But it’s starting to rain now, just a few droplets, and if our situations were reversed, I know I’d want him to hear me out. Not rush me.

I say, “Maybe in the truck?”

We climb up. He sets both his hands on the steering wheel, but doesn’t start the engine. He just sits there. The silence rolls out between us. The windows are down. I can hear us breathing, even above the shrill sound of tree frogs and crickets.

“I know this whole thing is weird. Me being your brother’s friend, and all.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“And you’re selling sex toys on my boat.”

“Relationship enhancement products,” I say, reflexively, which makes me smile.

Actually, I feel a lot like smiling. My lips—no, my whole mouth, including my tongue and teeth—are tingling, and my body’s on fire. Or melted. I can’t tell which. I just know I want to reach for him so badly, to drown my need in him.

“But all that aside. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long, long time.”

Okay, now, that’s a surprise. “You have?”

“Mmm-hmm. I’m not going to put a date on it, because I don’t want to go to jail.”

I laugh, and then grind to a halt. “Wait. You’re saying you didn’t start feeling this way just since I’ve been back in Rush Creek.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Way before that.”

Way before? “So why were you always so curt with me?”

He raises his eyebrows like this might be the dumbest question anyone’s ever asked. “Self-preservation?”

“I thought you hated me,” I admit.

“Oh, Rachel,” he says helplessly. “Jesus. No.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat.

“Me too. I mean, I’ve wanted this for a long time, too.”

His eyes pop open. It’s his turn to look startled.

“What?” I say. “Did you think I was the one woman who was immune to your charms?”

“I’m not that charming.”

Oddly enough, I think he means it.

“You are. And I’m not. Immune. I’m not.”

“The point is,” he says, “I want to kiss you again.”

Ohhh. Okay, then.

“You could,” I whisper, unable to look away from his mouth. It’s full and soft and I can practically already feel it. The slide of his tongue, the taste of him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

It’s a growl.

“What if…” My breath is a hot mess, rapid and ragged. “What if I want to tempt you?”

“Rachel,” he warns. The roughness in his voice does terrible, wonderful things to my nipples, which in turn send a shot of heat to the needy place between my legs. “I think we both know it’s a bad idea. You’re just off a bad breakup—”

“Connor told you that?”

“Uh-huh. And I’m off a bad breakup.”