Her lips press together briefly.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “You probably should.”
Neither of us moves.
The torches crackle softly behind us.
The couple in the alcove murmurs in low voices, and somewhere inside the bar, someone cheers.
But out here, it feels like the world has narrowed down to the few inches between us.
I should step back.
Turn around.
Walk to my vehicle and drive my ass home.
She’s so young, and she works for me.
Being here is reckless on so many levels.
Complicated.
Dangerous.
A terrible fucking idea.
And yet …
Instead of stepping away, I lift my hand.
I cup the back of her neck, and my thumb slides gently beneath her chin.
I tilt her face up toward mine.
Her breath catches.
“Porter …” she whispers.
I don’t answer. Instead, my face lowers slowly. Giving her time to pull away if she wants to.
My lips brush the line of her jaw.
Barely a touch.
She inhales sharply.
My mouth drifts to the corner of hers.
“Porter,” she breathes again, but she doesn’t stop me.
Her fingers grip the front of my flannel, both fists clenched around the fabric. Then she pulls me closer and crashes her mouth to mine.
The kiss is hungry.
All the tension that’s been simmering between us tonight detonates in one instant.
My body presses into hers until her backside hits the railing behind her.
