He hadn’t decided to kiss her. One heartbeat, he’d been standing there rigid and furious. The next heartbeat, he’d been kissing her. No thought had separated those two heartbeats. They’d been separated only by unstoppable instinct.
He’d imagined kissing Britt a million times. Yet the reality of kissing her ... Britt, in his arms, their mouths intimately exploring ... had turned him inside out.
Even now, hours later, the kiss had the power to shake him.
He pulled up at a stop sign. Was the silver BMW behind him the same one he’d seen shortly after leaving the lake?
After the police chief had questioned Nick, he’d been far more conscious of the cars surrounding him on the road. He’d seen very few black Expeditions. Those he had seen definitely hadn’t appeared to be tracking him. This was the first time since that day with the chief that he’d suspected any car of following him.
He waited for the BMW to draw nearer.
It took a turn onto a private drive.
He was becoming delusional. Fabulous.
He pressed the gas.
The joy that had overtaken him when Britt said she’d liked the kiss had deserted him as soon as she’d started writing off what had happened between them as no big deal, as something they’d needed to get out of their system.
“I’m guessing that while you’d play football with me again, you’d rather not repeat the kiss,”he’d said to her. He’d been able to predict how she’d respond. Even so, he’d harbored stubborn hope that she’d leave the door open a few inches to allow for the possibility of more between them.
She hadn’t.
Of courseshe hadn’t.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Which is why he couldn’t explain the fresh heartbreak he’d experienced at her answer.
Or why he was still experiencing it now.
Zander hardly slept that night. The sleep he did get came to him in broken, anxious patches.
He finally gave up when daylight began to frame his room’s curtains. Since he’d rather be depressed and awake than depressed and trying to sleep, he showered. He pulled on track pants, running shoes, and a T-shirt, then ran along the inn’s twisting pathways.
Only when he’d exhausted himself—all he could hear was his breath, all he could think was how much his lungs hurt—did he turn back toward the inn. He needed a productive writing day today. He was falling further behind on his goals. Between now and his deadline, steady output was mandatory.
A quarter mile from his destination, he transitioned from running to walking in order to cool down.
He reached the inn’s yard, lifted his gaze—
And saw Britt sitting on the inn’s front steps, watching him.
His heart stuttered. He came to an immediate stop.
She wore yoga pants and a dark purple fleece sweat shirt. She’dpulled her hair into a ponytail. Gold sunshine gilded her cheekbones and mouth. Piercing brown eyes set beneath the expressive arches of her brows followed him as he crossed the remaining distance.
Has she changed her mind? Does she want more with me than friendship?
His stubborn hope wouldn’t die.
Gracefully, she stood. Her hands remained in her sweat shirt’s pockets. “Are you doing okay?” she asked.
“I am.”
She cocked her head, and he was afraid to think what she might see in him. “Really?” she asked gently. “You looked pretty gloomy walking up to the inn just now.”
“I was just deep in thought.”
“About us?”
