He sighed and looked at their clasped hands.
“Maybe that’s why we found each other,” she said quietly. “Two people trying to figure out how to have a little faith, right?”
Dakota looked at her—the firelight in her hair, the vulnerability in her eyes, the hand that fit so perfectly in his—and made a decision.
“We’ll find it,” he said. “The Bible. I promise.”
She looked at him. “And maybe that happy ending.”
He didn’t let go of her hand.
They walked back to the cottage through the quiet grounds, the pool reflecting stars, the eucalyptus trees dark silhouettes against the sky. The covered verandah glowed with warm light. The air held a cool breath, carrying the scent of distant vineyards and woodsmoke.
The warmth of her body seeped into his, close enough that every brush of their shoulders felt intentional.
They reached the cottage. Dakota unlocked the door, held it open for her. The big bed with its white linens dominated the space.
Yeah, he’d need the sofa tonight, after the conversation at dinner.
Jayden stepped inside, then turned to face him.
“Did you kiss me last night?”
The question hung in the air. Direct. Unflinching. Those whiskey eyes searching his face for the truth.
“Yes. You don’t remember?”
“Sorta felt like a dream.” She smiled.
“A dream.”
She lifted a shoulder, but her eyes twinkled.
“We should fix that,” he said softly.
She met his gaze, her tongue going to her lips. And nodded.
Dakota closed the distance between them.
This kiss was different from last night’s. That one had been impulse—the sudden need to prove something, to himself or to her, he wasn’t sure which. This one was choice. Deliberate. His hands came up to cup her face, cradling her jaw, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones.
Then he dove in.
She tasted sweet, like wine and something else, something that was just her, and stepped up to him, her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair, and angled her up to him.
And the sense of her simply overtook him, swept over him.
This woman. She made the whirring in his brain still, made the world around him stop, made him breathe, hear his heartbeat, listen to his dreams.
She made him wonder, and want, and hope.
She made him believe that, yes, there could be happy endings.
When she made a soft sound against his mouth and let him deepen his kiss, something in him wanted to never stop. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, holding on, and he gathered her in, kissed her slower, like they had all the time in the world.
He could stay right here. With her.
And yet . . .
