George is nodding along. “Yeah,” he says, but he sounds unsure.
George’s focus returns to my lips. When his gaze finds mine, it’s leaden with want. Something powerful is stirring between us—a force of nature we will only withstand if we’re vigilant.
“You were supposed to be here with someone else.” His voice is hoarse. “You were supposed to be married.”
“Yeah,” I say, pressing my fingers to my swollen mouth. “There is that.” But Nate is the last thing on my mind. Nate might as well exist in another galaxy.
“And you’re also just getting out of a relationship,” I say. It’s all I can do not to launch myself at him.
“I kind of forgot about that, to be honest.”
“I kind of forgot about everything,” I say. “Including my name.”
George chuckles, and I find myself smiling back at him.
“So to be clear,” I go on, “that was a lapse in good judgment, yes? We’reus.”
“Yeah.” He grips the back of his neck, hesitating. “With everything…and the wedding…” He’s usually much more articulate. “This is not the right time.”
I tilt my head. “Would there be a right time?”
George gives me a long look before he answers. “I really don’t know.”
And neither do I. “Should we head back, then?” I ask. This might be less awkward if we’re walking.
The route is a loop, and it’s only another ten minutes before we hear the sound of tires on the wet highway. We’ve hardly said a word to each other, but every time I glance at George, he’s already looking at me. My lips are still tingling when we reach the car.
I take the driver’s seat, worried that if I have free rein to look at George, I may not be able to stop myself from climbing over the console and onto his lap. And if I do that, I doubt I’ll be able to stop myself at all. My body is humming. I’m aware of every breath he takes, every inch of space between us. I smell the forest on his skin as he unzips his jacket. I do the same and then start the engine and turn up the heater, because now that I’ve stopped moving, I’m growing cold. My legs are slick, and the water from my wet hair is soaking into my T-shirt.
“So we should try to forget about it?” George asks.
I nod, then risk peeking at him. My eyes go straight to his lips—lips I was just kissing!—while his slide down to my chest, where the hard buds of my nipples push against the fabric of my shirt. His gaze drags up to my throat, then my mouth, landing on my eyes.
“We should probably erase it from our memory,” I say.
We can come back from one kiss. We’ve done it before.
“We probably should.”
“But I’m not sure I’m going to be able to,” I admit.
“You called the kiss volcanic,” George murmurs.
“Would you describe it differently?”
“No.” He takes a breath. “That pretty much sums it up.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“You’re still cold,” George says when I park the car at the resort. My arms are covered in goose bumps.
“A bit.”
“Let’s warm you up.” The way he says it, kind of low and scratchy, changes the temperature.
My lips part as I envision George and me tangled in rose petals.
Suddenly, I’m aware of how close we are, and I can’t think of anything except the taste of rain on his lips. I stare at the strong line of his throat, and the urge to press my mouth there has me jumping to my feet.
