"Don't ask."
"Oh, I’m asking."
Once again, his gaze dipped to my lips. "Why?"
"Because I want to know."
"Trust me," he said. "You don't."
As he spoke, something in his gaze made my knees go just a little wobbly. My pulse jumped, and my body warmed.Did he have any idea what he was doing to me?
Or the things Iwantedhim to do to me?
Oh, boy.
He was so achingly close that I was finding it hard to breathe – not because we were in a confined space, but rather because lately, he wasalwayshaving that effect on me.
By now, I was so disoriented, I could hardly think. Adding to my confusion, something about this seemed oddly familiar.
And then it hit me. "Oh, my God."
He frowned. "What?"
"This is almost exactly like the pantry where I had my first kiss."
His gaze grew speculative. "Oh, yeah?"
I almost cringed. "I don't know why I just told you that."
"So, who was the guy?"
As my thoughts swirled, heat flooded my face. "Nobody."
Mason gave me a long, inscrutable look. "It must've beensomebodyto make you blush like that."
Was I blushing?But of course, I was. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with Anton McCormack, the guy who'd been my impromptu partner in that high school game of Spin the Bottle.
With an awkward laugh, I said, "Oh, please. I'm not blushing because ofhim."
"So whyareyou blushing?"
"Because ofyou."
His gaze warmed. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. You make it hard to think."
"But you're thinkingsomething."
"Yeah, well, maybeyou'rethinking something, too."
"Am I?"
Was he ever.And unless I was mistaken, he was thinking the same thingIwas thinking. If that was true, how crazy wouldthatbe?
When I replied with a slight nod, he said, "I'll tellyouif you tell me."
"You mean what we're thinking?" I gave it some thought. "Alright. But you have to go first."