Page 52 of To the Chase

His jaw rippled. “Are you seeing anyone?”

I curled my fingers around his. “No, and I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not the type of woman who’d let a man hold my hand if I did.”

He looked down at our joined hands, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t realize we were holding hands.” His eyes found mine, wide with wonder. “Why are you allowing me to hold your hand, Bea?”

“I— I don’t know. You just did it, and I let you.”

He shuffled closer, wedging our hands between our chests. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do.” I rubbed my lips together, hoping to spark the right words. It was fruitless. I couldn’t think with him standing so close, smelling like a forest after a heavy rain, piney and fresh, warm and tall, watching me intently, noticing my every tic and breath. It was too much.

“Go out with me,” he uttered lowly.

My pulse fluttered in my throat like a trapped butterfly.

How was it possible to feel so much for this man? I could count our interactions on two hands, but that didn’t seem to matter. Logic couldn’t touch the way I reacted to him.

“Tore…”

“Bea…” His lips curled at the corners. “Say yes.”

My teeth dug into my bottom lip. I didn’t want to be stubborn just for the sake of it, and I couldn’t decide if that’s what I was doing. There was no question I was immensely attracted to him. Like, way beyond attracted. And there was an undeniable pull between us that had been there from the start. But I still had this twinge of resistance that made me want to run from him.

He’d chase me…

…and I’d like it.

“Okay. Yes.”

A grin spread across his face, and the tips of his ears glowed bright red. “Yes? Really?”

“Mmmhmm.” My stomach churned, and my overactive sense of self-preservation wanted me to take it back, but I fought it.

“Tonight. I’ll send a car for you.”

“I’ll drive.”

He shook his head. “You won’t make it easy.”

“I’m not an easy woman.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you any other way.” He squeezed my hand. “I’ll let you go.”

His unsaid words rang loud and clear:For now.

Chapter Nineteen

Salvatore

Beaarrivedatmyold house four minutes past seven. I yanked the door open, unable to stop myself from scowling as she made her way up the front path.

“You’re late.”

She stopped in her tracks, staring at me blankly, and I immediately regretted opening my mouth. I hadn’t intended to bark at her, but I’d been convinced she wasn’t coming. My gut was a tangled mess, and I’d bypassed my ring to pick the hell out of the skin around my thumbnails.

I stepped out of the house, meeting her on the path. “I thought you weren’t coming.” I carefully took her elbow in my palm. “I’m glad to see you.”

She slipped her phone from her small purse, tapping on the screen. “It’s seven-oh-four. I wouldn’t call this late.”