Page 87 of That One Touch

“Okay. What is it?”

He caught her eye. “Actually, it’s two. One, would you like to come to a cookout next weekend at my folks’ place?”

She smiled. “I’d love to.”

“And two, what do you think about telling Delilah about us?”

Cassie blinked. She wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. And part of her wanted to laugh, because damn, this man always took her by surprise. But she got the feeling that laughing was the most inappropriate thing to do in that moment.

“Um… is that what you want?” she asked him.

Pres swallowed hard. “Marley pointed out that people will start to talk about us soon. Very soon.” His eyes met hers. “And that kids talk too. Even if they don’t always know what they’re saying, they could upset her by talking about us.”

She nodded. He was right. This wasn’t exactly Manhattan where you could disappear into the night after a steamy liaison. His car parked outside her house had to be a dead giveaway.

“I’m okay with it if you are,” she said softly. “You’re her dad, this has to be your decision.”

Their eyes caught for a long moment. He hadn’t said it, but this meant he was in this thing. She knew that. He wouldn’t be telling his daughter if he wasn’t serious.

And yes, part of her felt a thick pull in her stomach at the thought. Because Presley Hartson came as a package. A delicious package, but all the same it was serious.

“I love Delilah,” she told him. “I never want anybody to hurt her.”

The way he looked at her told her it was the right thing to say.

“Do you regret parking outside my house?” she asked him, thinking back to his earlier words.

A smile pulled at his lips. “Hell no. I’ve never regretted anything less.”

Warmth rushed through her. Did this man know what he did to her every time he opened up a little more? Being with Presley Hartson was like unwrapping a gift, layer by layer. One that kept giving.

“Maybe we should have driven out to the forest to have hot rampant car sex,” she murmured.

His eyes sparkled. “There’s no forest near here.”

“To the desert then.”

He shook his head. “We need to teach you some Hartson Creek geography. There’s mostly fields. Farms. Corn. All that jazz.”

She tipped her head to the side. “So where did you go to make out when you were a kid?”

He lifted a brow. “Where did you?”

“I didn’t make out. I was too busy dancing and singing my way through life.”

“Then maybe we need to make up for a lost teenagehood,” he said thickly, pulling her toward him and brushing his lips against hers. “By the way, every time I see you in a leotard all I can think of is ripping it off you.”

“Spandex is really hard to rip,” she told him. “Seriously, these things are made to withstand a nuclear war.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” His brows pulled together.

“And you sound like a man.”

He grinned. “That’s because I am. Now buckle up, let’s get you home.”

Chapter

Twenty