All Summer Long. Сьюзен Мэллери

up.”

      He chuckled. “Thank you for illustrating my point. Now you sit.”

      She plopped down and poured them each a glass of lemonade. After passing his to him, she happened to glance at her hands.

      Dirt covered every inch and collected under her nails. Crap. She probably should have washed her hands before getting them drinks. Which she would have done if he hadn’t been here. The man rattled her and not in a happy way.

      “I’m not defensive,” she snapped.

      He picked up his glass and took a sip. His unsettling gaze swung back to her. “This is lemonade.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Most people would say the yellow color was a dead giveaway.”

      He reached his free hand across the table and placed it on her forearm. “No claws required, Charlie. I’m not the enemy.”

      His voice was gentle, as was the pressure on her arm. She was aware of the warmth of his fingers on her skin. It all seemed easy for him. Because for him, the touching thing was no big deal.

      She could touch, too, she reminded herself. She could carry a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man out of a burning building, then give him CPR without blinking. But even she knew that was different.

      She drew in a deep breath, ignored the warmth his fingers generated and then exhaled.

      “Yes,” she said carefully. “It’s lemonade.”

      “You used sugar.”

      “Have you tried it without sugar? Do you know what a lemon is?”

      His hold tightened slowly. She had a feeling if she were a stray cat or dog, he would be murmuring something like, “It’s okay, girl. No one is going to hurt you.”

      “I was making conversation,” he told her, his tone still tinged with amusement. “Most people don’t use sugar. They use something without calories.”