“That doesn’t count.”

I frowned, looking back down at her. “How come?”

“Because it’s about other people, not you. Come on, what about something to eat? Like onions. Or mushrooms.”

“No, I like both of those. I’m like a raccoon—I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

She shook her head at me in disbelief. “I cannot fathom this.”

“Because you have so many opinions. Is it that hard to believe there could be another end of the spectrum?”

“Sure, but to hate nothing? That’s just weird, Kash. Everybody has things they love and things they hate, and I aim to figure out yours.”

I pulled her a little closer, smirking again. “What do you love to do that’s not organizing things and bossing people around?”

She pinched me. “Did you just call me bossy?”

“No, I just called you a boss. It’s how you get things done—you take charge. But I’m not letting you slide this time … what’s your hobby? Something unrelated to your job that you love and hate.”

“I don’t really have time for much else,” she admitted after a beat.

“Ever gardened?”

“Please, I kill everything I touch. Black thumb. I even killed an air plant, and all it needs to survive is air.”

I chuckled. “Nobody’s good at it until they learn. Come over, and I’ll show you at the greenhouse.”

A smile, slow and sweet. “All right.”

I pushed her pants over the swell of her ass, and they fell, pooling at her ankles. “Don’t wear white,” I said, angling for her lips.

She started to laugh, but I swallowed it, kissed her deep. Her lips tasted like buttercream, eager and seeking, her hands ruffling my hair as we twisted together. The silk of her bra and panties were slick, catching on my callused fingers, but she didn’t care for their well-being, and for that, I was glad. Because that silk in my hands had become one of my favorite sensations.

Deeper I kissed her, lips stretched and seamed, mouths wide, tongues searching. A moan into my mouth, rattling my tongue as it passed. Her thigh hitched, hanging on my hip in an effort to get closer to me, to press against my length. Less than a minute was all it took for the heavy heat between us to turn frantic.

She broke the kiss, lips swollen and breath loud, to look up at me. “I should clean up,” she said like she hoped I’d object.

Which I did.

I kissed her again, too impatient to speak. It was a tasting, slow and light, tongues brushing, retreating, teasing and testing. All day, I had waited for this moment, to hold her in my arms, to feel that perilous click of rightness.