8.2

She shivered from the memory of his touch, his taste . . . his kiss. Even a half kiss from him had been enough to knock the sense right out of her. If a kiss to the corner of her mouth and a light stroke along her collarbone could turn her into a puddle of needy—

His coat landed on her shoulders, jerking her thoughts mercifully away from that dangerous path. She didn’t bother shrugging it off and flinging it at him. Her little rant on the phone had zapped whatever defiant posturing she had left straight out of her. Instead, she pulled it closed in front of her, and tried not to breathe in the smell of him. Tried to make herself believe she hadn’t thought about that very scent well past the time she’d convinced herself that the whole scene in front of Hartley’s had just been an unfortunately timed chance meeting. Sort of like smashing into Beanie’s sign. Only less painful. Maybe.

“So you graciously spared the town more needless gossip,” she said, struggling to pick up the thread of the