He laughs, forehead dropping against mine. “Did you think that’d be a problem?”
“No, gosh, no.” I chuckle. “I’d hoped you’d be a great kisser. Just… this is…”
He raises an eyebrow. “That good?”
I lean back and give him a once-over. “Yeah, cowboy, that good.”
Heat flashes in his eyes. His expression goes a little feral. It’s the same look I’ve tried not to obsess over since he almost kissed me at the state park.
“Right,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
I pass a hand through his hair and enjoy the small shiver that wrecks his body. “What are you thinking about now?”
“Chapter seventeen of book two,” he says without hesitation. “The lake scene.”
“Oh my gosh.” I bury my face in the crook of his shoulders. “You really have been reading the books.”
“Cover to cover. I’m thorough.”
“Of course you are.” I peek at him. “What did you think?”
He lifts my chin with a gentle finger, entirely serious. “Ashren was an idiot for waiting so long to tell Sarina how he felt.”
“He had his reasons.”
“Bad ones.”
“Says the man who ignored me for two weeks.”
He winces, then grins, tugging me closer. “I thought you wanted the space until the school year was over.”
“A text wouldn’t have killed you.”
I pout, but he smooths it with the pad of his thumb. “Noted. No more distance.” His fingers trail from my mouth to my throat. “I want you, Faye. In whatever way you’ll let me have you. However slow we need to go.”
I might burst into confetti. Pinpricks of heat zigzag through my stomach. I lean forward and kiss him again, gently this time. A promise, not a question.
“I want you too,” I whisper.
We make out until a breeze kicks up from the lake. When I shiver in his arms, Ryder is on his feet in an instant, offering his hand. The night has gone cold, and I don’t protest when he walks me to my cottage.
We stop on the porch.
“When can I see you again?” he asks.
“You have to go?” My voice comes out breathy. “I mean, if you have to be home for Rhys, I understand?—”
He tilts his head. “Not until morning.”
I bite my lower lip. His gaze tracks the gesture. “Would you like to come in?”
Both of his hands go to cradle my face. “I’m fucking dying to, Faye. But that’s not taking it slow.”
He leans in and kisses me again—soft, lingering, a denial that tastes like an invitation.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I say against his lips.
I feel his smile on my mouth. “Tell me, how I can be alone in a house with you and not do all the things I’ve been dreaming about doing to you?”
