The tension blooms instantly. Bash’s storming gaze collides with mine, sending a thunderclap of feeling through my veins.
“You should stop doing that,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you any kind of way.”
“Yes, you are.”
He shifts closer. Heat rolls off him despite how cold the lake was.
“Romilly,” he says, his voice low and tantalizing. “Why do you keep pretending you don’t want this?”
I try to look away, but his hand gently brings my face back to him.
“You’re just…you’re everything I swore I wouldn’t fall for.”
He looks stricken by my answer. Something sharpens in his gaze like he’s seeing clearly for the first time. “And what’s that?”
“You’re way too charming. You’re overprotective and constantly concerned about my appetite. You make it hard for me to stay serious and professional because you turn everything into a joke. You make me want to break all the rules, and you can’t even slice sourdough bread.” I try to find more reasons but come up empty. And I can’t deny the ones I just gave him are hardly marks against him. If anything, they only draw me into him even more.
Neither of us speaks.
And then I kiss him.
Or maybe he kisses me.
Either way, our mouths find each other in a rush of heat and desperation and want. His hands are on my waist, on my back. Bash pulls me closer, and the way his fingers slide against my soaking, skin-tight clothes give me goosebumps. My fingers twist in his shirt to tug him toward me, but I’m simultaneously trying to make sense of the chaos inside me.
His mouth finds mine again with no hesitation this time. His hands slide into my hair, fisting gently at the base of my neck as he deepens the kiss. His lips move with a kind of hunger that steals the air from my lungs. It’s slow at first—velvety, coaxing—but it builds fast, like a flame against firewood.
When his tongue brushes against mine, my knees go weak. I gasp softly against his mouth, gripping his arms like I’m afraid I might fall again, even though he’s the one who’s doing all the unraveling.
Bash’s mouth captures mine over and over like he’s memorizing it, like he’s making up for all the times we’ve come close but pulled away.
The world disappears. I’m hyper-aware of everything, like how his chest is pressed tight to mine, and how one of his hands slides down my spine, slow and reverent, like he’s mapping out something sacred. The other stays tangled in my hair, holding me in place as if he can’t bear to let me go.
Heat coils low in my stomach and spreads outward, making me feel dizzy, drunk on him. When he pulls back for air, I chase his mouth—because I need more, because this feels too good, too much, and yet not enough.
He groans softly. “You drive me insane, you know that?”
“Likewise.”
His thumb strokes along the edge of my jaw. My lips are still tingling, my whole body practically humming, and his eyes…oh, his eyes. They look like they’ve just seen heaven. Or maybe like he’s staring right at it.
And I hate that I’m about to ruin it.
It’s too much. Too good. Too dangerous. He still hasn’t decided he’s staying. If he really wanted to, he would have told me by now, but he hasn’t. That’s as good as a no in my book.
And now, it’s going to hurt so much worse when he leaves.
“Romilly—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a trembling hand. “If you care about me at all…just let me go.”And Lord, if he’s not for me, help me let go of him, too.
Bash frowns. “What on earth are you talking about?”
