And then?
I’m off the ground, gasping in surprise.
“Harris—”
The bar erupts the same way they did earlier at the lake today when he jumped into the water with me.
I let out an undignified yelp, my hands gripping Harris’s shoulders, my body suddenly pressed against his chest as he hoists me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
I glare up at him. “Harris, I demand to be put down.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Nope.”
The door up ahead.
He’s headed straight for it.
Behind me, people are banging on tables. “Going Once, Going Twice—”
“And they’re outta here!”
If I said this wasn’t the most exciting, romantic thing that’s ever happened to me, I’d be lying. And the cold night air does nothing to cool the heat simmering between us the second the door swings shut.
Harris doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t falter. Just keeps moving, his grip firm, his chestsolidbeneath my palms.
I should be fighting this. Wriggling out of his hold, demanding he put me down so I can walk like a fully functional adult.
Ishoulddemand—again—to be put down. Ishouldtell him he’s being ridiculous. That he made a scene back there and I’ll never live it down. That there isabsolutely no reasonfor him to be carrying me bridal-style into the night.
But the truth is . . .
Idon’twant him to let go.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, my body pressing closer, the traitorous part of mecravingthe warmth of him, the steady strength beneath my hands. Despite everything—the chaos, the spectacle, the way hehauledme out of that bar—being in his arms feelsright.
It’s thrilling.
And I . . .
Ibelongthere.
I stare up at him, my breath short. “Where thehellare you taking me?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps walking—down the steep steps behind the resort, down the dimly lit path leading toward the lake ... and the road. The night is quiet, save for the faint rustling of wind through the trees and the distant sounds of festivalgoers lingering in town and at the resort. But here, in the darkened path beneath the pines, it’s justus.
And Harris is determined.
His grip doesn’t falter. His pace doesn’t slow. He moves with purpose, his arms firm around me, jaw clenched. He knows damn well where he’s going.
I let him carry me farther, past the trees, the thick scent of pine filling my senses. The dirt path narrows beneath us, winding toward the lake, where the moon reflects silver against the glassy surface.
The air iscrisp, but I barely feel it, wrapped in his warmth.
He shifts his grip, adjusting me slightly, and I try not to notice the way his fingers flex against my thigh or the way my body fits easily against his.
I clear my throat. “You realize this is completelyinsane, right?”
His lips twitch. “Is it? Hadn’t noticed.”
