I answer to the affirmative.
Cradling her face in my palm, I lower my lips toward hers. Slowly. Giving her time to pull away in case I’ve misread her or the situation.
Thank fuck I didn’t.
She meets my kiss eagerly. Hungrily. When my lips part hers, and our tongues touch, she moans.
As if I taste even better than the pie from her favorite bakery.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer as I deepen the kiss.
Though it starts off slow and sweet, it escalates quickly. She clutches the front of my shirt, pressing herself closer to me.
I slide a hand to the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her gorgeous mass of hair. The other clutches her hip, pulling her even closer.
With every second that pasts, the fire igniting inside of my turns into a blaze.
If we don’t put the brakes on it soon, we’re going to be in trouble.
“Douglas—” she breathes against my mouth. “Don’t stop.”
It’s as if she can read my mind. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“I don’t want to,” I agree, bringing my lips back to hers for another searing kiss.
But the next time we pause to catch a breath, I rest my forehead against hers.
“But we have to,” I say.
She starts to protest and I shake my head. “If we don’t stop now, there’s a good chance I’ll do something that will get both of us banned from the garden for life.”
A giggle bubbles out of her, stoking my racing heart.
It’s all I can do not to stay the hell with it and push her down against the blanket and claim her here. But, like I said, I don’t want to get us kicked out. I want to be able to bring her back here again and again.
I want it to be our special place.
Forever.
SEVEN
KATHRYN
He walks me to the door. After racing around his truck to help me step out. My hand firmly grasped in his. Taking slow steps while we finish our conversation about the first and best concerts we’ve attended.
It’s all so… wholesome, and, dare I say, chivalrous.
It’s just like we’re back in high school savoring the last few minutes before curfew. Trying to decide if we should risk a kiss before we reach the front porch and the parents pretending they aren’t waiting up on the other side of the door.
Not that my parents ever did that. They always said they trusted me. I always thought it was more likely that by the time I was dating, they’d been parenting for nearly thirty years and they were too tired to stay up until midnight.
But as Douglas hesitates at the door and flashes me that reserved half-smile of his, it’s impossible to resist grin.
“Well,” I say, because apparently I’ve decided talking is still an option. “This is me.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t reach for the door. He doesn’t rush it or me. He looks at me. Really looks and me.
