Keira Andrews

“I like this,” he whispered. “Like it with you.”

“Do you like that?” Clay clearly did, but he wanted to hear him say it.

Muttering something, Clay nodded. Ethan gripped his face. This time he wasn’t apologetic. “Say that again. Clearly so I can hear you.”

A shiver ran through Clay, and he croaked, “I like it.”

I wondered what I could do to actually get him to smile at me. Not a fake-ass smile while we shook hands on the podium, but something genuine. Warm, even. Something just for me—even though I was very likely his least fave person on the planet.