I make a sound—half protest, half surrender—and then his mouth is on mine.
This isn't like the window seat. That was frantic,desperate, and angry. Two people crashing into each other before they could think better of it.
This is slow.
Deliberate.
Eleven years of wanting poured into one devastating kiss.
He kisses me like he's been starving for it. Like he's memorizing the shape of my mouth, the taste of my tongue, the way I gasp when he pulls me closer.
My stupid stubborn heart wobbles. The minute his fingertips sink into my hair, tangling in the strands with a tug so absolutely sinful, my knees buckle.
I fist the front of his jacket like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
It might be.
I'm not sure my legs work anymore.
He backs me against the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding down to my hip.
The rough surface of the wood scrapes against my back where his hand disappears under the back of my shirt. Fingers splay over my spine as he pulls me closer.
“Sierra.” My name is a groan against my lips. “God, Sierra.”
Arching into him, I chase the heat, the pressure, everything I've spent eleven years denying myself?—
“AND THE FINAL PLAQUE IS JUST PAST THESE TREES, FOLKS!”
Roman's voice. Roman's actual voice. My brother Roman, fifty feet away and closing.
We spring apart sofast I nearly bite my tongue.
“What—” I'm panting, wild-eyed, absolutely not prepared to process this turn of events. “I thought you said the scavenger hunt didn't come this way.”
“It didn't—they must have—” Everett's already grabbing my hand, pulling me toward the back of the cabin. “Move. Now.”
We stumble out the rear door just as torchlight blooms at the front. I flatten myself against the outside wall, Everett pressed close beside me, both of us holding our breath like teenagers hiding from parents.
Which is hilarious, because we're hiding from my brothers who are about to give a tour of the exact spot where I just had my tongue in Everett Morgan's mouth.
The universe has a sick sense of humor.
“And THIS,” Roman announces, his voice carrying through the thin cabin walls, “is the historic Shred Shack. Legend has it, this cabin has seen more romantic encounters than any other spot on the mountain.”
Someone in the crowd whoops.
I press my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
“The Morgan family has always believed in—” Roman pauses for dramatic effect— “hands-on hospitality.”
More whooping. Laughter. Someone yells “MOUNT ME EVERETT” and the whole group loses their minds.
Everett's forehead drops to my shoulder. I can feelhim shaking. I'm not sure if it's suppressed laughter or suppressed horror.
Probably both.
The absurdity hits me in waves.
