Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“Well?”

“Michael …”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hearing the hardness in his voice, I impulsively reached for his hand to stop his withdrawal. “It’s not what you think.”

He covered my hand with his other, and I shivered under his smoldering attention. There was no other word for it. He smoldered. But I was the one catching fire. “Is this your idea of fun?”

“Speed dating?” I scoffed. “No, I’m in hell.” I yanked my hand out of his, remembering his actions only minutes ago. “And for the record, I don’t need you to protect me from dipshits. You embarrassed me.”

“That little fucker is lucky I’m a police officer, or he’d have walked out of here with more than a red face. No one talks to you like that.”

I hated how conflicted he made me feel. His actions annoyed me, but his sentiment did not. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

“Yeah, too long.”

The bell rang, but Michael didn’t move. He kept his focus on my face and without looking away said to the guy hovering beside him, “Move along.”

After a moment of confusion, the man departed.

“Are you seriously going to stay here all night?”

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore a dark Henley that showcased his superb physique. The muscles in his arms flexed with his movement and my mouth went dry. Why couldn’t he be overly muscular and massive in a way I found off-putting? Why did he have to be that perfect amount of hard, delicious, well-maintained strength that suited his height and build? I wished he was naked so I could lick him.

Ugh. I scolded myself for the wayward thoughts.

“You’re ogling.” Amusement threaded his words.

I flushed at being caught and then narrowed my eyes in irritation. “You wore that shirt deliberately.”

Laughter spilled from his lips. “Men wear clothes because it’s the law. They don’t wear clothes deliberately.”

“Some men do.”

His dark eyes dropped to my cleavage and then moved to my lips. “You chose that outfit deliberately.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Which makes it worse. You chose it for other guys.”

“I chose it for myself. I dress for myself.” I glowered. “If you remembered anything about me, you’d remember that.”

He cocked his head in thought. “I distinctly remember a set of underwear you admitted to wearing just for me.”

Heat spread through me at the memory. We’d been fooling around in his car, and I was wearing a satin emerald-green bra and underwear I’d bought for him. The lingerie had taken our making out from slow and delicious to hungry and determined. He was seconds from pushing inside me for the first time when we were interrupted.

I shrugged off the melancholy memory. “Lingerie is different.”

“You buy lingerie for Jeff?”

Seeing the flash of jealousy in his eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest and countered, “Did your wife buy lingerie for you?”

The bell rang again.

Michael didn’t budge. Again.

“Hey, man, you’re supposed to move.” A cute guy with a thick head of dark hair and glasses said to Michael. His eyes flicked to me with interest.