Mary's voice came through, soft and coy, with an undercurrent of tension she couldn't quite hide.
"Flipped through several pages. Even paused on mine."
Dean chuckled, his fingers trailing higher along her thigh.
"What's wrong—scared?"
"Just... surprised, that's all."
Mary hesitated, then leaned closer into him.
"He never used to look twice at anything I brought him. Always just signed."
"Worried he noticed something?" Dean shot her a sidelong glance, lips curling. "Relax. That old fool's got nothing in his head but business and money. Spends all day scheming how to make his next million. Never occurs to him his own house is already on fire—and the horns on his head are glowing bright green."
Mary swatted his arm, the touch playful, barely a tap. "That mouth of yours."
"My mouth?"
Dean laughed outright, his hand sliding higher, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of her skirt.
"I can say worse. Want to hear? Last night, someone was whispering in my ear—"
"Shut up!"
Mary clamped her hand over his mouth, her face burning redder now, but her eyes—her eyes shimmered, dark and inviting.
The light turned red. The car stopped.
Dean caught her wrist, drew it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her palm.