Page 104 of Dare to Love Me

Something shifts in my peripheral vision. A murmur from the edge of the set.

I look up, and my heart skips a beat.

Edward.

He’s standing there. Rolled-up sleeves. Top buttons undone. Hair a bit messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all night.

What is he doing here?

He hasn’t seriously come all this way just to reject me twice, has he?

Then I see it—the look.

That intensity in his eyes, the way his gaze fixes on me. It’s a look that sends heat licking up my spine, makes my fingers tighten involuntarily on the stupid handles of this ridiculous garden kneeler.

Oh.

Ohhh.

He’s not here to reject me.

My skin prickles with awareness. My whole body goes still, except for the little shiver that rolls down me.

If Edward Cavendish has dragged himself to BritShop at this ungodly hour, the least I can do is give him a proper show.

I inhale, steadying myself. Then, I turn back to the camera, planting the brightest, most dazzling smile on my face.

“Extended periods ofgardening,” I finish smoothly, voice steady despite the absolute mayhem happening inside me. “Now, let me demonstrate just howflexiblethis model can be . . .”

I can’t help myself. I’m essentially performing a private show for Edward, except it’s live television at one a.m.—albeit Channel 192, which barely counts. Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face while demonstrating our Premium Extending Pole Saw.

Before this job, I thought garden tools were just trowels and those prongy rake-things.

Oh, how naive I was.

Because this bad boy? This is a long-ass pole perfect for trimming hard-to-reach branches and, as I’ve just discovered, making distinguished surgeons hot under the collar.

I beam at Camera One, the absolute picture of innocence.

“The extending capabilities are truly impressive . . .”

To be a good product demonstrator, you need Spidey senses—watch the camera, read the crew’s signals, and, in this case, covertly observe the hot surgeon slowly unraveling in the wings.

“The shaft,” I continue, my voice smooth as butter, “can extend to a truly remarkable length . . .”

I pause deliberately, savoring how his hand moves to his face like he’s suppressing either laughter or an aneurysm. “Perfect for those hard-to-reach places.”

“And,” I add, flipping the mechanism with a flourish, “notice how easily it slides in and out.”

Edward’s ears have turned a delightful shade of pink. His jaw appears to be attempting to fuse itself shut.

The irony? This isn’t even our most suggestive product. Wait until he experiences my demonstration of the Vibrating Soil Aerator.That one practically sells itself.

Simon signals for wrap-up, but for once, I’m reluctant to finish. Watching Edward Cavendish wage war with his own composure while I extol the virtues of long shafts and smooth extensions might be the most fun I’ve had at work in months.

I close out the segment, all bright smiles and perfect professionalism, chatting with the crew about post-show feedback.

The whole time, I feel him watching me.