“Cool. Want me to do anything?” He inched toward me, the heat from his arm near mine.

“Uh, maybe set the table and get us some drinks.”

“What would you like?” he asked.

I swallowed. “There’s Coke and Newcastle in the fridge I bought today. Malcolm will want lemonade.”

“Which do you want?” Another inch closer, and I caught the heady scent of sweat and man.

“What?”

“Which drink do you want?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Beer.”

“Me too.” He brushed past me, his fingers grazing the side of my leg.

I inhaled and kept stirring. Total accident. It was a small kitchen.

He set my beer down on the counter already opened and propped himself back on the counter to stare more.

Did I have a zit?

“You want to put the garlic bread in the oven?” I asked a bit later as I poured the noodles into the colander.

He paused, a strange expression on his face. “You want me to put a bun in the oven?”

Of course I got the joke, but it was out of place and odd. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks.” I poured the noodles back in the hot pot so they’d stay warm. I shrugged. “I guess I should have put it in earlier. Now our pasta will be cold.”

“Nothing is ever cold when I’m with you,” he murmured, putting the bread in.

Malcolm sent us a curious look, his hand pausing over a puzzle piece.

I started. Something was definitely wrong with Dax tonight.

A few minutes later, we carefully transported the puzzle to a place in the den to make room for our dinner on the table.

“It’s our first cooked meal in the new house,” Dax said quietly, his eyes on me. “Thank you.”

My entire body tingled at his gaze. God, would I ever stop wanting him?

We sat down to eat and Dax kept sneaking little looks at me, the intensity of his attention making me self-conscious. Once, I’d even excused myself to run upstairs and check my appearance. I looked fine. My hair was kind of a mess, but I didn’t see anything on my face. I sniffed my armpits. I didn’t smell.

Later after we’d eaten and Dax had cleaned up, I hung out in the kitchen and baked chocolate chip cookies while Dax ran upstairs for a shower. I figured he had plans.

Malcolm plopped himself in the recliner in the den and flipped through the channels. He wanted to watch a movie, so I put the finished cookies on a plate and carried them into the den.

Dax was sitting in the middle of the couch with wet hair, dressed in loose sweats and a Tau t-shirt.

“It’s Saturday night. Aren’t you going out?” I asked.

He propped his feet up on the coffee table and spread his arms out along the back of the couch. “Nope.” He patted the seat. “Come on, sit down. You worked hard at making us dinner. Malcolm picked a movie out already—Four Weddings and Funeral.”

“He loves British movies,” I commented as I sat down within inches of him, feeling like I was in high school again, nervous and jittery about what was going to happen next.

My phone dinged with a text. It was Hartford wanting to know what my plans were for tomorrow. I replied, turned my phone off, and tucked it under the cushion.

“Hartford checking in?” Dax asked.

I nodded, seeing his lips tighten.

Another hour and a beer later, I grew drowsy, my head nodding into my chest. I drifted off and dreamed that Dax was really Aquaman, only he was way hotter than any comic hero I’d ever seen. His hair was messy and sexy and he had dragonfly designs all over his blue skin-tight wetsuit. I was a beautiful mermaid only I had legs. With the sea crashing around us, he chased me in the sand until he caught me and carried me into his cave. He kissed me . . .

I jerked awake, the only light in the room coming from the glow of another movie that had come on. Malcolm slept in the recliner, his mouth open as he snored.

Dax stared at me. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

I yawned. “Was I out for a while?”

“Not long.” He touched my hair, his fingers ever so slightly brushing the ends.

Barely even aware of doing so, I sighed and leaned my head into his hand.

“What were you dreaming?” he asked softly. At my questioning gaze, he said, “You moaned.”

Heat colored my face. “You remember in London telling me about your dream where I was a mermaid and you chased me on the beach and took me to a cave . . .” I stopped.

“I dream about you all the time, Remi.”

My heart jumped. I licked my lips. “My dream was . . . like that.” Feeling braver, I turned my head to take him in, questions burning in my mind. An idea had taken root earlier in the day as I’d had more time to analyze why Dax was so bitter about Hartford and me.

“Something’s been bugging me, and I wanted to ask you . . .”

“Mmm.” His hand pushed harder, the tips of his fingers digging into my scalp and working to the nape of my neck. Oh God. Felt so good. I bit back a groan.

“It’s hard to think when you do that,” I said.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Never,” I whispered.

“Good.” His hand skated lower, massaging the knots in my shoulder. “What’s been bugging you, Remi?”

My chest rose and I took a deep breath. “I—I have a theory about London on why you never answered my texts.”

His hand stilled. “Oh?”