Page 81 of Knox

When she touched him. She put her hand softly on his chest, right in the center where she could probably feel his heart thundering.

She took another step closer, looked up at him, something soft in her eyes. “Yeah. I know you are bigger and stronger than me, Tator, so, please, please, rescue me.”

He knew there was something wrong with her words, but when she licked her lips, he simply…he couldn’t move.

Then she reached up and touched his face, her fingers whisper light, as if drawing him down to her.

He simply stopped breathing, lost the feeling in his body, just his heart hammering in his chest, the forbidden stirrings inside loosening—

She curled her hand around the cookie jar and grabbed it from his arm.

Danced back from him.

It took him too long to react, to realize she’d played him, to shout an indignant,Hey!because even in her play she was grinning at him, her eyes sparkling, practically an invitation to follow her deeper into the pantry.

“You gotta be faster than that, McDraw.” She opened the cookie jar and pulled out a fresh sugar cookie. Tilted the jar toward him. “Want one?”

Yes. Very much.

He shook his head.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Your loss.” She put the cap on the jar. Set it on a nearby shelf.

Turned back, smiling, and took a bite. “See, not the boss of me.”

He stilled. And the game was gone. She was about to take another bite of the cookie when he caught her arm. She looked at his grip, then met his eyes.

Swallowed. “Sorry.”

He stepped closer to her, cut his voice low. “Don’t you get it, Glo? You are my responsibility. You and Kelsey and Dixie, and you nearly burned to death. And Iwasn’t there.”

Her smile vanished, and she set the cookie aside. Caught her lip between her teeth. Met his eyes, and they glistened. “You’re right. And I am sorry. I…I’m sorry I scared you.”

He loomed over her, aware of how small she was when he got up close, and a painful surge of protectiveness swept through him. He cut his voice low. “Please, please don’t do that again. Don’t leave without…without telling me.”

She looked up at him, nodded.

“And while we’re at it, enough with the name-calling. My name is Tate. Not Tator, not Shakespeare, not McDraw—”

“Not Magnum? Because I like that one.” Her lips curled into a smile.

Oh. Shoot. Because now all he was thinking about was how he really, oh so very much, wanted to taste those pretty lips.

And as she looked up at him, her smile vanished, leaving just the rise and fall of her chest.

She reached out and splayed her hand over his chest.

“Tate,” she whispered.

He lowered his head.

His back pocket buzzed.

He jerked away, realized he’d been holding his breath, and blew it out as he turned, yanking the phone from his pocket.