Page 47 of That Rush

His attention cuts toward the honey stand, then returns to me. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

His easy agreement steals some of my pleasure in arguing. “That’s surprisingly self-aware for a man who just marked his territory in a farmers’ market.”

His eyes narrow. “I put my hand on your back.”

“While another man asked me out.”

“Yes.”

“Possessive.”

“A flicker.”

A low, inconvenient hum starts up under my skin. “You should probably work on that.”

“Probably.”

I step closer. “I didn’t say I disliked it.”

The humor leaves his face.

His attention fixes on my mouth. Vendors and customers keep moving around us, but I focus on the few inches of air separating our bodies.

“No?” His voice turns rougher.

“No.”

“You like being claimed by men you aren’t dating?”

“That depends on the man.”

“And the claiming?”

I fight a smile. “Obviously.”

He takes the cash box from my hands and sets it inside the van. “You talk about sex like it’s a problem you’ve already solved.”

My eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

“You have an answer for everything. Like you’ve already worked out all the angles.”

“I read widely.”

“I’m aware.”

The edge of his mouth lifts, though the intent look in his eyes remains.

“Knowing what I like doesn’t require a field study,” I say.

“Then tell me what you like.”

“That sounds dangerously close to asking.”

“It is asking.”