She remembered this mouth. She remembered the scar just above his lips, a half-inch cut he’d given himself chasing her up a tree when they’d been so very, very young.
When she finished, she set the blade aside and then, using cool water this time, smoothed away the remaining soap. When he went to rise, she held him in place. “Wait, I have a balm.”
Again, he obeyed, sitting patiently while she poured the silky liquid into her hand.
“What is it?”
“Shea butter and grapeseed extract.” This particular product sold for a pretty penny. She didn’t care.
This was Alastair.
She smoothed the mixture over his cheeks, around his jaw, and around his neck.
For good measure, she brushed some over his forehead and down his nose.
Somewhere between the flood of memories and longing, between the pain of the past and the sheer pleasure of the present, time fell away.
She parted her lips, leaned in, and?—
She kissed him.
OOOPS
Alastair stiffened beneath her hands, the tension in his body a brief hesitation—just long enough for Daisy to wonder if she’d made a terrible mistake.
And then everything changed.
His hands slid around her waist, strong and sure, fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress, molding her to him. The heat of his palms branded her, sent tingles cascading down her spine.
“Daisy.”
Her name vibrated between them, more felt than heard, his voice raw with feelings that made her toes curl.
The kiss was familiar—achingly so—but it was also brand new.
They had been two dreamers once, free to love in a world of their own making. But time apart had reshaped them, carved new edges, buried innocence beneath betrayal. And yet, in this moment, none of that seemed to matter.
In the years since they’d parted, she had breathed.
She had eaten. She had even loved.
But she had not felt like this.
This was life rushing back into her, a current of heat and longing igniting every nerve, every pulse point. This part of her heart had been frozen, locked away in the past—untouched, unreachable. And yet, by returning her clumsy kiss, Alastair had found it, warmed it. And shattered that ice.
Along with the scent of the lather she’d smoothed over his skin, she tasted him—clean, fresh, and something else, something undeniablyhim. A taste both familiar and foreign.
Older.
Stronger.
Intoxicatingly sexy.
His mouth left hers to burn a scorching trail along her jaw, teasing her skin, featherlight, only to return—hungry, insistent—to claim her eager mouth again.
Daisy’s fingers curled into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, reveling in the feel of him, the way he felt so solid, so real.
“Alastair,” she whispered, breathless, awed. “It’s you.”
