“I might.” His eyes were on her bare legs, and he didn’t seem all that happy with what he saw. They were tanner than usual, but there was nothing wrong with them, other than a bruise on her shin starting to turn yellow. She also had a small chip in the blue polish on her big toe from tripping over the horseshoe stake. She hadn’t worn blue polish since she was a teen. She remembered painting Tracy’s baby toes that same color when it was just the two of them.

His gaze moved up her legs to her striped sleep boxers. His frown reminded her of the bra and panties she wasn’t wearing underneath. “What are you offering?” he said, his eyes lingering on her thighs with that same expression of displeasure.

“Offering?” She tugged on the boxer’s soft cotton leg openings, unwisely as it turned out, because pulling them down showcased a fair amount of stomach. Or maybe she’d done it on purpose to retaliate for his attitude. She no longer knew what she was thinking when it came to Patrick Shade. She dropped her feet to the deck. “How many loaves of bread have I baked for you?”

“The bread covers your rent, not my junk food.”

“Says you.”

“I guess I could share.” His gaze was on the move again, skimming her body until he reached her collarbone, dropping back to her breasts, where the thin fabric barely hid anything. He no longer seemed quite so critical, and as another clap of thunder shook the boathouse, she felt something shift inside her, a treacherous vibration, a risky thrum that had nothing to do with the stormy weather.

His eyes met hers. He nudged off the cooler lid with his bare foot, a gesture that shouldn’t have been nearly so enticing. She broke his gaze and looked inside, but instead of seeing an icy nest filled with beer and soda, she saw a treasure chest of chips, pretzels, Doritos, licorice whips, malted milk balls, cheese curls, and a jar of peanut butter. “El Dorado,” she whispered.

“Forbidden fruit,” he replied, but when she looked up, he was staring at her, not at his stash.

The rickety old boathouse became a secret cave—dimly lit and seductive. A trickle of rain coming through the leaky roof splashed her shoulder. He reached out, dabbed a drop with the tip of his finger, and dragged the moisture into the hollow of her collarbone. Her skin pebbled. “Stop it,” she said without any conviction.

He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. A raindrop hit her thigh. He saw it but looked away and reached into the cooler. “You’re probably not interested in this.” He pulled out the peanut butter.

“So wrong.” Even she wasn’t sure whether she was talking about the peanut butter or something more dangerous.