Now he really didn’t give a shit if anyone thought he was making a move on Imogen because the God’s honest truth was that he was. But it clearly was worrying her, so he said, “It’s still pouring outside. I’ll run back in and tell them we’re leaving. You wait here.”

“No, I’ll go with you.”

“What is the sense in both of us getting soaked all over again?”

“I don’t mind getting wet.”

“There are all kinds of wet, and some are better than others,” Ty told her, unable to resist.

Her eyes went wide behind her glasses and she dug her fingernails into her thighs. “That was a sexual innuendo.”

“Yep. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. And you tell me which wet is more fun . . . getting nailed by rain or just getting nailed?”

He should shut up. Quit tweaking her. But it was warm and humid in her small car, and she was so close to him that he could smell the dampness of her skin, see the way her hair was drying in tiny wisps above her ear, hear the catch of her breath behind her teeth. Ty was intrigued by her in a way he hadn’t been by a woman in a long, long time. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say, but he was almost certain he would enjoy her answer.

“Well, I think, inarguably, unless someone is suffering from a sexual dysfunction, that most people would prefer the wetness of arousal to the wetness of a cold rain.”

Ty laughed. Yep, he liked that answer. “Which do you prefer?” he teased her.

Imogen didn’t stop to think about the ramifications of her words. She just spoke honestly, “Oh, arousal. Undoubtedly.”

The look on his face told her she was playing with fire. He wasn’t just having a casual conversation where they were making sociological observations. He was flirting with her and she had known it all along. From the minute he’d spoken to her on the porch.

Now they were alone in her car, he was suddenly single, she had offered to drive him home from Tamara’s, and they were discussing sexual lubrication.

Often throughout her twenty-eight years, her mother had told her that her curiosity and innate honesty were going to get her in trouble, and if winding up naked in bed with Ty McCordle was trouble, Imogen had the feeling that was precisely where she was headed. Interesting that she didn’t seem to be running from said trouble, but was actually leaning closer to the source.

“Should we test your theory?” he asked, his hand snaking over and resting on her knee, his thumb caressing in a small circle. “Get you wet both ways and see which one you enjoy more?”