Page 83 of Flirting with 40

Slade leans forward and kisses me—and not just a brush on the lips, either. It’s the kind of kiss that makes my toes curl and insides furl and an ache splinter through every part of me.

But there is no urgency in the kiss, there is no endgame in his motions. There are just his hands framing my face and his tongue meeting mine in an intimate dance that takes hold of my emotions as much as it does my body.

It’s a kiss purely to kiss, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve done this.

Just kiss.

Just connect.

Just be in this space with a man who worships my mouth with an inexplicable reverence as if he’s getting as much out of this as I am.

I love the feel of my fingers threading through his hair at the back of his neck. I memorize the soft sigh he makes when he deepens the kiss. I revel in the taste of his kiss on my tongue.

I push away the thoughts of how perfect this feels, how afraid I am of how much I like him, and simply allow myself to be pulled under the haze of Slade’s kiss.

Every single second of it. The tug on my lower lip. The gentle pressure of his fingertips guiding my head. The adeptness of his lips.

When it ends, when his forehead is resting on mine and our hands are still on each other, right when I’m about to speak, the rope of the swing snaps, and we fall with a yelp and a thud.

Laughter.

It’s all I hear. We laugh so hard that we’re both on our backs with our hands on our stomachs and wine spilled on us. We laugh till our sides hurt and tears run down the corners of my eyes to my ears and then to the ground beneath.

“Oh my god. That was awesome,” he says, the words coming out in huffs of laughter.

“‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘It won’t break,’ he said.” I can barely get the words out before we start giggling again.

And when he links his fingers with mine as we lie on the cabin porch with a broken swing under us and sticky wine coating us, I know for a fact this will be my most favorite moment of this trip.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Slade

“Who thought it was a good idea to make a group of women have a fishing contest?” Blakely asks as we gather the tackle boxes and poles the staff left out for us.

“Do you have something against fishing like you do against the outdoors?” I ask. “Because I could always make you a swing if it would make you feel better.” She turns and looks at me, her eyes alive. “There’s that smile again.”

That damn swing was still my best epic fail ever.

“Gemma said Heather is dead serious about it too.”

“She sounded that way during her instructions.” Two hours. Designated fishing spots for each team. The guys can bait hooks if need be, but they aren’t allowed to participate other than that. Biggest fish wins a one-on-one coaching session with none other than Heather herself. “So you want to fill me in on why you’ve spent this whole retreat trying to get as far away from Heather as possible and now, all of a sudden, you’re telling me you have to win this contest? What am I missing here?”

“I can’t hide forever from her, and frankly, it’s about time she learned we’re equals.”

Well, hello there, Blakely. I do believe you’ve finally decided to come out and play.

“Don’t look now, but I do believe you’re preparing to howl at the moon, Blakely.” I wink. “Good thing I have the inside scoop on just how to make this happen.”

“Come again?” she asks.

“I’ll tell you once we get to our spot.”

Blakely doesn’t know it, but she was just maneuvered into losing this competition, and I already have a plan for how to fix it.

“What do you mean you have the inside scoop?” Her eyes narrow.

“C’mon, control freak.” I smack a loud kiss on her lips. “It’s a good fifteen minutes to get to the spot. We need all the time we can get. Let’s start walking.”