Her eyes sought his, and he was lost as twin blue searchlights probed for God knew what. And then they drifted again to his mouth, and any hope he had of tearing his gaze away, of maintaining some kind of control and keeping his distance from her, evaporated.

“What?” he asked, exasperated at his inability to deny this woman anything. This woman he had no business having feelings about.

“You’ve never looked at me like that before,” she said, her voice still low and husky.

Tucker swallowed. “Like what?”

How had he looked? Deep down, he’d always known he felt things he shouldn’t for this woman—things he couldn’t articulate aloud—but since becoming her wingman, they’d been getting harder and harder to ignore, and maybe that was spilling over onto his face.

Was that what she was seeing? These feelings that were getting too big to deny? Because if she was, he needed to work harder at his poker face.

“Like I’m a woman.”

“You are a woman.” His voice came out all gruff. “How else would I look at you?”

She smiled. “Like Arlo’s sister.”

“You are Arlo’s sister.”

“I know.” She smiled again. “But I really like it when you don’t look at me like I am.”

Yeah, well…Tucker didn’t. Tucker was more than happy when he could keep her in that box, but the universe—and Della’s desire to dip her toe into the dating waters—had other ideas.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

And then, in a stealth move he really didn’t see coming, even though the air was ripe with the possibility, she kissed him. It happened quickly. One moment she was sitting in her spot, looking up at him, the next, her face was coming closer and her mouth was making contact.

Light as a feather. Startling as a slap.

He wasn’t actually sure it could be classified as a kiss. It was barely a press of her lips, really. She didn’t move to deepen it or to explore. Neither did he, his body going deathly still. And then it was over as quickly as it had begun. It lasted seconds. That was it.

But still, he felt it everywhere.

Tucker dragged in a breath as she pulled away, cupcake crowding his senses, his pulse like a washing machine in his ears. Her mouth was still a little too close for his liking but not on his anymore, allowing him to at least perform basic functions.

She blinked at him, saying, “Sorry, I…” Then her gaze dropped to his lips just like it had before, and she closed the gap between them once more and kissed him again.

This time, her lips were not passive. They shifted. Moved. Not a lot. Just a little. Just enough. They didn’t open, they…brushed. Gently. Along the contours of his mouth as if she was mapping it, reading him like braille.