His heart drummed, loyal and fast.
“That was spontaneous,” she said quietly. “I followed an impulse and didn’t ... necessarily think that through fully. I’m sorry if—”
Luke crushed his mouth to hers. His fingers delved into her hair, registering its silky texture. The rest of the world vanished.
This was the best thing he’d experienced in years. Ever?
Maybe kissing had never been this good before because he’d never kissed Finley before. Never kissed anyone he liked as much as he liked her. Never resisted temptation as long as he’d resisted it with her.
Alarms were blaring inside of him, but he didn’t care. He walked backward with her in his arms until his hips came up against a cage. But when he felt a nose nudge the small of his back, he walked her forward until she bumped her desk chair, which clattered and spun.
She gave a huff of laughter and resumed kissing him. Distantly, he heard the small feminine sound of pleasure she made in her throat.
The kiss increased in urgency. It still wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Closer. She matched him for a time, but eventually put a gap of space between them.
He stared at her, blood pounding hot against his temples.
“So.” She was slightly winded. “That was ... amazing.”
His hands were still in her hair.
“I’m sure it would be best,” she confessed, “if I could think clearly right now and say something that makes sense. But my head isn’t clear. Yours?”
“No.”
“Come outside with me.”
Reluctantly, he released her. She picked up the envelope and led him through the living room, across her back deck, and to the river.
His body was raging, his thoughts chaos.
She’d positioned outdoor wooden furniture to one side of her property, beneath the shade of an oak. Finley chose a chair facing the water. She gestured for him to take a seat. Instead, he continued to stand, arms crossed.
“You don’t want to sit?” she asked.
“No.”
She laid the envelope in her lap and stacked her palms on top of it. “This spot always calms me.”
He watched her. She watched the river.
It had been too dark to see the river when he’d come for dinner. Now he dimly registered that it was green-blue, fast-moving, glittering in the sunlight.
Her pug ran around on the cold brown winter grass, chasing a squirrel.
What had he allowed to happen? He’d let emotion overrule caution—something he never did. And now she was going to want to process what had happened verbally.
Verbal processing was not his thing. His thing would’ve been to leave and work through this on his own. But that would be disrespectful, and he’d never disrespect her.
“It was probably very bad form,” she said, “to spring a kiss on you.”
She hadn’t asked a question, so he gave no answer.
“You work for my non-profit. It might have been more politically correct to ask you to sign a waiver before kissing you.”
“I don’t care about political correctness.”
“Please know that I’d never want you to feel obligated to reciprocate because you work at—”
