He turned to face her, leaning against the railing as his gaze swept her from toe to head. “Do you want to be kissed?”
Breathing was a challenge. How could a look make her feel so beautiful? He was waiting for an answer. “By you?” she asked, smiling.
He laughed then, a wonderful, full-chested laugh. “Were you out here waiting for someone else to come along?”
“I wasn’t really waiting for anyone. I was enjoying the view. And my hot chocolate.” She hesitated, then confessed, “But I was hoping you’d show up.”
“Why?” There was a vulnerability that plucked at her heart.
She pointed up at the bunch of mistletoe she’d helped hang. It was several feet away from them but—she thought—close enough. There were several bunches placed in strategic spots around the porch. “Isn’t it bad luck? Not to be kissed under the mistletoe, I mean.”
His was laughing again. “I’ve never heard that.” But he stepped closer.
“I’m sure I have,” she said, setting her mug on the railing. “Might as well get it over with.”
His brows rose. “You don’t sound very optimistic.”
“I’d rather you wanted to kiss me instead of doing it out of obligation.” Was she being bold? Yes. But, if he kissed her, would it be worth it? Yes. Somehow, she knew it would be completely and totally worth it.
“So there’s no confusion...” He stepped aside, put his camera on her rocking chair and pulled her another five feet away from under the mistletoe. “I want to kiss you.”
His words made everything melt a little, in the best possible way. “Good answer,” she said, breathless. And eager. Her heart went into overdrive in the beat department, but at least he couldn’t hear it. His hand slid up her neck to cradle her cheek, leaving a trail of tingles and fire and warning and excitement and pure want in its wake.
Her hand covered his as he stooped to kiss her.
Oh. His lips... Her eyes fluttered shut as his thumb brushed along her jaw. She’d never kissed a stranger. To be completely honest, she hadn’t kissed a lot of men. She was selective with her kisses.
But she was so glad. His mouth was firm, moving against hers with a tenderness that had her swaying into him. Gripping his shirtfront. Shuddering as his arms slid around her waist. Shuddering again when he pulled her flush against him. Her hand slid up, tangling in his thick, dark hair.
It was the best kiss ever. The sort of kiss that went on and on. She didn’t want it to end. There was hunger in his touch—need. From the tremble of his hand at her waist, the hitch in his breath and the urgency of his mouth on hers. And when her lips parted beneath his, he held on to her like a man drowning.
Oh God, she understood. She didn’t know his past but she knew the desperation. He was alone. She was alone. And this, being wrapped up in him, clinging to him, assured them, right now, they weren’t alone. Both of them craved something more. Needed each other—in this moment if nothing else.
He tore his lips from hers. “I’m sorry,” h
e whispered, gasping. “It’s been a long time.”
“Don’t apologize.” She stared up at him, knowing her eyes blazed with just as much hunger as his. Her fingers traced along his hairline, down his temple and along his jaw. A jaw that tightened briefly. “Wow. That was some kiss.”
“It was,” he ground out, his voice hard. Whatever he was thinking, he stiffened. His arms stayed anchored around her waist. But he leaned away from her, as if he was fighting some internal battle. His pale eyes closed, his hands and fingers pressing against her back, before he relaxed. When his eyes opened, the fire burned bright. “You’ve been straight with me—”
“Because I wanted you to kiss me,” she interrupted, her hands resting on his shoulders now. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to say good-night. Not yet.
He smiled. “I’ll be straight with you.” He paused. “I’m here for one night.” He cleared his throat. “But it seems to me we could both use the company. I want you something fierce.” His gaze pinned hers. “Stay with me.”
Stay with him. She could hold on to him all night. His hand slid up her back to sweep the hair from her shoulder. There was tenderness in his gaze and his touch. His kiss told her there would also be passion. Dammit, she ached to find passion with this man. She ached for him. A head-to-toe quiver racked her body at the mere thought of what they’d be like together.
She was pretty sure this wasn’t how one-night stands were supposed to go. She’d seen enough movies and TV shows to know this was unusual. But she figured there was a reason for his hesitancy. There was pain in those pale eyes. He’d been badly hurt. Maybe he was still hurting. He might want to spend the night with her, but he didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding or pain when they went back to their respective realities.
Tomorrow, he’d be gone and no one would ever know about her magical night.
She’d have a secret to treasure.
She didn’t have to think about her answer. Every sensible bone in her body was inexplicably silent. There was no need for a pros-and-cons list or ticking through consequences. She wanted what he was offering, 100 percent. She wanted him—more than she’d ever wanted anything. “Yes.”
He took her hand and led her toward the door.
“Your camera,” she reminded him.