As her mouth was hanging open, it took a minute to get her feet moving. In all the years she’d known the man, he’d never told her she was beautiful. It threw her off her stride. She could feel her mind trip as she tried to keep it on track.

“You don’t think of me that way, and that’s all right. It’s not what I’m trying to get to, anyway.”

He’d make sure they came back to it, but for now, he emptied the contents of his pockets onto his dresser. “What are you trying to get to, Brenna?”

“I know when we started this—when I started this—I never said what I expected.” Wishing she had his clever way with words, she dragged a hand through her hair. “What I mean is, that while we’re together this way, until one of us or both of us decide this has run its course, I wouldn’t consider being with another man.”

He sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed to take off his boots. “You’re meaning that this area of our relationship should be an exclusive one? That neither of us sees anyone else? Is that the way of it?”

“Aye, that’s my feeling on it.”

They would be exclusive to each other, and it was her idea—even demand. A strong first step, he thought, to where he wanted her to lead him. He took his time, letting her believe he was considering. “That fits in with my feeling on it as well. But . . .”

“But?”

How do we know, and who decides when that changes, Brenna?”

“I don’t have an answer to that. I never expected this to be complicated. I didn’t know it was until I saw that singer hanging all over you. I didn’t like it.”

“While I’m touching you, I’m touching no one else. You’ll have to trust me.”

“I can trust you, Shawn.” Easier now, she stepped toward him. “It’s the big-breasted blondes I have trouble with.”

“Recently, my taste is running strong for well-packed redheads.”

Because she was relieved that the chill had gone out of his eyes, she laughed. “Well-packed, my ass. Have we made up, then?”

“It’s a beginning.” He patted the space beside him. “Let’s have your boots off and we’ll make up some more.”

Happy to oblige, she sat, tugged on the laces. “I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry for that.”

“I don’t mind spatting with you, Mary Brenna.” He stroked a hand over her hair. “But I don’t like you thinking that I’d think of another woman in that way when I’m with you.”

“Then I won’t think it.” After toeing off her boots, she straightened, but her eyes went wary at the way he was staring at her. “What is it?”

“I like looking at you.”

“Nothing new to see here.”

“Maybe that’s part of it.” He framed her face, then combed his fingers through her hair, drawing it back and away. “I know this face,” he said quietly, “as well as I know my own. I can conjure it up in my mind, the way it runs from cheek to jaw.” He skimmed his lips along the sweep. “The shape and color of the eyes, and the moods of them.”