“Oh, yeah.” Her agility in handling that, in maintaining the cover, flattened him. And turned him on. The woman had untapped skills. “If you want, you can kiss me again for good measure.”

Instead, smiling at him, she trailed one fingertip down his chest all the way to his belt buckle. She looked back at the women—who were still staring after him—and dropped her hand with a satisfied smile. “Let’s go.”

Yeah, Jackson thought. Let’s. He couldn’t wait to get her alone so they could really talk.

And so he could really kiss her.

And maybe get her hand back on his belt buckle.

But fifteen minutes later, after buying the movie, they were halfway through the grocery shopping when he realized she was more pissed than he’d first thought. By rote, she dropped items into the grocery cart, staying a few steps ahead of him, constantly keeping him at her back.

Giving him the cold shoulder.

She’d withdrawn from him. Again.

He didn’t like it. He much preferred her teasing, or even her anger, because at least then, she opened up to him. But this, the silent treatment, sucked.

He waited until they were in front of the produce, away from most prying ears, before he asked, “So what’d you do to me?”

A nearly imperceptible stiffening of her shoulders gave her away. She remained silent as she placed a fat tomato in with the other groceries.

Undaunted, Jackson leaned on the cart handle, his arms crossed. “Remember, you said I should stop asking what I did to you, and instead ask what you did to me. So I’m asking. And my imagination is running wild.”

She didn’t acknowledge him when she put a five-pound bag of potatoes in the cart. Did that mean she expected to feed him more than once—or did she always buy five pounds?

“C’mon, Alani,” he prompted her, hoping to draw her out of her mood. “If I got a hummer, I’d really like to know—”

She slammed a bag of carrots into the cart, so close to him that he had to duck back.

Fascinated with her temper, he waited, watching her closely, anticipating what she might do.

She stopped, drew a breath. Her eyes narrowed meanly. “Yes.”

A tidal wave of heat snapped Jackson’s spine straight. “Yes, what?”

“Yes.” She smiled with smug satisfaction. “You got a…a hummer.” Saying it brought a blush to her fair skin, but it didn’t stop her from looking boldly toward his crotch. “And while I’m not real practiced, you definitely liked it.”

Oh, hell. She knew how to fight dirty, too.

As she sauntered past him, secure that she led in the score, he turned the cart and rushed to catch up. “So…”

All kinds of images ripped through his mind, some of them achingly sweet, most of them scorching, a few even raunchy.

Strangling on his lust, he cleared his throat. “Did I…you know, coerce you into doing that?” He hated that thought as much as he loved the other thought—that she’d wanted to taste him, that she’d maybe initiated that particular form of intimate pleasure loved by all men. “Or did you—” he searched for the right word “—volunteer?”

Over her shoulder, she said, “I can’t be coerced.” And she smiled that taunting smile again. “I was curious. You were accommodating.” She shrugged as if that explained everything.

Yeah, he could just imagine how accommodating he’d been. He wouldn’t mind accommodating her again, real soon.

Jackson moved up alongside her. It wasn’t easy since he had to push the cart through the crowded aisles. “So…” Damn, but he’d never been hesitant with sex talk before. He had to clear his throat again. “Did you like it?”

“Sure.” She didn’t even take a second to think about it. “Actually, I loved it.”

His knees went weak. His heartbeat galloped. No way in hell could he shake the visual of Alani’s mouth on him, her tongue moving over him, her cheeks hollowed as she…

Oh, God. In a croak, he asked, “Interested in doing it again?”

“That depends.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. He would not bargain with her. He wouldn’t let any woman, not even Alani, manipulate him with sex. Hands tight on the cart handle, his abdomen in knots, he asked, “Depends on what?”

“How our relationship progresses, of course.” This time her laugh was legitimate as she stopped and turned to him. “Did you expect me to negotiate? To offer you favors in exchange for…what? Less cloak-and-dagger? More openness?”

“I dunno.” He would never understand her, but by God, he would keep trying. “Maybe.”

Gently, as if explaining to a child, she said, “You do what you do, Jackson. Within your specialized field of expertise, I mean.” She flapped a hand. “If you’re anywhere near as good as my brother or Dare, then most everything you do has a motive, I’m sure. I might not always like the method, but I do understand the intent.”

His molars clenched. “I’m every bit as good as them, damn it.”

“And so incredibly modest, too.” Turning her attention to the shelves, she examined a few spices. “But none of that has anything to do with our private relationship, now does it? And I’m afraid the two are going to clash.”

He grabbed some peppercorns and tossed them in with the steaks. “Clash how?”

“I’m not in your field, remember? I don’t thrive on danger. I don’t think in terms of targets and threats and countermeasures. I’m just your average, run-of-the-mill interior designer.”