Smitten

“Redemption, huh?” I ask playfully, squeezing his hand.

Fish smiles playfully. “I want a do-over on that kiss I didn’t have the balls to get that very first night.”

After turning a corner, and stepping over a low retaining wall, we reach our destination and sit on the ground, shoulder to shoulder, our hands clasped.

The sounds of the party are a distant din now. The last remnants of the sunset are sprawled before us in the sky.

“Such a pretty view,” I whisper. But when Fish doesn’t reply, I turn my head . . . and receive his passionate kiss.

“Wow,” I whisper when our kiss ends.

Fish presses his forehead to mine. “That’s the exact kiss I was about to give you that night, when we got interrupted.”

I return his grin. “You couldn’t possibly have given me a kiss like that back then. That smooch told me you love me, forever and ever.”

“I do.” He strokes my hair and looks deeply into my eyes. “Did you know, before I met you, I used to say ‘Fuck it, shit happens,’ like, three times a week? Maybe even more. But now, how often do I say that?” He shrugs. “And if I do say it, it’s only for stupid stuff, like when I can’t find my keys.”

I laugh. He’s right.

But, to my surprise, Fish doesn’t join me in laughing. In fact, he looks a bit nervous. Like his mind is racing.

In a flash, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I suddenly feel like Fish is gearing up to say something important.

And then it hits me . . .

Today is my birthday . . .

And Fish brought me to this nostalgic, romantic spot . . .

At sunset . . .

Holy crap.

Is Fish going to . . .?

His breathing shallow, Fish grabs my hands. “Alessandra, I’m only happy when I’m with you. I want to be with you, and love you, forever. But not as your boyfriend.” He reaches into his pocket. “I want to go through life with you as your—”

“Yes!” I shout, overcome with emotion and excitement.

“Husband.”

“Yes!” I shout again, just in case my interruption somehow negated my first yes.

Exhaling with relief, Fish kisses me gleefully as I throw my arms around his neck. But suddenly, he pulls back sharply from my lips and says, “You heard that last word, right? Just to be clear, I just asked you to marry me.”

“Yes! My answer is yes!”

We kiss again.

But, again, Fish pulls back sharply. “Oh. I should probably give you the ring.” His entire body quaking, he opens the little box in his hand, revealing a stunning diamond solitaire inside.

“It’s beautiful! I love it!”

He slips the ring onto my finger, at which point, I burst into soggy tears. Crying, I pull his face to mine and kiss the hell out of him, feeling like I’m soaring on a wave of euphoria.

We kiss and kiss. Until, soon, we’re flat-out mauling each other—making out with abandon, the same way we do when we’re naked at home. Although, actually, this moment is even hotter than being at home in our bed, because we’re both well aware our closest family and friends are nearby and could, in theory, stumble upon us.

I mean, not really. The sun has set by now, so we’re completely hidden in this dark corner behind a freaking wall. For anyone to see us, they’d have to be standing right over us. Either way, though, I’ll only be proposed to once in my life. I might as well make this moment extra memorable with a little high-risk nookie.

Panting, I unbutton Fish’s jeans, telegraphing my intent, and Fish yelps in surprise and excitement. These days, I initiate sex all the time. I’m the first to admit I’m a horny little thing. But I’ve never initiated risky sex like this before. Public sex where we could, in theory, get caught. But, as Fish knows, I’m all about racking up “firsts” with him, whenever I can.

His cock freed from his buttons, I straddle him, pull my undies to the side to bare myself to him, and growl at him to fuck me. Without hesitation, Fish fingers me, moaning when he feels how wet I am—and, a moment later, I’m riding him furiously while kissing him voraciously.

As our pleasure mounts to near boiling, nearby voices suddenly invade our consciousness. Male voices. Laughing ones. It’s Keane and Zander! Maybe some others, too. But definitely them!

I freeze on top of Fish, my eyes wide, panting, trying to decipher the trajectory of the voices. But Fish isn’t taking any chances. While gripping my hips, firmly keeping me in place, he shouts, “Go away! Whoever you are, turn around and go away!”

“Shit,” Keane’s voice says. He laughs. “Sorry, Fish.”

The footfalls recede. The low din of the faraway party becomes our subtle soundtrack again, along with the small sounds emanating from the canyon below. Once again, we’re alone in our dark bubble. A tribe of two.