Page 27 of Forbidden Heart

“So...” Tate says, his voice cracking slightly. “I guess we’ll have to wait out this storm.”

I nod in agreement.

“Charles is probably not going to make it through that.”

I nod again. “I’m sure it’ll calm down soon.”

As though they can hear me, the heavens rebel. Above us, the rain continues to cascade from the sky. On the ground, it makes its way further across the gazebo floor, coloring it dark and deep. Without thinking, I curl my bare toes in my flats, relieved not to be tormented by the feeling of wet socks.

“This is almost like the day we met,” I tell Tate, struggling to be heard over the storm.

“Really?” he asks as he scans his eyes across the park. “I guess this is kind of like the forest. Definitely no one else around.”

“It’s not that. I just hate the feeling of wet socks, and I was wearing sneakers when we met.” I glance down at my flats and try hard not to think about how much they must have cost. “See? No socks!”

Tate chuckles, and my cheeks flush.

“That sounded really stupid, didn’t it?” I flush. “Forget I said anything!”

“That’s not why I was laughing.” Tate grins. “I was just thinking that I hate the feeling of wet socks, too.”

“You do?” I ask.

He glances down at his sneakered feet, which are soaked straight through. “Doesn’t everyone?”

I giggle.

“You know, Roonie...” Tate says softly. “There’s one other difference between tonight and the night we met.”

“What’s that?” I ask softly.

“That you’re not hurt this time.”

“Oh.” I gasp when he draws me closer and pulls me into a hug. Through both layers of our sopping wet clothing, I can feel the warmth of his skin. I can feel every firm muscle and feel every dip and bulge. My heart races, and I’m certain that Tate can hear it.

“Thank goodness I found you that day,” he whispers, pulling me close.

Idly, I wonder if he’s glad he rescued me, that he’s glad we met, or both. For me, it’s definitely both.

In the distance, a roll of thunder echoes through the sky. Tate tightens his embrace around me, and I shiver. Then I yelp as he suddenly lifts me, carries me across the gazebo in two sure steps, and sets me down on the railing. It’s wide enough to be comfortable and far enough from the edge of the roof to keep us both from getting drenched.

Tate gently pulls my legs apart and steps between them as the occasional raindrop, cold and damp, lands on my back. The combination of steamy body heat and the chilling cold of the rain are creating a contrast that drives me insane.

Tate’s so close I’d only have to lean forward slightly for my lips to touch his. A shiver races through me, and my lips start to tingle. I lick them hungrily, remembering the last time we kissed, and Tate’s eyes drop to my mouth.

Suddenly, the rain, the cold, my drenched skin, my soaked dress—it all ceases to exist, and there’s only Tate. Tate and his warm lips which suddenly cover my own in a hungry kiss.

For a few moments, I drown in sensation. Tate’s lips consume me, claiming mine with a passion I reciprocate. Instinctively, I grab a fistful of his hair, cold and damp and oh so sexy, while my other hand roams over his soaked shirt, feeling the hard muscles underneath.

I want more of Tate... need more of him, but he suddenly pulls away. No, not away, just far enough to torment me. He grabs my hands, dislodging them from his body, and pins them against the gazebo railing. I long for the smooth wood beneath my fingertips to be hard, hot skin, but Tate’s grip is strong, keeping me in place.

When he leans in again, his lips are a soft caress against mine. There briefly, and then gone.

I moan at the loss, and Tate’s lips quirk up with satisfaction. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me and he doesn’t mean to stop.

He leans in again, another soft kiss, another caress of lips that leaves me longing for more. I try to wiggle closer, my body burning for his, but Tate doesn’t relent.

One soft kiss after another, he drives me to the edge of insanity. Soon, I’m wriggling on the gazebo, my nipples taut and craving his touch, my body needing his.