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“You’re the only one who knows how terrible,” she argued. “I just want to know too.”

And he was just a man, for God’s sake. And she was still his wife.

More importantly than all of that, she was Ruthie whether she remembered that or not. He had never forgotten her. He never would.

So Dallas bent his head, and he already hated himself for this, but he pressed his mouth to hers anyway because he was never going to hate himself enough to deny her.

He was never going to be strong enough for that.

So he kissed her instead, the way he’d wanted to when she’d walked into his mountaintop lighthouse last night.

And wasn’t the least bit surprised when she kissed him back, hungrily, and lit them both on fire.

Chapter Six

Ruthie couldn’t believe this was happening.

Sure, she might have argued her way—needled her way, maybe—into this kiss, but that didn’t mean she was prepared for it. His mouth slanted across hers, hot and demanding, and this was no get-to-know-you kind of kiss. This was no halting, careful exploration.

This was fire.

Dallas kissed her like he’d kissed her a million times before and possibly five minutes ago. Like this was a continuation. Dallas kissed her as if there could be absolutely no doubt that the way they wanted each other was meant to incinerate them both. That it had always been like this. Too hot to handle, layered through with a yearning so physical, it hurt.

It was a bone-deep, longing ache even when they were pressed against each other like this.

She couldn’t believe how well they fit together. As if her body, the one she thought she knew pretty well, had never been hers at all. As if, it turned out, she had been fashioned entirely to fit with him like they were puzzle pieces that only made sense when they were fused together.

His hands moved down her back, restlessly, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to shift even closer to him. To indulge the restlessness she felt inside herself, too. To press herself against him, making them both let out small, needy sounds into the quiet of the lighthouse lobby.

It was a kiss—but it was so much more than that.

Ruthie felt as if the story he’d told her was swirling around and around inside of her, sticking to places she hadn’t known were there and making the slide of his tongue against hers feel even more desperate.

Even more perfect.

He bent his knees only slightly and then his big hands were around her waist, sliding lower to hoist her up into the air.

And maybe Ruthie didn’t remember him, but her body seemed to know him all too well. She wrapped herself around him, marveling at the way her legs knew precisely where to go and how to lock themselves in the small of his back.

Like she did exactly this a thousand times a day.

And once more, she could tell things about him, about them, purely from the ease she felt as she did these things. Like she really had done this all the time. Like she jumped and he caught her and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other no matter where they went.

It was exactly what he’d told her.

She could feel the truth in this.

If she didn’t try to think her way through it, she found that she could simply follow her body because it knew exactly where she needed to go. So she speared her fingers into his thick, dark hair and licked her way into his mouth again.

And then, suddenly, they were falling, and she was laughing, and they were stretched out on that soft, comfortable couch with his weight on top of her while inside, something in her whispered at last—

Until the only thing she could focus on was the way he was wedged between her legs, and she could feel all of that hot, hard heat and weight, that sculpted chest, those hard-muscled thighs.

Him.

Ruthie thought that she was melting. It was maybe the best sensation she’d ever felt in her life. She was sure about that, memory or no memory.

But in the next moment, Dallas heaved himself up in a kind of desperate push-up, and then seemed to throw himself off the couch. He landed on his feet and kept going until he was standing once again over by the mantel, in front of the fire.