But then it hits me—I’m not the one holding her back anymore. I’m not the reason the big-city girl would settle for the small town. She chased her future. She earned it.
And she’s going back to it.
Which means if she wanted one night—just one—would I really say no?
Suddenly, the lights cut out.
The jukebox dies mid-song. The hum of the bar shuts off like someone flipped a switch.
“Shit,” Hudson mutters somewhere across the bar—then louder, over the confused hum of the room. “Two minutes, people. I’ll get the generator going.”
One second, there’s music, chatter; the next, the world drops into darkness and chairs scraping, surprised laughter, a ripple of confused voices.
Then it stills.
And all I hear is her breath.
Close.
A warm hand lands flat against my chest and slides over my heart which I hope she can’t hear is now pounding like a caged animal. She’s never touched me like this. A slap on the arm, sure. A hug hello. But this? This is different.
Her curls brush my jaw, and her hand settles at my side, fingertips barely touching the skin of my hand. I fight to breathe normally—to keep her from feeling how her nearness knocks me off balance.
Every instinct tells me to take a step back. She’s had a few drinks. She’s teasing. This isn’t the place.
But her touch lingers, her breath is hot on my neck, sending electricity through every inch of me. And in the dark, all the reasons “why not” fade just enough to ignore them.
Her lips graze my earlobe, and heat rips through me.
“You wanted to know what I was luring you in for?” she whispers.
Her voice sinks straight to my core.
“Yeah, honey,” I murmur, the word rougher than I intend. “I want to know.”
Her mouth hits my throat. My heartbeat pulses against her lips.
I slide my hand around her waist, partly afraid I’ll lose the moment if I don’t, partly wanting her to know exactlyhow much I want her. I draw her in until we’re chest to chest, breath to breath.
For a split second, that’s all it is. Heat. Proximity. The question hanging between us.
Then she rises onto her toes, and her lips press against mine.
She tastes of tequila and lime and every what-if I’ve tried to bury since she left this town. My control fractures and I open my mouth, diving my tongue inside. She quickens the pace.
Kissing her is a million times hotter than I thought it could ever be. She swirls her tongue in my mouth, and I need to cup her jaw to somehow bring her closer. Raw need races through me. If all I get is a kiss, I’m making it one to fucking remember.
Her nails scrape the nape of my neck, a soft sound breaks in her throat that nearly undoes me.
Her body fits against mine perfectly, soft curves against muscle, the press of her chest brands me through my shirt. I run my thumb over the column of her throat and slide my other hand higher along her spine until my fingers find bare skin.
God. This is a fucking woman.
And then?—
The lights blaze back on.
We both freeze.
