A question poked at Gavin's conscience, getting increasingly louder until he finally gave it a voice. “Look…don’t take this the wrong way, but this is over three weeks’ worth of work. I’ve got to ask, how much help did you give Bree, exactly?” Sloane made a less-than-dainty sound and rolled her eyes. “I already passed eighth-grade English, and I’m not exactly eager to do any of the writing on my own again. Bree busted her butt, I assure you.” She started to wad up the discarded pages at her feet, muttering a low oath as the ball got big enough to exceed her hand.

Okay, so that had come out more accusatory than he’d intended. He knelt to help her collect the crumpled pages. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you did it for her.”

“Sure you did. But like I said, you don’t have to worry. I helped her, but only as much as she’d let me. Once we got started, she really did most of it without even talking to me.”

Now there was something he could relate to. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” The ache in his bones migrated to include everything beneath his sternum, and Gavin let out a tired exhale. He reached for the last scrap of paper at the exact moment Sloane did. Unable to change his course of movement without making contact, his fingertips brushed against the top of her hand as she closed a fist over the page, and the sheer heat of her skin under his hand registered in a jolt.

“Whoops, sorry.” He withdrew his hand and looked up, only to discover his face about six inches from a pair of heart-shaped lips, parted in a look of surprise. “I didn’t mean to…” A quick gesture to her hand completed the sentence. Her skin was so soft, like a stretch of perfectly golden caramel, warm and sweet and utterly decadent.

For a hot, impulsive moment, he wondered if she tasted the way she looked.

“No biggie,” she murmured, not moving her eyes from his.

Up close in the soft lamp light, they looked even prettier, kind of a cross between a summer sky and gathering storm clouds, and the juxtaposition caught him square in the chest. His left knee pressed against her right thigh from when they’d both knelt down on the floorboards, and even through the wool and denim, heat coursed from her body in waves.

He meant to lean back, to correct the mistake of accidentally invading her space and just let her go. Gavin commanded himself to move, to say good night, and give her enough room to walk out the door.

But instead, he kissed her."