She’s stunning in a pastel-pink crop top that leaves a sliver of skin visible on top of the high waist of her jeans. That strip of stomach is nothing. Except it’s everything. I make myself look higher, not that the view up there does me any favors. She’s beautiful as always, yes, but it’s the smile—the unrestrained joy at seeing me—that does me in. And her hair is up in a ponytail again.
I beam back at her. “Were you waiting for me?”
Her cheeks flush that pretty pink I can’t resist. “I saw your headlights.” She glances past me at the graying sky. “It looks like night already.”
“A storm is coming,” I confirm.
Her focus shifts to me, and the look she gives me whips me harder than the wind at my back. Her gaze drifts to the baseball cap. She bites her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth in a way that sends heat straight to my gut.
“You wore the cap,” she says.
I give her a once-over, slow and deliberate, letting my eyes travel from her face down to those jeans that fit her like a second skin, then back up to meet her eyes. “You have your hair up again.”
“You seem to enjoy pulling it when it’s like this.”
I reach behind her and tug on the ponytail.
“I do,” I murmur.
I’m not sure who moves first—if it’s me or her, or if we crash in the middle—but suddenly we’re kissing.
It’s pure fire, same as Friday night.
Her hands come up to my chest, fisting in my button-down shirt as my arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Her body melts into mine, soft and pliant and perfect. I back her up against the doorframe, pressing into her, and she makes a small sound in the back of her throat that nearly undoes me.
I kiss her with the desperation of a starved, reckless man. Because I have starved. Two days since the dock, and it feels like three years. Her mouth opens under mine, and I take full advantage, tasting her, learning her.
Her hands slide up to my shoulders, then into my hair, knocking the cap off. It falls to the floor, forgotten.
After a while—seconds, minutes, I have no idea—I force myself to pull back. We’re both breathing in sharp, uneven pulls. Her lips are swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded, and she looks thoroughly kissed.
“We have a reservation,” I manage, voice wrecked.
She pouts. And with her mouth puffy from the kiss, it’s even more maddening.
“I have instructions to bash you on the head when you make responsible decisions.”
I grin. “Then I guess I should act very irresponsibly.”
I kiss her again, harder, swallowing her gasp. My hand slides from her waist to her hip, fingers digging into the denim as I pull her against me. She arches into the contact, her nails scraping against my scalp.
This time, she’s the one who pulls back.
“We should get going,” she pants, “if we want to make dinner.”
I rest my forehead against hers, working to get my breathing under control. “Sure. Let’s go. I’m starving for food. No other cravings here.”
She beams at me. “As long as you’re sure.”
Lightning cracks in the distance, bright enough to carve the sky open. A clap of thunder follows a few seconds later.
Faye glances behind me. “It’s getting chilly. Let me grab something warmer.”
She disappears into the cottage, leaving me standing in the doorway like an idiot with a stupid grin on my face. I pick up my cap from the floor and pull it back on.
When she returns, she’s put on a cream knit cardigan, soft and oversized. She has more clothes on her, and somehow manages to look sexier, making me want to skip dinner entirely.
