“No second thoughts? No regrets aboutabductingme?”
His smile deepens. “Nope.”
My glance moves from his face to focus on the path ahead as we leave the resort behind and approach the narrow road leading to the rental cottages tucked between the trees. Porch lights glow in the night, soft and warm, casting shadows over the gravel.
So pretty.
So peaceful . . .
Gravel crunches beneath his shoes. He pauses at the edge of the road, glancing left, then right, like we’re not in a tiny, peaceful town where the chances of getting run over at this hour are zero tonone.
I use the moment to collect myself. My pulse istoo loud, hammering against my ribs, and I can’t tell if it’s from the way he’s holding me or the fact that Ihaven’tdemanded he put me down.
His little rental cottage comes into view, but he doesn’t head for the steps. Instead, he strides straight past it, moving toward the driveway, toward the parked truck. When we reach his truck, he finally slows. With one arm still wrapped securely around me, he reaches out and tugs open the tailgate with his free hand.
The metal creaks, lowering into place. Then—with purpose—he sets me down on the edge of it.
I don’t move.
Don’t dare breathe.
His hands linger at my waist, his fingers flexing slightly before finally—finally—he steps back. His eyes are dark and unreadable, the flickering porch light catching the sharp angles of his face, his nose. Jaw.
My heart ispounding.
Legs dangling over the edge, my breath short as I grip the sides of the truck bed for balance. The night air is so much colder without hiswarmth wrapped around me, and I reach for him. Spread my legs and pull him between them.
The shift, the sharp inhale, the way his bodytensesthe second my fingers hook into his belt loops, the second I pull him closer.
He doesn’t resist.
Doesn’t hesitate.
I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Harris.”
“Yeah?”
He’s waiting.
For me to make a move. Guide him along, tell him what to do. But I love it when he’s bossy and takes charge—I need someone like him in my life.
I want him to take. To stop waiting for permission and do something about it.
I let the silence stretch. My legs stay spread around his waist, my pulse hammering, my breath short as his hands tighten around the truck bed, holding himself back.
Then—finally—his restraint snaps.
His hands find me, gripping my waist, pulling me forward so my body is flush against his, his fingers digging in like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs roughly.
I stare up at him, heart pounding, skin burning. “Harris—”
His thumb skims along my jaw, slow, teasing, a silent dare. “Say it, Lucy.”
The way he says my name—gritty,commanding—sends a delicious shiver down my spine. Ugh, so good ...
I bite my lip, my pulse thrumming. HeknowsI want this.
