Page 20 of Reeve

“Saturday,” he says.

“Can’t,” I say. “I have a family dinner at Parker’s.”

“Friday?”

“Sure,” I say, realizing my hand is still in his. I’m in no rush to pull it away. It feels too nice for our palms to be flush, the heat of his skin pressed against the warmth of mine. His thumb strokes the pad of my hand tenderly, and my breath hitches.

“And I get to plan the date,” he says. “And you go along with it.”

“Are you gonna plan something weird?” I ask. His thumb makes lazy circles on my palm. I work hard to conceal how much it’s affecting me.

“Nope. I promise it’ll be nice. Really nice.”

I recall Tanner and McKenna’s gratitude about Aaron’s “thoughtful” gift for Madden, and wonder what kind of date he’d plan if I got out of the way and let him have free rein. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I agree. “Fine. You plan it. I’ll go along.”

“Awesome,” he says, grinning at me. Suddenly, his face registers surprise. “Ooops!” he cries, yanking his hand away. “You said no hand holding. Sorry.”

But his eyes say he’s not sorry. Not one bit. And my skin feels cold and lonesome without his pressed against it. I stare up at him. My stomach flutters.

“See you Friday, Reeve,” he says, tipping his hat as he gives me a slow, sexy smile.

Damn him!

I watch him saunter back toward his cruiser, my eyes glued to his ass, and my cooling hand fisted in protest.

Chapter 4

Reeve (and Parker)

Because we’re going out as friends, I insist on meeting Aaron downtown, but when I get to the Purple Parsnip, Aaron’s sitting in his car outside.

I knock on the window, and he lowers it, smiling at me.

“Evening.”

“Hi,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “Are we going inside?”

“Nope.”

“I thought we were having dinner,” I say.

“We are. Hop in.” I hesitate for a moment, and he widens his eyes at me. “You did agree to let me plan tonight. And you did agree to go along with whatever I planned…right?”

“You promised it wouldn’t be weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he says. “It’s just dinner. I promise.”

I round the car, open my own door and sit down in the passenger seat. “We’re going somewhere that requires a car?”

“Yep,” he says. “Buckle up.”

“So, we’re leaving Skagway?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, pulling away from the curb and driving north.

“Spill the beans,” I say. “Where are we going?”

He glances at me, grins, then slides his eyes back to the snowy road. “The Restaurant at Southern Lakes Resort.”