I squeeze her waist and bend to whisper, deliberately brushing my lips over her earlobe. “We don’t have time for how I feel when you look at me like that.” “When I look at you like what?” she asks with a smoky laugh, pulling back to peer at me through an upsweep of lashes. “I think you know.” I brush a thumb over her cheek. “But don’t worry. I want it, too.”
