Page 66 of Your Place or Mine

“So, do you always hover like a passive-aggressive thundercloud, or is that just for me?”

Callum’s eyes flicked to mine.

Green. Sharp. Stormy.

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’ve circled this end of the bar three times.”

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

“You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

I tilted my head, letting my gaze roam up the line of his arm to where his sleeve was rolled just enough to show a stretch of ink across his forearm. A compass. Faint script.

Dangerous territory.

“Funny,” I said. “That’s the same thing I tell myself when I try not to notice you brooding in corners.”

He stilled.

And the silence that fell between us wasn’t awkward.

It was electric.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

Just for a second. But I caught it.

My breath snagged.

Something cracked.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, voice lower now.

“Which part?”

“This,” he said, motioning vaguely between us. “The push and pull.”

I gave him a slow smile. “A little.”

He stepped in, resting his hands on the bar, leaning just far enough forward that I could smell him—whiskey, soap, and something warm and earthy like firewood and nights that are too long to forget.

My skin prickled.

His eyes searched mine. Not playfully. Not teasing.

Intense.

Focused.

“I don’t like being baited,” he said.

“Then stop biting so hard.”

He let out a short breath, like a laugh that got caught in his chest. “You are the most maddening woman I’ve ever met.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

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