My entire body trembles.
He scoots closer, mumbling, "Damn, sugar… You don't play fair."
"What do you mean?"
"You're all innocence and heat, sweet and forbidden, and all you have to do is give me that look, and I'm done. I might as well have not even shown up tonight, because I couldn't enjoy myself. I kept fighting to get next to you, and you kept standing there, looking all pretty before running away from me," he says.
Happiness bursts from me. In a hushed tone, I let slip, "You think I look pretty?"
He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "Prettiest girl in all of Whispering Junction."
My ego skyrockets. I can't contain my smile.
Wyatt thinks I'm pretty.
Is this really happening?
He stares at me for so long, I get nervous. I ask, "What are you thinking?"
"I'm debating."
"About?"
He stays quiet.
In a sad tone, I answer for him. "About us."
He sternly replies, "No, sugar. That bull has come and gone. It threw me off, and I landed right in your world, so there's no getting out now."
Insanity, hope, and an ache for something I know nothing about lies in that statement.
"Then what are you debating about?"
His gaze drifts to my mouth, and his voice rolls through the air when he replies, "Whether I should kiss you now or wait."
Please kiss me.
My pulse shoots to the moon. I whisper, "Why wait?"
He graces me with a small, wicked grin before dipping his face to my collarbone. His lips flutter across my shoulder, up my neck, and land beneath my earlobe.
I whimper and squeeze my thighs together, pressing against his hand.
He murmurs, "I'm going to wait."
Disappointment flares inside me.
But then he kisses me across my jaw, and hope sparks anew.
He stops millimeters from my lips, stating, "Some kisses you don't care about, but this isn't one of them. You're a girl that needs to be savored, so I'm going to wait."
My heart melts. I take a shaky breath.
He leans back, keeping his hand pinned to my thigh, and looks up. He points to the sky and says, "It'll be a full moon in about a week."
Still in a trance of disbelief, a bit of frustration, but way more awe, I focus on the moon. "It's pretty."
"If it were the fall, the bulls would be battling it out," he says.
