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He doesn't.

Instead he feigns innocence and asks, “What seems to be the problem?”

“You can't just go around giving people houses, Marcus. That's not how this works.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“How does it work then, Cass?” He steps closer to me. I can smell his cologne and him and he’s right there, smiling down at me. “Tell me how it works,” he says, his voice soft and deep.

“It works like …” I start in, but he’s staring at me, a smile on his face that draws out dimples and those lines around his eyes. “It doesn’t work like ...”

Marcus steps even closer and pushes a lock of my hair back so gently. His fingers drift over my skin, sending tingles through me. His hand lingers at my neck, palm on my pulse.

I’m still all riled up.

He smiles wider. “I love when you're all fired up and you come at me like a three-hundred-pound linebacker.”

“A three-hundred-pound …” I pop my free hand on my other hip.

But my words are cut off when he steps so close that he’s brushing against me.

“I like you, Cass.” He pauses, letting his words linger between us. “A lot. Can't a man buy a house for the woman who stole his heart?”

“You … I … ?” I stammer.

Marcus grins softly. His breath skates over my face, “I like you enough to give you a house.”

I shake my head. It’s too much.

“Do you like me enough to keep a gift like that?” he asks, cupping my cheek with his hand.

I can’t find words, so I just nod.

Then I say, “I like you too.”

“You do, huh?” He smiles even wider, this secret look passing between us.

We’re in our comfort zone, playing and taunting one another. But this time, it’s different. This time, I know he means every word. And he knows I do too.

He takes one more step, eliminating the space between us and wrapping his arm behind me. “I'm not faking,” he whispers. “I haven't been faking for a while.”

“I haven't either,” I admit. “Not since Nashville.”

“Oh?” he asks.

Then he leans in and whispers in my ear. “So, you’ve been my girlfriend since October?”

“I’ve been warming up to the idea of you,” I say, even though he knows now. It’s obvious he’s figuring me out—he always does.

“Warming up, huh?” He cups my jaw. “Well, I’ve been warming up too. As a matter of fact …” He pauses, looking me in the eyes. “I love you.”

I blink.

He repeats himself. “Did you hear me?”

“I think so.”