I leaned back so I could look at his face. “Shortcake?” “Seems only fair that you have a nickname too.” I shook my head. “But I’m not short. And cake? I’m the farthest thing from sweet.” One of his arms unwound from behind me so his hand could cup my jaw. With his thumb stroking my cheek and his fingers threaded into my hair, he whispered, “You’re sweet, and to me, you’ll always be short.” My knees buckled. They actually buckled and he hadn’t even kissed me. Heaven help me if he ever did. I’d probably faint and miss all the good stuff. “Easy,” he said, taking my weight and lifting me back up.
...more
