“What sort of something?” His lips twitched. He thought to make me blush. I raised my chin. “Something decidedly less innocent than holding hands.” “Yet I recall a bit more than holding hands.” Memories lit up my mind like a lantern in the dark—his strong arm curled around me, pulling me close for warmth, my hand against the smooth skin near his open neckline. So much for not blushing. My cheeks tingled, no doubt bright red. “Quiet. Someone will hear and then this charade will be pointless.” “Very well,” he said with a sigh of long-suffering, even as his eyes danced. I turned away with a
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