Brady in turn pumped up his smile.

“Sounds like it’ll be one hell of a time.”

…

Sloane was walking fast. There was no watching her footing on the stone path or trying to keep from looking like a wild animal scurrying away to hide. She was full speed ahead to Brady’s truck with her date trailing behind.

Sloane had already decided that once the food was eaten and the drinks were drained, she was going to get out of the Robertson garden with an excuse and a prayer. No lingering small—or any—talk. Just smiles and waves and a confirmation or two of when the next time they’d see each other might be. Simple, polite, and sanity-saving. Then, when she and Brady were alone in the truck, she’d get loud and complicated about everything that had happened during the lunch.

For a moment Sloane thought that this plan would work out for her. She was so close to the truck that she was already mentally opening her door and sliding in to the passenger’s seat. Yet, you know what they say about being close. It only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

Barely a step off the stone path and Sloane heard laughter behind them. It was the same laughter they’d heard throughout their meals. Felicity and Marcus. In tandem, totally and annoyingly in sync. All while Sloane and Brady had been silently sparring with their eyes when no one was looking their way.

Sloane slowed her pace so Brady could walk beside her, hopefully lessening the image of her in retreat. He matched her stride and then lowered his voice for a hurried statement.

“Let me open your door.”

Sloane, a woman who was smart, capable, and proficient in several kinds of customer-service smiles any other day, lost all her common-sense marbles at the request. The heat to her cheeks came on swift wings as the image of Brady spreading her legs flew across her mind. It was brief and unnecessary—he was obviously talking about the truck door and not some kind of euphemism for her downstairs arena—yet her libido was apparently still Sherlock working with Watson to solve a case. All he’d done to get her there again was lower his voice and just exist.

“I don’t know if opening a door is going to convince them we’re anything like them,” she said, matching his volume and skirting past her naughty thoughts. “I think the table might have heard you growl when I signed us up for the parade.”

Brady didn’t comment, but when he opened the truck door for her, he was smiling for all he was worth.