Leave Me Breathless

The weight of the rain on her lashes makes her blink of surprise slow. ‘How’d you know it would be good?’ she whispers.

I smile. ‘There aren’t many things in life I’m certain of. I’m certain I love my daughter with everything I have. I’m certain I’ll live my life, and I’m certain I’ll eventually die. And after I met you, Hannah, I was certain you’d turn my world upside down when I kissed you.’ One more step. ‘And you did.’ Her gaze follows me down the remaining steps until I’m before her, now being drenched by the rain, too. ‘And now I’m certain I want to kiss you again.’ One last step, and we’re on even ground.

‘I’m certain I want you to.’ She walks into me, her head tilted back in invitation. Then she places her hands on my bare, wet chest. ‘And I’m certain it’ll be as incredible as our first.’

My head dips, catching her lips, unwilling and unable to delay myself. I taste rain. I taste acceptance. I taste Hannah. It’s mind bending, and like nothing I’ve experienced in my thirty-nine years. I hold my mouth still on hers but slowly slide my hands onto her lower back and pull her closer. And then she tilts her head a fraction, her lips parting, and I groan quietly, following her lead. The second our tongues touch, my upside-down world starts to spin, the rain pelting down on us, the thunder rumbling, and the lightning cracking, all drowned out by the sweet feeling of acquiescence.

My God. By a million miles, this is unquestionably the most consumed I have ever felt. There’s no motive behind my kiss. I have no urge to rip her clothes off. My only wish in this moment, when I’m being swallowed whole by this sweet, unexpected woman, is to make sure she feels comfortable in my arms. And she does. All my senses are screaming at me that she does.

The loudest rumble of thunder shakes the ground beneath our feet, but Hannah doesn’t react, too lost in me, and that’s beyond satisfying. It surpasses bliss.

Through my utter drunkenness on her, I manage to convince my legs to move and get us inside. But I don’t stop kissing her. Nothing would make me stop kissing her, and if her firm hold of my head is a measure, she doesn’t want me to. Our lips continue to slip, and our tongues continue to softly tussle as I move my hold and lift her, opening my eyes to find the first step and take them without any hurry. I’m quickly lost in the vision of her so clearly lost herself.

I kick the door closed behind us and set her gently down. Her eyes remain closed. Her mouth stays sealed against mine. She’s soaked to the bone, and now that we’re in the warmth, I can feel how cold she is. She’ll get ill.

It’s without doubt one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, but I break our kiss, and her eyes flip open. She smiles a smile that can only be defined as serene as she looks down at her hands that are back on my chest.

‘You’re cold,’ I say quietly. ‘Let me get you something dry and warm.’ Reluctantly, she surrenders her hold. I immediately miss it. ‘The fire’s still warm.’ I turn her by her shoulders and walk her over. ‘You want a hot chocolate or something?’ I have never in my life offered a woman a hot chocolate. My hospitality has only ever stretched to a beer, a screw, and an offer of a ride home in the morning. I’m not an arsehole, but I’m certainly no gentleman. Women have only ever been a form of company on lonely nights away from home to kill time until I can pick up my life with Alex.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ Hannah gingerly lowers to the chair by the fire, her hands going straight between her knees. She looks small and awkward all of a sudden, and she’s peering around my cabin, chewing her lip. I don’t like it. I shouldn’t have stopped our kiss. Is she wondering why she came? Does she like my home?

I turn and stride to my bedroom before the questions fall out of my mouth. I grab a towel and rub it over my chest, then tug off my jeans and boxers, replacing them with some grey tracksuit bottoms. I fetch a fresh towel for Hannah and stare at the contents of my wardrobe. What can I give her to wear? On a shrug, I snatch down one of my button-front shirts for work because isn’t a white shirt what every woman wants to prance around a man’s place in?

When I make it back to her, she’s moved from the chair and is sitting on the rug by the fire, her hands held out in front of her to warm. I can see the goose bumps on her skin from here. ‘I got you something dry to change into.’