Page 146 of That Rush

“I’m confident you’ll figure out the details.”

“That gives you two hours to wonder what I’m going to do.”

Her pupils widen. “That would be much more effective if I hadn’t read enough books to develop several theories.”

I pull her closer, keeping the table between us and everyone else. “None of your books know how you sound when you’re trying not to come.”

Her lips part.

“They don’t know where to touch you to make your knees shake. They haven’t heard that sound you make right at the edge.”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “Neither has this entire fundraiser.”

“I’m keeping my voice down.”

“You’re threatening my professional composure.”

“It sounds like your composure has a deadline.”

She presses the box cutter into my hand and walks away.

While I’m restocking the refreshment table, Paige passes behind me and lets her fingers drag across my lower back. Later, when I carry a box into the library storage room, she follows just long enough to shut the door halfway and kiss the corner of my mouth.

“You’re supposed to be working,” I say, my voice low.

“I am. That box was in the wrong place.”

“It’s exactly where you told me to put it.”

“Then you must have misunderstood.”

She reaches around me for a stack of flyers, brushing her breasts against my arm.

I catch her hip. “Careful.”

Her smile is pure challenge. “Why?”

“Because when I get you alone, I’m going to put this mouth to better use.”

She swallows, gives me one final deliberate rub, and slips out of my grip.

For the rest of the fundraiser, every table I lift, every box I carry, is fueled by the thought of Paige on her knees.

By three, the crowd has thinned to volunteers and a few determined shoppers digging through the last of the donated books. Mom collected Josie during cleanup and took her back to the ranch to help with dinner. Paige counts the cash while I collapse tables. Every time I look over, she is focused on her work, answering questions and checking figures, completely composed after spending the afternoon pushing me to the edge in front of the whole town.

I load the final table into my truck and find her locking the library’s side door.

“Did we survive?” I ask.

She slides the keys into her bag. “We exceeded the fundraising goal by almost twenty percent.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze drops below my belt. “How are you holding up?”

“Get in my truck and find out.”

“My car is here.”