“Why shouldn’t I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.” There it was—a kernel of truth and a question. “Am I supposed to deny,” he drawled, but something sparked in those eyes, “that I find you attractive?” “You’ve never said it.” “I’ve told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you.” I shrugged, even as I thought of all those times—when I’d dismissed them as teasing compliments, nothing more. “Well, maybe you should do a better job of it.”
