He’d driven his father’s car, a spacious sedan, rather than the truck he usually favored. As he understood it, Jordan was with a woman and her two children—too many people to fit into the truck. He was anxious to hear what story his uncle Jordan told to explain all this. But for the moment he was more concerned with how to handle Emma Clark. The truck, being a stick shift, would have guaranteed some space between them. But the car had bench seats, and Emma scooted much too close. She smelled nice, damp from the outdoors and sweet like a female. He was far from immune. She reached for his knee before he could open his door. “Just a second, Case.” Her voice was low, throaty. “Why’re you in such a hurry?” Very calmly, Casey took her wrist and lifted her hand away. She was the most brazen girl he knew, and the most insecure. It was something in her big brown eyes, something she tried real hard to hide. Twining his fingers with hers, he couldn’t help but notice how small boned she was, how her hand felt tiny in his own.
