I stand. Step around Cassie and the mess. Head toward the sliders.
The house is chilly, the A/C on high like Asher likes. His sexy forest cologne lingers in the air. No one ever spends time indoors on Pool Party Saturdays, so the lights are off, everything still. My bare feet tread without sound over the cold wood floor, down the hall.
Conflicting desires war in my head. What am I doingright now? What is this draw? And why—when I know it could be fatal—is it so hard to ignore?
I slip into his bedroom and close the door behind me. “Asher?”
He steps out of his closet, now changed into a dry set of trunks and a blue-striped tank. “Oh, hey. Crazy, right? She’s so extra.”
“Yeah.” It’s barely audible. Oxygen has abandoned me.
His brow creases and he points at his closet. “Did you need a T-shirt or something?”
“No.” I approach slowly, tingles making my voice jittery. “I—um—”
“You okay?”
“I really liked that,” I say because I don’t know how to articulate this overwhelming gratitude and tantalizing heat growing in my chest. My hand gathers a handful of the flimsy coverup over my stomach, right where the nerves have concentrated.
“Which part? The part where she insulted you or the part where I got soaked?”
“The part where you defended me.”
He chuffs. “That was the most boring part. What else was I supposed to do?”
What is happening in my chest right now? It’s somehow expanding and imploding on itself. A supernova.
You aren’t running, Joss. You’re hiding.
I draw close enough to touch, and his thumb brushes my shoulder. “Joss?”
His hair is pool-messy. Sun-induced freckles dust the bridge of his nose. Chlorine taints the delicious scent of his skin.
He’s perfect.
Something snaps clean in half—my restraint, probably—and I throw myself into his arms. His bewildered laugh prefaces the warmest hug I’ve ever experienced. I bury my face against his heartbeat, and his arms wrap tight around my shoulders.
“You got me a little worried here,” he says.
I laugh into his stupidly hard chest and lift my head to look at him.
He isn’t smiling. His dynamic eyes are troubled. Concerned. “What’s the hug for, Jocelyn?”
My full name on his lips is obscene. Like dirty talk. It slinks over my skin with prickles and fire. His thoughtful gaze searches my face for answers, but I have none to give. He wants a reason, but I can’t explain this. Something has cracked open inside me. I should be filled to the brim with panic. Instead, I’m weirdly calm.
Well.
Maybe not calm, exactly.
My heart is battering my rib cage, and a fine tremor has taken control of most of my muscles, but my mind is stable. Cemented on a single thought.
He is something vital.
Words won’t form, but he must read the thoughts on my face anyway because his concern melts away to something less obvious, but far hotter. We’re so close. Closer than we’ve ever been. Pressed chest to chest, arms wrapped tight, staring into each other’s eyes.
He gives me a half-second warning in the form of dropping his gaze to my mouth before obliterating the remaining distance between us.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t hesitate. He just... kisses me.
