The kiss wasn’t rushed or greedy—it was slow and coaxing me open with the faintest tease until my lips parted.
He made a low sound deep in his throat that vibrated through me and pulled me closer, steadying me with his hand at my back.
He tasted faintly of coffee and something sharper—clean, undeniably him—and it unraveled me. I forgot who I was, where we were, or that anyone else existed.
All that mattered was him, and the steady, grounding warmth that lifted me up onto my toes.
I’d been kissed before. A thousand times before. But never like this. Never with this kind of fire. This kind of heat. His lips moved against mine with a rhythm that felt both patient and desperate, as if he’d been waiting years instead of seconds for this moment.
I was falling. Melting. My knees were so weak that if he hadn’t been holding me, I was sure I would have fallen.
Someone made a noise, a low whistle, and he finally pulled back, though it wasn’t far. Just enough to leave me dizzy.
His forehead rested against mine as our breaths came out uneven, mingling with one another because we were so close. Then his thumb brushed the curve of my bottom lip—slow, as if to memorize me.
Someone’s giggle broke through the silence, and I suddenly remembered we weren’t alone. But Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look away.
“Well,” he murmured, voice low and husky, “if you ladies don’t mind,” he cleared his throat, “I’m going to borrow my fiancée for the rest of the afternoon.”
He turned without waiting for them to answer and threaded his fingers through mine, tugging me with him as he strode toward the trees he’d come barreling out of.
My pulse tripped as I scrambled to keep up, my heart somewhere in my throat. Part of me wanted to dig in my heels. The rest of me—still buzzing and alive from that kiss—went willingly.
“The cabins are that way!” someone called after us.
Dean didn’t even break stride. “I’m not going to the cabin,” he hollered back.
“Where then?” another voice teased.
“To the lake!” he shouted over his shoulder. Then, lower—meant only for me—his voice a ragged growl, “So I can cool the fuck off.”
Twenty-One
Dean wasn’t kidding.He led me through trees with hurried steps. His strides were confident, as if every twist and root in the path had already been memorized. The trail dipped beneath a canopy, and then sunlight flickered through the branches, dappling his shoulders in golden light.
I barely had time to catch my breath before the trees opened to another world.
A clearing spread before us, quiet and still, like a slice of heaven on earth.
At its center, a weathered dock reached out over the lake, the boards bleached silver by years of sun. The surface of the water shimmered, broken only by the shadows of dragonflies skipping across.
Dean didn’t pause. He released my hand, the sudden absence of his touch startling me, and strode to the edge of the dock. His fingers hooked the hem of his shirt, and before I could process what he was doing, he tugged it over his head. The fabric fell in a careless heap at his feet, followed quickly by his shoes.
Then his jeans.
The sound of the zipper seemed impossibly loud in the still air.
I blinked, heat rushing to my cheeks. One second, he was standing clothed in front of me—the next, he was nothing but lean muscle, tan skin, and a strip of black boxers before he dove headfirst into the lake.
The water swallowed him whole, a spray of sunlight and ripples in his wake. I stood frozen at the edge of the dock, staring after him.
What was I supposed to do? Follow him? Pretend anything that just happened between us was normal? That I didn’t still feel his kiss all the way to my core?
I shifted on my feet, chewing my lip, the summer air suddenly heavy and too warm. My gaze landed on his clothes in a heap on the dock. Everything that had happened in the last ten minutes played back through my mind. His grandmother, the easels, the man on the log, Dean barreling through the trees.
I let out a laugh. “This is insane,” I whispered under my breath, just as his head broke the surface of the water. He shook his head, and droplets sprayed from his dark hair, until he pushed it back, grinning up at me. “Come on,” he said, his voice deep and even. “The water is perfect.”
I looked down at my clothes. My sandals. At the glassy surface of the lake rippling softly around him. I should’ve said no. Should’ve shaken my head, stayed rooted right there on the dock. But instead, my fingers found the hem of my shirt, and I tugged it nervously.
