“Ted.” He reaches up and tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “Don’t thank me.”
“You sure?” I smile up at him, my gaze traveling over his face. “Because I was just thinking about how I can’t wait to go back to your place and show you howthankfulI am.”
A swallow rolls down his throat. “Oh yeah?”
I nudge my hips into his. “Oh yeah.”
My hands still in his hair, I draw his head down, like I’m about to nuzzle into his neck, and whisper, “She still there?”
“Hovering.” His breath is hot against my ear. His lips brush my cheekbone. I fight a shiver as he says, “Very close.”
“Squeeze my butt,” I tell him.
Alex goes rigid in my arms. “What?”
“Squeeze. My. Butt.” I nuzzle into his neck in earnest now. “Unless you’d prefer a reunion withThe—” A squeak catches in my throat as Alex splays his hands wide and firm, one on each of my butt cheeks, and gives them a very enthusiastic grope.
I could not be more thankful that we’re far from the kid’s section and the store’s crowd density hides what we’re doing. The only audience I want for this is the woman we’re trying to scare off.
Alex whispers, “She’s clocked us.” His lips graze the shell of my ear.
A white-hot ache pulses through me. “Great,” I manage.
Something hard presses into my hip. My eyes pop open.
“Please try to ignore that,” he whispers into my neck.
“Pretty bigthatto ignore,” I whisper back.
“Ted,” he warns.
“Sorry, just stating a fact!”
He groans. “I promise I’m trying to be as gentlemanly as possible.”
I laugh hoarsely. “Rest assured, this is by far the most gentlemanly ass grope I’ve ever received.”
Alex laughs, too. His hands slide up, settling at my waist. “She’s stopped coming closer,” he says quietly. “I think it’s working.”
“Of course it’s working,” I whisper. “Historical romance never fails me.”
“Never would have thought an ass grope was de rigueur in Regency era ballrooms.”
Another laugh jumps out of me. “It wasn’t. But it was way too crowded in here for a waltz.”
“Ah,” he says. “It’s all coming together now—ass groping, the modern equivalent of Regency England’s waltz.”
“Precisely,” I tell him. “The waltz was considered downright scandalous when Germans introduced it to British society.”
Alex gasps and pulls back, meeting my eyes. “You saucy Germans!”
I smile up at him. “Honestly, proudest part of my heritage.”
Alex smiles back, and it hits me how it has too many times the past two years, in that way that makes it so hard to keep things in their safe friend place. Even the moments that start so wrong—awkward, tense, stressful—with Alex, they have this way of morphing into something that feels so right.
I clear my throat, then ask him, “What’s you-know-who’s status?”
Alex hazards a quick glance past me, and relief floods his face. His grip on my waist goes slack. “She turned around. We’re good.”