Page 36 of Cross Checked
“I did.” His voice roughened slightly, the words dragging over my skin in a way they had no right to. “Just wanted to hear you say it again.”
My breath caught.
He saw it. Cade Mercer seemed built to notice the exact second I lost my footing.
“This is what I mean,” I said, but it came out softer than I intended.
His eyes stayed locked on mine. “I haven’t crossed a line.”
“No,” I admitted. “You haven’t.”
The truth of that changed the air between us.
Because he hadn’t. He had flirted. Teased. Looked at me like I was something worth figuring out. But he had not pushed. He had not crowded. He had not made my smile feel like permission or my nervousness feel like weakness.
And that was probably why he scared me more.
“I want it real,” I said, my voice quieter now. “And natural. If you agree to this, I don’t want polished athlete answers, and I don’t want some weird flirty performance because you know women like looking at you.”
His mouth twitched. “Womenlike looking at me?”
“I regret saying anything.”
“I don’t.”
“Shocking.”
He leaned in just slightly, not enough to touch me, but enough that my pulse reacted like he had. “For the record, Pip, if I flirt with you, it’s not because I’m used to women looking at me.”
My heart kicked hard enough to make me furious at it.
“Then why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His gaze held mine for one long second. “Because you keep looking back.”
The room went quiet in a way that felt physical.
My lips parted, but nothing came out. Cade’s attention flicked there and stayed just long enough to turn my bones warm before he pulled his eyes back up like restraint was something he had to choose on purpose.
Then he reached for the bag of potatoes like he had not just detonated a small bomb in the middle of my kitchen.
He moved to the sink, rolling up his sleeves before dumping the potatoes into the colander. His forearms flexed as he turned on the water, and I became suddenly, violently interested in locating the seasoning blend.
Anywhere else.
Any shelf.
Any drawer.
Possibly outside.
The man was washing potatoes and somehow making it look like a threat to my moral structure.
This was unacceptable.
I found the seasoning and set it on the counter harder than necessary. “Okay. After potatoes, I need to pack the essentials for Cade Mercer 101. Notes, project outline, maybe a few questions if something gets interesting. Not an interview. Just family stuff, real-life observation, and me pretending I’m not academically stalking you.”
“Academic,” Cade repeated, water running over his hands.
