“We can start with this ridiculous thing you’re wearing,” he said, since it seemed as good a place to start as any. It also seemed as good a place to touch as any, so he slipped a hand out to grab her about the waist—which, as any man with eyes in his head and blood in his veins would notice, was stark bare. “Where is the rest of your shirt, young lady?”

She giggled and arched into his touch, allowing his palm to slide down the gently sloping softness of her back. He stopped just above the line of her jeans. “It’s called a crop top, Harrison. All the kids are wearing them these days.”

He highly doubted it. Whatever seductress of a designer had come up with this shirt obviously had a woman built like Sophie in mind. There wasn’t a whole lot of skin showing between the high waist of her jeans and the tightly fitting black shirt, but what was there was bound by two straps that crossed over her belly button and drew in the narrowest part of her waist.

He fingered one of those straps now, over and under the fabric, pulling it out just far enough to snap it back into place. Sophie gasped, but she followed this up by tugging his lower lip between her teeth and giving back as good as he gave.

“If Oscar knew what kinds of things I want to do to you, he’d have me killed,” Harrison muttered.

“Such a scaredy-cat,” she teased.

There was no use denying it. He was scared of Oscar. He was scared of Sophie. Hell, he was scared of himself—particularly of how quickly he was casting aside every scruple he’d ever had for a chance at feeling this woman in his arms again.

“What are some of the things you want to do, by the way?” she asked as she coiled her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “You should tell me. In explicit detail.”

He gave up on trying to keep his hands above her waist and tugged the front of her jeans until her pelvis lined up with his. The sweet agony of sensation rocketing through his groin caused him to groan.

“Nice try,” he said. “The only thing I’m going to do to you is put you in my truck and take you home.”

She jolted back. “Home?” Her voice was small and her frown intense. “What for? I thought it was going well—the training, the cohabitating.”