“I’m calling you this week,” I say without preamble, and she stumbles for a second before steadying her gait. She tilts her head just the slightest bit, not enough that I can look straight into her eyes, but at an angle where I have an unobscured view of the regal arch of her cheekbone and the plushness of her lips and the heavy fringe of lashes that hide anything she might be feeling from me. “Why?” she asks. I flash her the buccaneer’s grin I reserve for when something I desire very badly is within my grasp. “Because I want to.”
