“For the good of us both, you have to cease gazing at me.” “Then you have to cease wooing me.” “Wooing you.” He grimaced, as if the words were a pickled lemon on his tongue. “I don’t woo.” “You do too woo.” She lowered her voice to match his gruff timbre. “‘I need you,’ ‘I’m not letting you go.’ A woman can’t help but go soft inside. Those sorts of declarations are unbearably romantic.”
