
“Ten feet, love,” he said—not gently, not at all, not this time. He didn’t want more sparks, more fire—at least not for the next ten feet. Instead, he wanted just a little more time with her. So, his tone was coaxing with a dash of fucking hope.
Because she’d already shot back that fire, forgot to be shy with him, so perhaps getting her to agree to go on a date with him wasn’t such a lost cause. But he needed a mix of fire and coax to see if he couldn’t weasel his way in with one date. Plus, if he got one—and this wasn’t him being an asshole, or not trying to be anyway—he’d bet on being able to convince her to give him more than one.
He could be charming. He was smart, had a decent body, could occasionally be funny.
If she gave him one date, then he had a good chance of securing more than that.
So, fewer flames and more persuading now.
An unpleasant thought welled up within him, because unless, of course, she wasn’t attracted to him.
Which would certainly put a damper on his whole plan to win her over.
But he could ponder that later.
In this moment, he needed to take a page out of Billy Madison’s book and get on with the chlorophyll.
“Ten feet,” he cajoled.
She sighed, turned again, and flounced toward her car, that fabric brushing his legs, a silken bite that had him blurting, “Are you not attracted to me?”
Still.
Dani went absolutely still.
And if he were one to congratulate himself on his skills, then he could say that he possessed a unique ability to make this woman freeze in place. As far as life skills went, it wasn’t the greatest, but he supposed he needed to take his victories where he could.
She struggled to ignore him.
She shot back fire.
Now, to get that date.
This time when she spun to face him, shock was written into every line of her face—from her jaw to her lips to a little furrow that he wanted to kiss that had appeared between her brows.
“You’re asking me if I’m attracted to you,” she said slowly.
He nodded. “Yup. That’s the crux of it.”
Laughter filled the air, dancing over his skin, freezing him in place, making him the one playing statue. That clear, hearty sound was fucking glorious, and he wanted to make her laugh again and again.
Of course, he’d prefer if she wasn’t laughing at him.
But he’d learned over the years to take his victories where he could.
And seeing that amusement in her eyes, hearing her delight, that was a fucking victory.
“You . . .” She bent at the waist, the book resting on her hip as she gasped out the laughing words. “Me . . . Attracted . . .” More hilarity.
Okay, as time went on, this was less joyful.
“Dani,” he warned.
She looked up. “You think I’m not attracted to you. To you,” she repeated. “To you!”
Yup, less joyful and more irritating.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he muttered. “I think I made myself clear, don’t you?”
“No.” She tossed up her hands, strode to her car again. “Nothing about this makes sense.” Her words came in a flurry. “You at the library. You asking me out. You thinking
