I steal a glance at him. He looks like he just came from a bar brawl—all big and scruffy and tough. And yet.
He’s the sweetest, gentlest soul I’ve ever met.
Do I really have a brave and boundless heart? With him, it feels possible. Everything feels possible.
“Here we are.” He stops beside a hedge I’ve seen all over the place, wiry and wild, covered in cheerful yellow flowers.
“This is gorse?”
“Aye.” He pulls his knife, cutting off a small flowering tip.
“Does it have a scent?”
“Nae.”
He lifts it to my hair, tucking it in. His hand lingers.
“’Tis like sunshine. Warm, and bright, and so verra lovely.” The way he lingers over the words, deliberate and slow, implies thatI’mthose things.
He slides his hand to my shoulders. Then both hands to my waist. “They say you should only kiss a girl when the gorse is in bloom.” The words come out a rasp.
Every nerve in my body thrums to life. “Are you trying to kiss me?”
A wicked smile lights his face. “Are you available for kissing, then?”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
His gaze darkens. Fire ignites in his eyes. “Youare.”
He leans in, his hands slowly skimming my sides. “Stop me if you need,” he whispers. “But I’ve a mind to kiss you, my Rosie-love. It’s all I’ve thought about, like a madness. Until I’ve begun to think I was born wanting it.”
When he says it, I know. I’ve been waiting for this mywhole life—longer even. Hundreds of years have passed with me waiting for this.
For Callum.
He draws closer. The air between us is charged. Just a whisper of space…just an inch. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath.
He stops to gaze into my eyes, lingering there, and I see everything I’m feeling reflected back at me. We’ve finally stopped fighting the universe and settled into place exactly where we belong.
“So kiss me already,” I murmur.
He closes the final distance, his lips finding mine, no more hesitation. His growl of pleasure sends sparks surging through my veins. I melt into him. His hands slide up to cradle my face, fingers threading through my hair.
This.
This feeling of rightness, of coming home to myself. This is what’s been missing.
It’s a feeling of completion, but deeper than that, because I was and am complete on my own. It’s more that, here, with Callum, I’m amplified. Intensified.Celebrated.
He kisses me hard. He kisses me gently. Tentative, then sure. Asserting, then questioning. It’s like I’ve never been kissed before. Not truly. Not like this.
I slide my hands up his chest, fingers tracing heat and muscle, then wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer.
I’m desperate to explore, hungry for the revelation of him. My fingers skim higher, tangling into his hair, then glide back down, over his shoulders, along his arms, up again. He’s all hard, coiled power beneath my fingertips.
And yet, with me, he’s achingly tender.
I give in and let my brooding, restless mind surrender topure sensation. My last thought before thought ceases altogether: this is more than kissing.
