His gaze is fixed on my face, hot and unreadable.
“Yeah,” he says.
And suddenly the noisy hall feels too small.
Too bright. Too full of people.
He must feel it too, because his hand closes around mine. He grabs my coat from the rack by the door and helps me into it before leading me quietly outside.
Cold mountain air hits my cheeks the second we step outside. The music turns muffled behind us. The night stretches dark and wide around the lit windows of the hall.
Weston stops under the eaves and turns to face me.
For a second neither of us says anything.
Then I whisper, “Hi.”
His mouth twitches. “Hi.”
I should say something clever. Or cautious. Or sane.
Instead, I ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”
His eyes go darker than the mountain night.
“Yeah,” he says.
And then he does.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, warm and careful and impossibly firm, and his mouth meets mine like he has been holding himself back all evening and has finally decided he’s done trying.
The kiss is not gentle.
It is not rough either.
It is deep and hungry and full of restraint, like he wants more than he is allowing himself to take. My hands clutch at his shirt, and a soft helpless sound escapes me when he tilts his head and kisses me again, slower this time, like he is learning the feel of me.
Everything inside me goes soft and hot at once.
His beard brushes my skin. His breath mingles with mine. His thumb strokes once at the side of my neck, and I swear I feel it everywhere.
When he finally lifts his head, I am breathing like I ran all the way up the mountain.
Weston rests his forehead lightly against mine.
“Lexie.”
Just my name.
But it sounds like a decision.
I blink up at him, dazed. “That was...”
“Yeah,” he says roughly.
I think coming to this dance was pretty much the best bad decision I have ever made.
Chapter 3
