12

“Rebecca,” he said, his tone as serious as the grave, his eyes rising with difficulty to lock on hers. “Believe me when I say I know I’m being inappropriate.”

Her mouth fell open as he leaned down. Suddenly, her hands were on his front, not pushing him away but curling into his polo shirt. Boy, if this was how she reacted to a bit of attention, she needed to date more. She was tugging him toward her, and his arms slid warm and strong around her. His chest was broad and steely. As his head came closer, she rose on tiptoe.

He licked a swipe up her parted lips, his tongue as soft as a rose petal.

Rebecca’s breath shuddered out of her.

“God,” he whispered and sealed their mouths together. He tasted like sun-warmed cherries.

Rebecca wished he’d kiss her forever.

“Mm,” he hummed like he had over her food yesterday. “Mm, Rebecca.” “Mr. Hayworth—“

She lost her breath as he hiked her butt onto the worktop. The seat brought their heights closer. He angled his head and kissed her a second time,