Page 64 of Clara Knows Best

“It’s just lip balm,” she explained, as an afterthought. “It’s windy out there.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” he said, but it sounded almost like a growl.

She did not answer, but she glanced at his mouth and then back up at his eyes.

“Stop looking at my mouth, Clara.”

“I’m not,” she said immediately.

“You want me to kiss you or something?”

“Of course not,” she said, but her chocolatey brown eyes said the exact opposite.

The office was empty and dark; Yoli had gone home as soon as the last patient had left, and now it suddenly felt very…private.

He took her face gently in both hands, stepped closer and looked into those big brown eyes again.

Clara was spellbound, her pupils dilated in the dim lighting, and her expression was dreamy. Time slowed down and he zeroed in on her lips, which, although he was holding her still, seemed to be getting closer.

He was suddenly aware of his own pounding heartbeat, and realized in the same moment that he had been lowering his head to hers. What was he doing? This was Clara! He’d only meant to tease her a little. How had he let it get this far? Pull back!

“Clara.”

“Hmm.” She was looking at his mouth again.

“Clara, I need to tell you something.” What he needed to do was let go of her, but he couldn’t seem to do that.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Her soft, throaty voice was almost his undoing. He pulled hard on his self-control. “Remember that time you got kicked in the face at cheer practice,” he whispered, “and your dad forbade everyone from mentioning your fat lip, and Beck slipped a drawing of a duck-billed platypus under your door and you had a meltdown?”

Instantly, surprise and humor replaced whatever she’d been feeling a moment ago. She nodded cautiously.

He smiled wryly. “Beck didn’t do it.”

She understood instantly. “No.”

He nodded in modest pride.

“No! I hate you,” she cried, pushing his hands away. “I blamed Beck for ten years!”

“I know. I got away with it.” The intimate mood was broken and every cell in his body was wildly disappointed with the outcome, but at least she was smiling. “Can we get out of here yet?”

She heaved a great sigh. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Finally. I’m starving.” He was not starving, could not even think about eating, but it seemed like a normal thing to say.

“It’s going to be catered. They always have good food.” She led the way down the hall to the front door, set her bag on a chair, and handed him her coat, gathering her hair carefully to lift it off her shoulders.

Jesse held the garment for her and she slipped into it and let her hair down carefully, engulfing him in her delicate floral scent.

“Will there really be a ring toss?” he asked, shrugging into his jacket.

“The flyer said carnival games.”

“Nice. Hey, it fits,” he said, placing the hat on his head.

“Good. You look good in it. You’re a hat guy.”

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