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“Scram.” Johnny chased him out, slammed the door behind him and straightened his shirt cuffs. “Glad that’s done with.” In two strides, he was beside her and plunked down on the sofa, his weight pressing down the cushions. He laced his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist, his breath a sliver of sound in the lull of silence.
“It’s not.” She gritted her teeth, trying desperately to ignore his heat zapping into her. Her pulse leaped. Before she succumbed to the emotion and curled into him, she withdrew her hand. Not quite meeting his eyes, she snatched a cushion and hugged it to her bosom.
“No?” he asked.
Tick. Tock. The cuckoo clock sounded the half hour, the echo ominous.
“I want you to leave, too, Johnny.”
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