Page 84 of Faking Forever
“Fine…no. It was like sitting on a marshmallow.” She hated admitting that. Especially since it resulted in the return of that insufferably smug gleam in his eyes.
“Did you likeanyof the ones before this?”
Shit.
“No.”
“So you’re protesting my selection process just for the sake of protesting?”
“Yourselection processseems to be based on witchcraft and wizardry. I prefer a more scientific approach.”
More suppressed laughter in his eyes.
“Sositting on a marshmallowis a scientific descriptor?”
He had her there.
“Your use of the wordsquidgyclearly introduced a bias that I unconsciously picked up. The results are therefore flawed,” she told him with a prim sniff and this time there was no hiding his delighted grin.
Kenny was so dazzled by that beautiful smile that she quite helplessly offered him an unreserved one in return. He blinked, looking bemused, while his own smile dimmed somewhat.
Kenny’s smiled started to fade too, as uncertainty gnawed around the edges of her stomach. Had she done something wrong?
But then his eyes brightened and his smile widened again.
“And me without my sunglasses.” The words, muttered beneath his breath, were so incongruous that Kenny was certain she must’ve misheard.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He hesitated for a moment, before continuing. “Just bitching about leaving my shades in the car. How about some warning the next time you decide to blind a man with that smile, sweetheart?”
Her smile turned bashful, his words making her self-conscious. He’d always had the power to make her feel like shy, silly schoolgirl.
“Shut up,” she said with an embarrassed little laugh, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
His gaze softened as they swept over her flushed face.
He swept his index finger lightly over the surface of the skin along her jawline, reminiscent of the way he’d done last night before leaving.
He withdrew the whisper-soft touch secondslater and it took everything in her not to list in the direction of that retreating hand.
“Onto the next one,” he said, his voice raspy and eyes glazed. “We’re getting this damned sofa today.”
Several “arse tests” later and Smith was supervising the loading of what he’d deemed “the perfect sofa” onto the back of the borrowed pickup truck.
He was trying to tell the loaders—who clearly knew their jobs and didn’t need his oversight—exactly where and how to tie the couch down onto the bed of the truck.
Kenny had opted to stay in the vehicle. She had even less value to add when it came to the loading furniture onto the back of trucks and she had a headache building. Probably due to hunger—brunch had been nearly five hours ago—and some residual dehydration after last night.
Smith finally joined her, shouting his thanks to the loaders, before backing out of the cargo bay.
“All set?” Kenny asked, massaging the back of her neck. “It’s not going to fly off the back of the truck while we’re driving or anything, right?”
“It probably would’ve if those guys had paid any attention to anything I said,” he admitted with a self-effacing grin and she smothered a laugh. “But I’m confident they got it sorted, despite my attempts to help.”
“Hard to cede control sometimes, isn’t it?” she asked sympathetically.
“Has it been for you?” he asked with a narrow-eyed gaze, as if trying to figure out if there was another layer to her observation. “It can’t have been easy handing your department over to someone else to run in your absence. You must be checking in regularly.”
