Formal. And I could still wear it to other things in the future.”

“Like what?”

“Are you really this interested in a dress, or are you just giving me a hard time?”

The deep husky laugh seemed to rumble from his chest. “Maybe I’m just interested in you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You are such a prickly little pear, Miss Harris.”

Taylor ignored that. Wasn’t even going to dignify his comment with a response. “Maybe I couldn’t wear my dress to a wedding, since it’s off-white and that’s kind of a no-no, but I could wear it to another black-tie event.”

“Because you go to so many of those,” he teased, his gaze resting on her lips, making her lips feel tingly and hot.

She looked away, had to look away, flooded with emotions and sensation she didn’t want. She didn’t trust any of this. Troy was charming and obviously good at banter, but she did feel out of her league. Gorgeous men didn’t flirt with her. Gorgeous men never even looked at her. “I might in the future,” she said crisply, glancing back at him and then swallowing hard when she discovered he was smiling at her. Not just a crooked little smile but a smile with his lips and eyes, one of those smiles that made his blue gaze warm. He had beautiful eyes, too, and right now they glowed with a teasing light, knowing light, as if he knew her.

But he didn’t. He didn’t know the first thing about her.

Correction. He did know a few things. He did know she didn’t enjoy balls and black-tie events because she’d told him that. But other than that limited bit of knowledge, he knew very little else about her, and so he shouldn’t smile at her with warm blue eyes and he shouldn’t let his lips curve as if they were having a delightful, playful conversation.

Taylor swallowed hard, and pressed her lips together, trying not to think about how it’d felt when he kissed her at the diner—so good—and how he’d smelled—delicious—and how hard it had been to fall asleep last night when she kept thinking about going to the ball with him and dancing with him and having dinner at the Sheenan table with him and his brothers…

Her heart had raced. Just as it was racing now.

Her imagination had gone nearly wild, creating scenarios that could never happen. That would never happen. Swashbuckling heroes didn’t fall in love with quiet librarians.

Not unless they’d had a learning disability and needed help with reading. Or filing.

She frowned, watching as he leaned back and dragged a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it. His blue denim shirt, rolled back on his wrist, slid towards his elbow, revealing dense, corded muscle in his forearm and lightly tanned skin.

Shameless. He was.

His gaze met hers, held. His lips curved into a wider, crooked smile. His expression seemed to say that he was enjoying her right now, and maybe even enjoying her a great deal.

Which couldn’t be.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t work. It wasn’t real or plausible.

And did he do this to all women, smile at them and flirt and seduce them with his eyes? Seduce them with the curve of his firm lips?

Taylor wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Apparently back in high school, he was quite the expert kisser. He’d probably graduated in college to expert lover.

Annoying. So terribly annoying.

“Why are you frowning at me, Miss Harris?” he drawled, a lock of dark ruffled hair falling forward, giving him a rakish appearance.

“You’re such a flirt,” she said primly, glancing away, unable to hold his gaze, unnerved by the tension between them.

She felt hot and cold, jittery and nervous, and a little bit dizzy, too. He was projecting some kind of energy, a magnetic energy, and it had heat and intensity and confused the heck out of her.

He laughed softly.