She stiffened for a moment. “You do?”
“Maybe,” he said, with a shrug.
Why was it so hard to just tell her what he wanted? Because he knew that if anything were to happen physically, she’d push him away. Especially once she heard the things that would come out of his mouth. He knew this woman and what made her tick—how fiercely she loved their small town and all the people in it, to how close she was with her sister, and most of all how she had a thing for poetry. He might not be a fan himself, but sometimes he’d peek at whatever book of poems she had her nose in at the time. He’d seen her reading once in the town square, and could tell by her contented sigh and the dazed look in her eyes that she liked the words.
“And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love’s refrain,” he’d read out loud, over her shoulder. “Got a naughty little book there, Jamie?”
She’d promptly snapped the book shut and given him a sharp glare. “Wouldn’t you like to know what I think is naughty.”
Oh, yes he would. He would absolutely like to know what she thought in that department, because he wanted to know what she thought about nearly everything. He’d never gotten along so easily with a woman who was so very different from him. Besides, Jamie came from the perfect family, white picket fence and all, while he’d grown up an only child with two parents who cheated on each other and then divorced in a flurry of anger. He’d tried like hell to get them to stay together to no avail. He half-wondered if that was part of what drew him to Jamie—she had all the things he’d longed for. She had a fierce devotion to her parents and her sister. But though he might admire her connection to her family, to this town, to her job, and even to her books, did that mean they were right for each other? He was a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy, rough-hewn from the tougher circumstances of his childhood.
They might get along just fine, but deep down they were so different. That didn’t stop him from wanting her, though, and he hadn’t been able to get her out from under his skin since he’d met her. He found himself tugging her closer. He gently fingered a strand of her hair, touching the soft waves.
“Smith,” she said in a low voice, half a warning, half an invitation.
“Yes?”
“You’re touching my hair,” she whispered.
“I know. And I want to touch more of you,” he said, and his heart beat harder.
“You do?”
“I would love to have my hands all over you.”
Her eyes widened and she pressed her hands against his chest, giving herself room to look him square in the eyes. “Is there something going on with Lisa?”
He was taken aback. “The photographer? Hell no. Why?”
“Because she was all over you out there,” she said, tipping her forehead toward the party.
“No. No. No. No.”
“Four denials?”
“I swear,” he said, breaking the contact to hold up his hands, as if they were proof.
Yeah, Lisa had always been flirty with him. She was slated to shoot the annual fireman’s calendar next month, so she was always hanging around, suggesting ideas for locations and even poses. How about if you had one hand on the ladder and Becker was unrolling the hose? Smith had simply shook his head. The calendar didn’t need to be classy, but it needed less Chippendale and more of the rough-and-ready smolder that had made it a bestseller. Hell, the latter was why the battalion had been voted the hottest in the country, and Smith was damn proud of that accomplishment because all of the calendar proceeds went to the burn center at the local hospital.
“Why are you asking about her?”
“Just wanted to know…” she said, letting her voice trail off, and the lingering silence felt like some kind of invitation. She looked up at him and her pretty brown eyes held his gaze for a beat. Then one more. She swallowed and her lips parted slightly. She didn’t take her eyes off him.
Holy shit. Did she want him as much as he wanted her? The possibility that this wasn’t one-sided felt like a bolt of adrenaline shooting through his veins. He’d always figured she’d never give him the time of day. That he wasn’t her type whatsofuckingever. But maybe, just maybe, there was a little something there for her, too. He had to seize the moment. Had to tell her. She probably could figure it out anyway, since she’d been snug against him a minute ago. He swallowed any fear, looked her straight in the eyes, and told her the flat-out truth: “There’s nothing going on with her because the only one I want to have anything going on with is you.”
She blinked several times, as if she didn’t believe him. Or maybe she was just processing what he’d said. She raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Really?”