So much so that it took the dripping of more gelato on her fingers to get her to close her gaping mouth and break eye contact with him.Oh, he tried to play off the comment as a joke, claiming his usual flippancy, but it was too late. The idea had already infiltrated her brain and forced a shift in her perception of him. Shagging meant sleeping together! That he’d even made a comment like that meant his attentions to her weren’t similar to those of Hans-Josef or even Thoreau—a kind of hoped-for friendship. No. Even if Emerson wasn’t serious about it and had no intention of following through with any plans of seduction, he had imagined her in bed with him. And he hadn’t hesitated to openly share that idea with her—however teasingly.To his laughing brush-off response of “Oh, relax, Gwen. I’m just teasing you,” she’d immediately shot back, “Of course you are. I’m practically an engaged woman,” and she’d had the satisfaction of seeing him look surprised and hold his palms up in a “hands off”
