Frowning, she straightened a bit. “It wasn’t that. I told you, I’m not a snob. I just wasn’t prepared. You should have told me you were taking me there.”

“Would you have gone?”

She opened her mouth then closed it again. After a moment, she let her shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know. Why did you take me?”

“I wanted to see you there. Maybe I wanted you to see me there, too.”

Puzzled, she turned to look at him again. They were nearly back now. In a few more minutes he would go his way and she hers. “I don’t understand why that should matter to you.”

“Then you understand much too little, Sydney.”

“I might understand if you’d be more clear.” It was suddenly important, vital, that she know. The tips of her fingers were beginning to tingle so that she had to rub them together to stop the sensation.

“I’m better with my hands than with words.” Impatient with her, with himself, he pulled into the garage beneath her building. When he yanked off his sunglasses, his eyes were dark and turbulent.

Didn’t she know that her damn perfume had his nerve ends sizzling? The way she laughed, the way her hair lifted in the wind. How her eyes had softened and yearned as she’d looked at the silly little mutt of his father’s.

It was worse, much worse now that he’d seen her with his family. Now that he’d watched how her initial stiffness melted away under a few kind words. He’d worried that he’d made a mistake, that she would be cold to his family, disdainful of the old house and simple meal.

Instead she’d laughed with his father, dried dishes with his mother. Alex’s blatant flirting hadn’t offended but rather had amused her. And when Rachel had praised her handling of the accident with Mrs. Wolburg, she’d flushed like a schoolgirl.

How the hell was he supposed to know he’d fall in love with her?

And now that she was alone with him again, all that cool reserve was seeping back. He could see it in the way her spine straightened when she stepped out of the car.

Hell, he could feel it—it surprised him that frost didn’t form on his windshield.

“I’ll walk you up.” He slammed the door of the car.

“That isn’t necessary.” She didn’t know what had spoiled the evening, but was ready to place the blame squarely on his shoulders.

“I’ll walk you up,” he repeated, and pulled her over to the elevator.

“Fine.” She folded her arms and waited.