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The change was subtle enough that I might have questioned it if I hadn’t spent all day learning how closely she watched everything around her. Sybil didn’t drift into decisions. She made them.

I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb.

Her lips parted.

That was when I kissed her.

There was no cautious first brush and no polite pause afterward. Sybil turned into me as soon as our mouths met, one hand sliding from beneath mine to grip the front of my flannel. Her chair scraped over the hardwood. She tasted faintly of the cider we’d shared hours earlier, and when her tongue touched mine, every reason I’d had for keeping my hands to myself since Friday morning became much harder to respect.

I slid my hand into her hair and deepened the kiss.

The kitchen disappeared around the feel of her mouth, the warmth of her body beside mine, the soft drag of her thermal beneath my palm. Her other hand pushed beneath my flannel and found bare skin at my waist.

My cock hardened so fast it hurt.

Sybil felt it when she shifted closer.

She broke the kiss only far enough to draw a breath, her forehead touching mine while her fingers stayed spread over my stomach.

“I knew you were trying not to do this.”

There was a smile in her voice, but it was softer than the teasing she used when she wanted to push at me.

“I’ve been trying not to do a lot of things.”

Her eyes lifted to mine.

The cottage was quiet enough that I could hear the heat system click on somewhere beneath us. Warm air moved faintly through the vent near the cabinets, carrying the lingering smell of coffee from that morning and the apple bread Laurie had left behind. A pile of Sybil’s event paperwork sat inches from her elbow.

I could have kissed her again and let momentum make the rest of our decisions.

I didn’t.

My hand moved from her hair to the back of her neck, not holding her there, simply keeping us close enough that I could feel the beat of her pulse beneath my thumb.

“What happened tonight is why I’m in this house,” I said. “It’s not why I’m touching you.”

Her gaze stayed steady.

“I know.”

“I need to know it isn’t why you’re touching me either.”

Something in her expression eased. She looked down briefly at the hand she still had beneath my shirt before sliding it higher over my ribs.

“I wanted to put my hands on you tonight when your jacket was open at the cider stand. I wanted to kiss you when you followed me through the bypass instead of arguing after I told you your route wouldn’t work.” Her mouth curved slightly. “And I have spent an unreasonable amount of time wondering what you look like without the flannel.”

That finally pulled a laugh out of me.

Sybil smiled too, and the ordinary warmth of it did more to my control than the admission had.

I stood and brought her up with me.

She came straight into my arms.

I kissed her again, and this time I let myself feel everything I’d been ignoring: the full softness of her breasts against my chest, the curve of her waist beneath my hands, the way she rose onto her toes because I had almost a foot on her.

Her fingers spread across my back.