“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s stretch our legs a bit.”
I take it, and the warmth of his palm is like an anchor for mytrembling limbs. As we step onto the small landing platform, the desert air hits my face. I expect the exhilaration to fade, but instead, it intensifies. Every brush of his hand, every glance, makes my chest swell.
We walk a few steps away from the helicopter to a quiet patch where the canyon stretches behind us. The sound of the rotor is gone, replaced by the soft rush of the river below and the occasional cry of a distant bird. For a moment, there’s just us, suspended in that space between thrill and calm.
Ben stops and turns to me, just close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand finds mine again, thumb brushing over my knuckles, and I swear my knees get a little weaker.
“You were amazing up there,” he murmurs. His voice is low, intimate, and I can’t seem to look away from his dazzling, deep blue eyes. They’re brighter than the sky above us. “I was trying to focus on the view, but all I really wanted to look at was you.”
Something catches in my throat. “Ben.” My breath hitches, and I realize I’ve been holding it. “I wasn’t just looking at the dam either,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He tilts his head, a slow, deliberate movement, and I can feel the tension stretching between us, taut and electric. His other hand rises, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I lean into it without thinking, because I want this.
God, do I want this.
“Grace…” he says, and the softness in his voice makes something inside me unravel. Before I can second-guess myself, he leans in. My heart leaps as his lips meet mine, first gentle, and then with more certainty. It’s as if the world around us has narrowed to him and me. I taste the sun on his lips, feel the press of his chest against mine, and all the fear, all the hesitation, evaporates into this one perfect moment.
When we finally part long enough to breathe, our foreheads rest together. I can feel the thrum of his heartbeat under my fingertips, matching my own.Jeez. Is this how Elizabeth Bennet felt?Because I feel like I’m the main character in a romance novel right now.
“That was…” I start, unable to adequately put words to what I’m feeling. So instead, I release a sigh.
Ben silences me with a soft laugh, brushing his nose against mine. “Exactly,” he says. “Perfect.”
And in the desert hush, with the Hoover Dam stretching behind us like a monument to impossible things, I realize that this unpredictable moment is one I’ll never forget. My forehead is still resting against his when I finally open my eyes. The world feels quiet in a way that, again, makes me feel like I’m on the set of a movie. The canyon stretches out behind him, massive and awe-inspiring, but somehow, he’s the only thing I can see.
My hands are still on his chest. I don’t even recall when they got there. But he hasn’t moved them away.
Ben exhales softly, the sound warm against my lips. “You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, even though my heart is trying to climb out of my ribs. “I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I was hoping it wasn’t just me.”
My laugh comes out shaky. And then his hand, the one still holding mine, slides up my arm, until his thumb brushes the sensitive spot just below my ear. The sensation makes me shiver.
His gaze searches my face, like he’s asking a question he doesn’t quite trust himself to say out loud. “Grace…” he starts, then stops. His thumb traces a slow circle against my skin. “You really okay?”
My throat tightens. “Yes.” Is all of this to distract me from earlier? Or does he feel this too?
He hesitates, and for once he doesn’t look cocky or teasing. He looks reverent. “I hate that you’ve had to go through so much. And I know eventually we need to talk. About a lot of things. But… I’m glad you’re here. With me.”
“I am too,” I whisper. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
Something shifts in his expression. I can’t tell what it is. Relief, desire? And then he leans in again. This kiss isn’t tentative. It’s slow. Intentional. His hand slides to my waist, steadying me as if he knowsmy knees might betray me, and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt because I need something to hold onto.
His lips move against mine with a quiet certainty that makes my breath stutter. He doesn’t rush it. He doesn’t take more than I’m giving. He just stays patient, and devastatingly gentle.
I melt. There’s really no other way to describe it.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead still rests against mine, his voice barely above the hush of the canyon air.
“Gracie?”
“Yes?”
His thumb brushes my jaw. “I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, afraid to believe this could be real. I’ve been let down so many times by men. But I want this chance. To have it all with a man like this. Who only gives instead of takes. My heart answers before my fear can. “Me too.”
