Page 26 of That Stranded Feeling

He continues to stare at the ground. “You’d pay a fortune in the city for cool retro tiles like these.”

Clearly, I’m bowling him over with my womanly charms. I poke him in one of the firm, sexy biceps that had held me against him earlier and barely make a dent. “Come on.”

“You won’t like the answer.”

I make a beckoning gesture. “Try me.”

He looks up, right into my eyes. “The best fun I can have?”

I nod.

“The best fun I ever have?”

“Yup.”

“The best fun I’m ever likely to have?”

“Oh, get on with it.”

“Making a deal.”

I groan as my head drops back and my arms fall to my sides. “Oh, my God. I can’t bear it.” I look back at his playful smile. “You’re a lost cause.”

Or maybe I’m a terrible seductress. Or probably both.

I head to the sofa and flop down. Elsa’s already passed out in front of the fire.

“You know what?” He turns to face me and pushes his fingers through his hair in a way that makes my knees wobble even though I’m sitting down. “I have an idea.”

Might it be taking off his shirt, leaping over the breakfast bar, scooping me in his arms, and taking me right there on the rug?

He crosses the room and drops onto the sofa next to me. “I’d find it fun if you told me something aboutyou.”

I take a second to absorb how his top lip curls up a little, how his eyelashes are so thick and dark they almost look false, and the way his stubble outlines his strong jaw.

“That is a totally non-fun idea.”

“Why?”

“I told you about my parents earlier. There’s nothing else to know. Anyway, it’s pointless.”

“Well, we’ve got nothing but time till the cell tower’s fixed and the road’s cleared. And also”––he twists to face me—“I’dliketo know you better.”

His eyes are soulful and serious and locked onto mine.

My insides tremble, and everything around us blurs into the distance as I focus entirely on those welcoming brown pools.

The air between us is suddenly alive with sparks, or energy, or a type of connection that’s way beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. Or possibly a highly flammable mixture of all three.

A few minutes ago, the thought of giving in and kissing him seemed like a good idea, but now it feels like it would be the tip of an enormous iceberg. The way his look connects with something in the very essence of my being is making me feel things. Not just hot, want-to-rip-his-clothes-off things. But feely things. I do not need feely things. Feely things are where trouble starts.

I drag my eyes away from his, curl my legs up and pull my cuffs over my hands, like a turtle retreating into its shell for safety.

Owen breaks the electric silence by getting up and heading back to the kitchen. “When I was looking for a pan for the banana bread, I saw this.”

As he stretches up to reach to the back of a high cabinet, his shirt pulls slightly out of his jeans.

“Look.” He holds up a dusty bottle half full of Irish whiskey.