907 For Keeps Way (Cherry Falls)

“And what, Dane?”

“And do a little of this.” He leans over the console, cupping the side of my face in his hands. He brings his lips softly to mine. “And then a little of this.” He drags the back of his hand down my throat, over my chest—brushing dangerously close to my nipple, and lands in the middle of my thighs. He presses his palm against my legs. “I want to touch you everywhere you’ll let me.”

I quiver, pinned to the seat by his gaze.

Everywhere. I want him to touch me in all the places.

I’ve watched this moment in movies hundreds of times and wondered what it would feel like to be the subject of someone’s attention in such an intense, singular way.

Now I know.

It’s the headiest experience of my life.

“Then let’s go,” I whisper.

He grins. It’s not the sweet one or the professional one. It’s also not the one he used on the kayak. This one is different. Darker. Sexier. Filled with promises that I hope he’ll keep.

We climb out of the truck. I don’t wait for him to come around and open my door, and I think this bothers him, but I don’t care.

He reaches for my hand as I reach the front of the truck, and I instinctively give it to him.

The contact has the same effect as three lemon drop martinis, and I’m not sure if we pull each other to the lobby of the bed and breakfast or if it just feels like it.

It takes only a few minutes for Dane to get a room. The older lady at the counter is sweet but has the registration process down. With one eye on a sitcom, she checks us in and points us in the right direction.

The hallways seem long, the lights bright. It feels like it takes an hour to finally get to our room. As soon as we’re inside and the door is shut, Dane turns to me.

The air is hot. Thick. It conforms around us like it, too, awaits what’s to come.

I stand in the middle of the room, near the foot of the bed, and try not to look as nervous—and as excited—as I feel.

“You doing okay?” he asks, tossing his keys near the television.

“Yup. I’ve just never really had a one-night stand before so I’m not sure …” I look around. “Not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

He grins. “First of all, you can stop calling this a one-night stand.”

I furrow my brows.

“Does this feel like a one-night stand to you? Do you expect that we’ll go our own separate ways after this and never speak to one another again?” he asks.

I hope not.

He closes the distance between us until he’s standing only inches away from me.

“If that’s what you want, then okay,” he says, lowering his voice. “But I have a feeling I’ll be addicted to you after tonight.”

I open my mouth to speak when he reaches for me. His hands cup my face. He lifts my chin so I have nowhere to look but at him.

I feel light, emboldened by his words. No, it’s more than that. It’s not just his words. I’m elevated by the power that he shows me that I hold.

He knows what a catch he is. There’s no way that he doesn’t. Instead of using that knowledge to make me feel lucky to have his attention, it’s the opposite. He feels lucky to have mine.

“I want to thank you for coming out with me tonight. It’s an honor.” He … meant that.

It’s a mind-numbing yet also exhilarating feeling to have him eager for me. And he says it like it’s a fact, like how would I not know this is the situation? It’s crazy.

It’s also amazing.

“There isn’t a script for you to follow,” he whispers. “This goes however we want it to go.”

“That’s good.”

“If you want to stop, you say stop. If you want to go, you say go.” He presses a simple kiss to my lips. “I just can’t believe it.”

He laughs softly.

“You can’t believe what, Dane?”

“That you are letting me kiss you.”

I don’t know what comes over me. I have no idea where it comes from. The only thing I can compare it to was the moxie I had in my late teens when I thought I could rule the world.

I loop my fingers in his waistband and tug him to me. The movement makes him smile.

“I’m about to let you do a whole lot more than that,” I whisper against his mouth.

He draws in a breath before growling. His lips crash against mine.

We are a flurry of movements, a rush of body parts. It’s as if a torch has been lit.

His hands weave through my hair, angling my neck so he can press kisses down it. My hands float up his shirt and onto the smooth skin of his back.