After several heartbeats, he went back to his task, but her mind continued to whirl. Did he get the fern to representher?
No, that was silly. They hadn’t known each other very long. Heck, they didn’t even have a name for what they were. Friends, sure. Lovers.
“Crew—”
He dropped his hammer and turned to her, cupping her face and crushing his mouth to hers.
The kiss stole the air from her lungs and all her brain cells too.
It wasn’t gentle or exploratory—it was sudden, claiming, like something he’d been holding back finally snapped loose. His mouth moved over hers with urgent insistence, and Fern’s knees went weak as she gasped into him, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt.
He tasted like dust and sun and something deeply male. Familiar already.
She barely had time to register the scrape of his stubble against her skin before he shifted, backing her toward the nearest wall of the barn. The wood pressed cool against her shoulder blades, a sharp contrast to the solid heat of his body bracketing hers.
“Crew,” she breathed, his name tumbling out without thought.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and burning, chest rising hard beneath her palms. He slid one handinto her hair, anchoring her there, tilting her head back as his thumb brushed over her lower lip.
“Tell me to stop,” he said roughly.
Her pulse thundered. She shook her head, unable to form words.
That was all the permission he needed.
He claimed her mouth again, deeper this time. The kiss turned molten, unspooling her from the inside out. Fern melted into him, her hands sliding up his arms, memorizing the flex of muscle beneath his skin.
He pressed closer, his thigh nudging between hers, and she felt the steely hardness of him through his jeans. Heat pooled low in her belly, an unrelenting throb, and she whimpered softly when he felt it too—when his body reacted, just as hungry.
One of his hands slid from her hair to her waist, fingers splaying wide as if he wanted to feel all of her at once. He kissed her like he was starving, like this was something he’d been denying himself for far too long.
Fern kissed him back the same way, throwing herself into the swirl of their tongues and not holding back the little moans that escaped.
She rose onto her toes, needing to be closer, needingmore. She nudged his hat, and it tumbled to the floor. He rumbled in response as she dug her fingers into his hair, coarse beneath her touch.
The sound he made—low, almost a growl—sent a shiver racing through her.
She might not have a definition for what they were to each other, but she knew one thing. Crew was important.
The realization flared through her even as desire took hold. This wasn’t playful or experimental or fleeting. It was chargedand heavy and full of meaning neither of them was ready to speak aloud.
Crew broke the kiss again, forehead resting against hers as they both fought for breath. His hand stayed firm at her waist, thumb flexing like he couldn’t help himself.
“Christ,” he muttered. “Fern…”
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “I have a question.”
A corner of his mouth twitched, even as tension coiled tight between them. “Yeah?”
She swallowed, glancing briefly at his arm. “About your tattoo. I saw…a fern.”
His grip tightened—just a fraction.
“You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” he said quietly.
Her heart skipped. “So itis—”
He kissed her again, cutting her off before she could finish the thought. This one was slower, deliberate, like he was imprinting the moment into her bones. When he pulled back, he searched her eyes, his own gaze raw and unguarded.
