You don’t get to retreat. You don’t get to call this a stress response.
For a second, she was stiff, shock holding her rigid. Then she melted. She gripped my bare shoulders, fingers digging in. A small sound escaped her, surrender.
I drank it in. One hand slid to the nape of her neck, tangling in damp hair, angling her head to deepen the contact. I kissed her until I felt the fight drain out of her and the want rush in.
When I finally pulled back, we were both breathless. Her lips were swollen, red, slick. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the gold.
I rested my forehead against hers. Breathing her air.
No awkwardness. No doubt.
“Okay.” Her voice was wrecked. “Point taken.”
I pulled back enough to see her face. Different color now. Not embarrassment. Heat.
She cleared her throat, blinking rapidly, trying to summon her usual defense mechanisms. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Selective amnesiac. No memory of your name, your past, or what planet you’re from... but somehow you remember exactly how to kiss a woman until she forgets her own name.”
I felt the corner of my mouth tick up. A ghost of a smile.
I shrugged.
I reached for the notepad on the desk. Scribbled one word.
Instinct.
I turned the pad toward her.
She huffed a laugh. Real. Warm. “Yeah. Good instinct.”
I looked at her. Really looked at her.
The sarcasm was back, but the wall wasn’t. She was teasing, not deflecting.
I wrote again:
Want coffee. Can’t provide. Can provide this.
I gestured between us. To the space where the air still crackled.
Clare stared at the words. Her expression softened, that raw vulnerability peeking through again. She reached out, tracing the scar on my shoulder with a feather-light touch.
“Better than coffee. Which is saying a lot, considering my caffeine withdrawal headache.”
She pulled her hand back, sitting up straighter. Business mode engaging, though her cheeks were still pink.
“Okay. Distractions aside. We have work to do.”
She turned back to the laptop and leaned her shoulder against mine. A solid point of contact.
I didn’t move away. I stayed there, in my towel, letting my skin absorb her warmth, watching the screen over her shoulder.
I reached for the packet of bus-station crackers sitting on the edge of the desk. I slid them toward her, nudging her hand.
Eat.
She looked at the crackers, then back at me. “I’m not hungry. I’m busy.”
