“I’m just tired, Hadley,” Wren said, standing up. She wrapped her arms around Hadley and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you for caring, but I didn’t see a ghost.”
Hadley pulled back and handed her a smile that was far too knowing and far too adult. “Pity, because her ostrich-feather headdress was seriously cool. Also, she wore an amazing shade of red lipstick.”
Wren’s mouth fell open. Holy crap, what the hell?How?Hadley, the brat, tapped her under her chin to get her to close her mouth. Wren gulped, and Hadley smiled, her expression radiating wisdom and a healthy dose of pity. But instead of speaking, she turned away and walked to the corner of the room to pick up her backpack. Throwing it over her shoulder, she waved and crossed the studio to the exit.
At the door, she turned back and grinned, like the teenager Wren utterly adored. “Oh, Wren, are you going to the Ice Scream Spooktakular next weekend?”
An event with over fifteen ice cream trucks, live music, and a beer garden. Did the sun rise in the east? “Absolutely! Shall we go together, or do you have plans to meet up with your friends?”
Hadley shook her head. “I can go with you, if you don’t want to arrive on your own,” she told her, her eyes sliding away. “I might duck out later.”
Wren, who understood that as being teenager speak for,be my wingman until I don’t need you anymore,nodded. From the moment Hadley was born, she and Poppy had made a point of being there for her, as much as they could be. That had been time well spent.
Wren nodded, trying hard not to smile. “That works.”
Hadley grinned, and she bolted for the door. “Okay, cool! Bye, Dane.”
Wren watched her until she disappeared and looked into the mirror, half expecting to see the dancer reflected in it again. Instead, her eyes met Dane’s, his expression curious. Coming off the floor, he sat down on the bench next to her, his thigh against hers, his hand stroking the length of her spine. Her breath finally, finally, evened out. Her heartrate was still high, but she knew it wasn’t because she’d seen a …somethingin the mirror.
No, her too-fast pulse was because of the man sitting next to her—big, warm, his hand skating over her bare skin under her slouchy top. She looked at him, clocked his eyes heating, the way a muscle ticked under the scruff on his jaw, and knew that, like her, he wasn’t thinking about her out-of-nowhere scream.
No, his mind was somewhere else, and she wanted to go there, too.
“I wish you’d kiss me.”
When his eyes widened, she gasped, realizing that she had spoken aloud. What was wrong with her?
Swiveling to face her, Dane speared his hand into her hair above her ear, desire blazing through the light layer of amusement on his face. “Wren…”
She flapped her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. If he didn’t think she was a nut before, then he would now.
“Look at me, gorgeous.”
Her eyes flashed open and she held her breath as he moved closer, twisting to place his knee between hers. Every muscle in her body contracted as his one hand spanned her lower back and pulled her into his hard body.
Wren was fairly certain she could handle kissing him. He was a guy, she was a girl, she’d done it before. But the moment his mouth grazed hers—every coherent thought bolted out of the building. Lips covered hers, firm, a little chapped from spending so much time in the sun. Experienced. They moved over hers with confidence and control. A nip here, a suck there, still no tongue.
He didn’t hesitate, fumble; his were the lips of a man sure of his welcome.
They. Knew. Exactly. What. They. Were. Doing.
He nipped lightly at her bottom lip, a teasing tug that hurtled a hot, startled shiver straight into her heart. A sound drifted up from her throat—half awhat was that?and halfplease do it again—as he cradled her head in his big hand. His hand felt warm. Steady. He angled her face, and his kiss changed, deepened. His mouth moved over hers with intent, a slow, deliberate slide of his tongue here, a drag on her bottom lip there … exquisite torture.
She recognized the heat, the snap and crackle, the too-bright fizz announcing the beginning of something… And she was good atbeginnings. Not only that, but she adored them, the way it made her pulse spike and her body ache. She curled her fingers into his shirt and waited for his kiss to speed up, the head spinning, delicious rush of a deep, demanding, crazy kiss.
It didn’t come. Wren frowned, waited a few beats more, and mentally scratched her head. Instead of hauling her onto his lap and copping a feel, sliding his hands down the back of her pants, his hand under her sports bra, he simply cradled her head and kept his kiss slow, seeking. So goddamn steady, his thumb drawing absent minded squiggles on the bare skin above her hip.
What was he doing? No, wrong question. Why wasn’t he taking this further, making it hotter? They were alone. Wren pulled back and watched his face, his eyes still closed and his expression a little blissed out. What was happening here? Where was the confusion? The frustration at being stopped?
Then his eyes fluttered open, and he sent her the sweetest, coolest, sexiest smile of …God… was that appreciation? Certainty? The air between them shifted and changed, and Wren jerked away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
Before now, he’d felt … easy. Uncomplicated.
They’d been circling each other, glances that lingered, smiles that promised trouble. Fizzing thoughts of,oh, this could be fun. She’d been cool with it—leaning in, flirting back, mentally filing him under excellent fling potential.
Hot, uncomplicated, maybe even a little reckless. But suddenly, whatever this was, it didn’t feel so simple…
