“I’m not sure your mother could be more interesting. What is her name?”
“Edwina. After her father. Edwina Mae Landry.” Call’s lips formed a half smile. “Everyone calls her Eddy. She prefers it.”
“Eddy,” said Laurel, returning his smile. “And just like that she’s already more interesting. I bet you called her Eddy, too.”
He laughed. “She didn’t like it, but what was she to do when everyone around me called her that? I understood she was my mother, but Eddy stuck.”
Laurel looked up at the sky and saw shades of orange and rose on the underside of distant clouds. “Sun’s setting,” she said. “We should leave now.”
Call hopped to his feet and scooped up his hat. He put it on and then held out a hand to Laurel, who was slower to rise because she was watching him. When she didn’t take his hand, he lowered it to his side. “What?” he asked.
“There’s a halo over your head.”
“Water spray and sunlight,” he said.
“I know, but it’s still a very nice effect. No, don’t try to wave it away. It’ll disappear soon enough with the lowering sun.”
He stood there in spite of feeling awkward. “I don’t deserve a halo.”
“Maybe not, but it’s there anyway.” Her smile faded as slowly as the light. “And now it’s gone.” She held out her hand for him to take, and when he pulled her up, it was with enough strength to bring her flush against him. Oh, yes, she thought, the halo had definitely disappeared. She raised her face to his slightly lowered one and used her free hand to nudge the brim of his hat upward. His features were no longer shadowed and his eyes, hinting of silver and blue, were clear and cautious. She offered no objection, and the moment he understood that, his mouth covered hers.
Laurel’s heart banged in her chest. She’d wanted this, and now that she had it, she wasn’t entirely certain what to do with it. She had been kissed before, mostly chaste kisses behind the log building that passed for a schoolhouse when she was a child. There had been one notable exception in the barn with a young man who worked for her father. She’d been paralyzed with equal parts anticipation and fear until he thrust his tongue in her mouth. Galvanized into action by the intrusion, she had shoved a knee into his groin with no real concept of the pain she could inflict. She wouldn’t have cared even if she’d known. She had been twelve, for goodness’ sake, and he had been twenty. He should have known better, even if she hadn’t. Not really.
It was different now. When Call’s mouth came over hers, she welcomed the humid warmth, and when the tipof his tongue brushed her upper lip, well, she welcomed that, too. It was a tease; perhaps a promise of what was to come because it didn’t come right then.
She wondered if he was always so gentle with women or if he was being respectful of her inexperience. Should she be embarrassed if it was the latter? She was twenty-seven. That was a lot of years since twelve.
Call waited for her to kiss him back. She made her mouth available, stayed toe to toe with him, but she didn’t quite reciprocate. He changed the slant of his mouth, kissed the corner of hers. He released the hand he’d been holding since he drew her to her feet and cupped her face. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. She hummed. Her lips vibrated against his.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Like that.” He felt the shape of her lips change. She was smiling. “Yes. Definitely like that.” Call kissed her again and her lips parted. She pressed back. The sweep of her tongue across his upper lip felt tentative and he realized she was mirroring him. He slipped his arms under hers and rested his hands at the small of her back. In turn, she slipped her arms over his shoulders and threaded her hands together at the nape of his neck.
“We fit,” she whispered. “Did you know we’d fit?”
“Uh-huh.”
She nodded. “Kiss me again. I can do better. Iwantto do better.” Laurel didn’t wait. She stood on tiptoes and brushed her mouth against his. His lips parted and she caught the lower one in her teeth and drew it in. She heard him moan softly, deep in his throat like the purr of a mountain cat. It reminded her that he was dangerous. It was exciting, not frightening.
When his tongue swept the ridge of her teeth, she sucked it into her mouth and twirled her tongue around it. The air around her felt warmer than when she’d gotten to her feet, warmer than when she’d first stood flush against him, but the heat was really only inside her. She whimpered as the tempo of the kiss changed. There was urgency in their touching. His hands moved from her backto the curve of her buttocks. He palmed her cheeks, jerked her closer.
Laurel felt her breasts swell, tighten. She pressed against his chest because it felt so good. She imagined it was the same for him with his groin cradled against her thighs. Laurel thrust her hips forward to make it better than good for both of them.
Call murmured Laurel’s name close to her ear and then kissed the sensitive hollow behind it. He kissed her temple, her jaw, pressed his lips in her hair. He came back to her mouth and kissed her hard and long and breathless, just as he had imagined doing almost from the first.
Laurel felt herself start to sag. She held on tighter and willed him to take her down. He didn’t do that, though. He held her up, kept her standing when she would have gone to the ground for him.
Breathing a little raggedly, Call lifted his mouth. He pressed his forehead against hers while he steadied himself. “I lost my hat,” he said.
“Mm.” Laurel gently twirled and tugged at the hair at his nape. “I think I might have knocked it off.”
Neither looked for it.
“We should go back,” he said.
“All right.”
Neither moved.
Call closed his eyes. It was difficult to listen to his conscience for the rushing sound of the falling water. He thought about her clambering up the rocks on a dare and standing on the edge of the precipice. He’d brought her to an edge of a different kind. She hadn’t jumped then; he didn’t know what she would do now. He lifted his mouth a hairsbreadth from her forehead. “No jumping,” he said quietly.
