Page 128 of The Exit Strategy

“Stop staring at me like that.” Her tone is shy, quiet in a way Junie never is with anyone else.

I like it.

Scratch that, I love it.

“Like what?” My lips try to curl into a smile she won’t appreciate, and it’s a real effort to hold back.

“Like I’m a puzzle that doesn’t fit.”

“Oh, you fit, Junie. Trust me. Every inch of you fits.”

“Cole.” She’s aiming for pissed, but her breathy tone gives her away.

“Juniper.” Shit. Seduction leaks from my voice without even trying. Her cheeks flare pink, and I bookmark that tone for future use.

“It’s just a dress.”

“It’s not.”

Her eyes flash like sapphires. “It’s all I brought from Boston, don’t make a thing of it.”

I unleash my smile as I lean in to kiss her cheek, reveling in the hitch of her breath when my lips skim her soft flesh. “Oh, Junie,” I whisper into the shell of her ear. “I’m going to make a thing of it. And then I’m going to do something I’ve never, ever done before.”

“What’s that?” Her cheek twitches, and I pull back enough to see her lick her lips. Her tongue leaves a glistening trail along her bottom lip that has my thoughts spiraling straight into a ditch.

“Buy you a shitload of dresses.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You roll your eyes all you want, but seeing you in a dress? It’s my new favorite thing.”

She makes a small, irritated noise that’s been a characteristic of hers since she was ten, pushes past me into my house like she owns it, and stops short at the sight she finds at the kitchen table.

Her chest rises quickly as she scans the room while her dress swishes around her legs. If I didn’t know it before, I do now—Juniper Mercer is ruining me.

“You…set the table.” With her back to me, I can’t see her eyes, but I’m certain there’s confusion in them.

“I said I’d cook.”

“You did,” she says slowly. I bite my bottom lip to keep my smirk in check when she absentmindedly rearranges the silverware, so the forkison the left side of the plate. “But you didn’t say you’d do all…”

She glances around the room again, pausing on the candles, the wine, the linen napkins I hand-rolled and stuffed rather poorly into the napkin rings Nana Mae always uses for special occasions.

“Juniper.” My chest is on fire, and I fight the urge to scratch at it.

“Cole.”

She says my name like she’s trying to regulate her breathing with it, so I give her a moment while I move around her to the island and pretend to toss the salad. At this point, it’s already been tossed so much that the tomatoes have shed all their seeds and I’m in danger of making a mashed salad if I don’t ease up.

Her focus catches on the wine next to me before flicking back to the candle, and that’s when it happens in real time. Juniper Mercer needs more information and is steeling her spine as she sits at my table, then folds her hands primly as though she’s a woman who’s been invited to a negotiation and not a date.

Unfortunately for her, I expected nothing less.

“Can I have a glass of wine, Whittaker?” Shoulders back, eyes straight ahead, I can almost hear the gears working over all the possibilities in her mind.

“Of course, Viper. Anything for mydate.”

Her gaze snaps to mine. There’s the flame dancing in her ocean-blue depths.