Neither did I.
His mouth hovered just above mine, the warm whisper of his breath brushing my lips in the dimness of the tent.
Outside, wind rustled through the pines, the lake lapped quietly against the shore, and the Butterfields’ tent was far enough away that the world felt narrowed to one impossibly small point: the space between us.
“Say something,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
“If I say anything, I’m going to do something we’ll both pretend we didn’t plan.”
My heart thudded. “Who said anything was planned?”
“You’re in my sleeping bag,” he breathed. “Everything about this is planned.”
I felt the smile forming before I could stop it. “It wasn’t the plan.”
His fingers touched mine softly, far too intimate for two people who kept claiming professionalism. His hand, resting just beside my hip, flexed like he was holding himself together through will alone.
“Carson,” I whispered.
He closed the last inch of space between us.
The kiss wasn’t careful this time.
It wasn’t testing.
It wasn’t the slow burn that had been driving us both insane all week.
It was heat, immediate, and certain.
His mouth claimed mine with a hungry, almost aching urgency, and my fingers curled into his shirt like I’d been waiting to do it for centuries.
The sleeping bag shifted around us, the nylon whispering with every movement as his lips deepened the kiss. The rhythm was intoxicating, from slow to faster, then slow again, as if he were trying to memorize my breath.
When he pulled back, barely, his voice came out unsteady. “Sienna.”
“Yes,” I whispered, breathless.
“You’re shivering.”
“You’re the one doing that.”
“Doing what?” he murmured, brushing his lips against mine again, teasing.
“That,” I breathed, tugging him closer.
His low laugh rumbled through me as he kissed me again, deeper, his hand sliding up my back through the fleece layers I’d stubbornly worn, his touch warm even through all the fabric.
I melted into him, literally melted, as though my bones had dissolved and the only thing keeping me upright was the strength of his arm around my waist. His fingers pressed lightly at the curve of my hip, drawing me closer in the cramped space until our bodies aligned with no room left between.
I gasped against his mouth.
He inhaled sharply at the sound. “Sienna…”
“Closer,” I whispered, surprising even myself.
He let out a breath like he’d been punched, then pulled me in fully, shifting us until I was half on my side, half against his chest, his leg tangled lightly with mine. The movement sent a shock of heat through me so intense I had to bite back a sound.
“You okay?” he murmured.
