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My chest heats up with how perfect she looks. How much I love seeing her smile. I almost want to give it to her. But I can’t let her off the hook so easy.

“You liked that, did you?” I ask, scowling.

“I did.” She laughs. The sound sends a tingling skittering across my skin.

“And you know what? It almost—almost—made this whole thing worthwhile.”

That little grin on her face is the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen, and between that and the laughter I’m so distracted I almost don’t hear the little voice in my head. What did she mean bywhole thing?The show? Or the fake dating?

I want to give the voice volume, but I can’t, not with everyone milling around next to us.

“I’m so glad,” I say. I meet her eyes, but I can’t keep mine narrowed. Not when all I want to do is kiss that smirk right off her face.

And that’s dangerous. We’re not supposed to do that.

She must see it in my expression though, because her laughter fades. But her lips stay parted, and her tongue darts out, just slightly.

My crotch jumps.

“It’s probably weird if we just stand here staring at each other,” I whisper.

“What should we do?” she whispers back, glancing sideways.

There’s a whole fuck of a lot I think we should do. But I settle for sliding my hand over her hip. I run my hand over the warm curve of it, wanting badly to tug her shirt out of her pants so I can feel the heat of her bare skin without the burden of fabric between us.

Then I pull her toward me, gently but firmly, until her pelvis is a hairsbreadth away from me.

“Eli,” she breathes, her eyelids fluttering. She inches herself forward, but I increase the pressure of my hand on her hip, keeping her from touching me. If she does, she’ll feel my hardness. Plus, I want to torture her a tiny bit back. Because at least in this moment, I know she wants to touch me.

I can feel it.

For a moment our eyes stay locked, and I don’t know if she’s daring me to pull her close or daring herself to do it, because her hand slips up against my ribs, her fingers dancing against the fabric of my shirt.

Then my phone shrieks.

“Fuck.” I never turned the volume down from when my phone was in my drawer. It’s a miracle it didn’t go off while the cameras were rolling.

I look down at the rectangle still in my hand, readying to stab it silent for interrupting that delicious moment.

But the caller ID says it’s Sam, the guy Seamus has doing the job at the Waterfront Block.

“I have to take this,” I say.

“It’s fine, we have to get ready to open.” They’ve been keeping shorter hours at the restaurant while the show films every morning.

“Please wait,” I say, taking her hand. “I’ll just be a minute.”

I don’t know why I want her to wait. I just can’t let her go yet. Not when it feels so good to be around her.

She’s like a drug.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, answering the call. “You got good news for me?”

“Do I ever call you with anything else?” Sam asks on the other end of the line.

I smile. Seamus wasn’t lying, Sam’s been perfect. He got all the materials for the job under budget and has been totally resourceful in making the little project work, with only a couple of emails to me to ask for specifics, as he’s never done a job like this before. He hasn’t done any job on his own before, but I needed a favor fast, and Seamus said he’d sent his dad over to check in on his work and said he was doing better than half the guys who’d been with him for years.

“No man, you’ve been great, honestly.”