Chapter 15
“Your coffee.” George presented the steaming mug with a flourish.
“My hero.” I smiled up at him, a warmth spreading throughout my body before I even touched the mug.
George placed his coffee on the table and slid into the bench seat beside me, at the far end of the table, well out of the line of sight of the doorway. His thigh pressed against mine as we discussed the meal plans for this trip. By the time we’d got to the topic of snacks, my mug was empty and my hand had found its way under the table. I trailed my fingers in circles around his knee as we debated the merits of ANZAC biscuits versus scones. His muscles tensed each time I brushed his inner thigh. I slid my fingers a little higher.
“You win. ANZACs it is.” George’s voice cracked. “Do you always play this dirty?”
