I must have looked like I’d been drowned, my hair lank and waving in tendrils, my blouse wet—my white blouse. I gathered the blanket tighter to cover my breasts. “Tea would be w-wonderful,” I said.

But he didn’t seem to be paying much mind to my appearance. Dutifully, he crossed the room to an electric teapot and flipped the button to start it before rummaging through a box of teabags.

“Chamomile? Green jasmine? Orange rooibos?”

“Jasmine, please.” I glanced at the table to the flowers he’d been putting into the flutes. “Are these for the wedding this weekend?”

“For the bouquet, yes.”

“Where’s Tess? I need her to sign some paperwork f-for me,” I said, reaching for my bag, my twelve-minute plan gone but not forgotten.

“She had to get out of here, asked me to stay to meet you.”

I frowned at my hands as I pulled the folio of papers out and a pen, setting them in front of Kash’s stool. We were alone, which made me uncomfortable. Not because I was afraid of him, but because I could see the line and exactly when and how I might cross it, especially with him looking like he cared so much.

It’d been a long time since a man cared so much. Brock certainly hadn’t, simply because he was too self-absorbed. Perhaps he’d bought the facade I’d crafted, the one that broadcasted that I didn’t need taking care of.

But Kash saw through it, saw through to me. And the way that made me feel was dangerous.

The teapot rumbled as the water heated up, mug and teabag prepped and waiting. Kash, I realized, was watching me. Our gazes met for only a fraction of a second before he moved across the room again, back to that shelf of supplies.

Steaming mug in hand, he headed over with that smile on his face.

When he handed it to me, I took it, leaning over it like it was a flame. “Thank you so much. Really.”

“It’s no trouble. Come on, let’s get you warm.”

Immediately, I imagined him stripping me down and me stripping him down and our naked limbs tangled together. But he cupped my elbow, jerking his chin toward the greenhouse.

I took his lead and slid off the stool, silently following him through the swinging doors.

Warmth hit me like summertime, humid and thick and tropical. The greenhouse was touched by moonlight, dimmed by the clouds and their deluge, but it was still there, a sweet glow over rows and rows of flowers and greenery and life.

A sigh slipped out of me. “Oh, that is so nice.”

“It’s climate-controlled, humidity-controlled, warm even in the thick of winter. Come on, we can sit back here.”