“Tick tock, Gwen. Two more to go.”
“I can’t think straight with you looking at me like that!” I blurted stupidly.
The heat in his eyes flared hotter. Rather than backing off, he shifted even closer, bringing his entire body flush with mine. I sucked in a sharp breath as the firm plane of his chest pressed against me, the hard lines of his thigh muscles lining up with my own through the fabric of our matching sweatpants. I locked my knees to keep them from buckling.
“Why?” he whispered, bowing his head down to the crook of my neck. I felt his hot breath on the sensitive skin of my earlobe and fought off a shiver. “Am I distracting you?”
“No,” I lied, breathless. “Not at all.”
His low chuckle sent a pulse of attraction shooting straight downward from my stomach to places best left unnamed. “You all out of factoids already?”
Steeling myself, I lifted my hands to his chest and pushed him back, so I could breathe again. His muscles were like steel under my fingertips, but he conceded a few scant inches.
“You’re from one of the oldest families in Salem. One of your great-great-great grandfathers was the judge who condemned all the witches to death.” I paused, staring into his eyes. “I guess despotic malice is in your blood, huh?”
He tensed for a second — a barely noticeable ripple in his otherwise nonchalant demeanor. But I was close enough to see that I’d thrown him off his game, even if only for an instant, with the mere mention of his ancestry.
Interesting.
“That’s four,” he growled. All the playfulness had bled right out of his voice and I felt a bolt of unease shoot through me. Graham Graves definitely did not enjoy discussing his familial legacy. “What else have you got, Gwen?”
Eager to have this interlude over and done with — and, admittedly, rather caught up in the thrill of besting him — I didn’t think about the implications of what I was about to say before blurting, “You spent summers working as a lifeguard at the beach on Winter Island when you were a teenager, before you left for college.”
His head titled to one side, eyes narrowing to slits as he stared down at me. There was an undeniable question in his stare. Belatedly, I realized my mistake. I’d revealed something I had no logical reason to know about him.
Yes, I knew you back then.
Yes, I adored you from afar.
No, you don’t remember me.
At least, I didn’t think he did.
Since he barreled back into my orbit two years ago, he’d never given the slightest indication he had any memory of the awkward, accident-prone redhead who once stared at him with unguarded longing. His little Firecracker, with the foolish crush on an older boy so out of her league, it was like a tee-ball player trying out for the MLB. As far as I knew, he’d forgotten me entirely… and I was in no rush for him to remember. It was best for everyone if the torch I carried for him stayed buried six feet beneath the earth. Where it belonged.
The longer he stared at me with that curious look in his eyes, the more my anxiety mounted.
“That’s five,” I declared, suddenly desperate for a change of subject. “I win. Now, back off.”
Lips twitching as if he found me highly amusing, he finally backed off, leaning against the kitchen island with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes never shifted away from mine as I hurriedly glanced down at my toast and took a large bite. It was now ice cold.
Perfect.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked after a moment.
I shook my head, still chewing the cold toast. I forced myself to swallow, then discarded the rest with a grimace.
“You look like crap.”
My eyes rolled skyward. “Gee, thanks.”
“I mean you look tired.”
“That’s a symptom of not sleeping for two nights.”
“Two?” He paused. “Did you not sleep the night before last, either?”
“You mean the night after I learned I was the target of crazed pagans and shown a series of disturbing photographs depicting ritualistic animal slaughter?Thatnight?”