My eyes widen.“I’m totally a dog person.In fact, we even fostered a couple recently.But I’m just not up for the long-term commitment of it right now.I never know…” I pause, not really wanting the conversation to take this route.It’s hard to explain to an unattached person like Harris—or to anyone—what goes through my head these days.
Right now, today, I could handle a dog.But I’m always uncertain what tomorrow will bring.
I remember those long days and nights in the hospital during surgeries and recoveries.The constant appointments or sudden rushes to the ER.
I had a husband then, and it was barely manageable.But now?I live in fear of it, knowing full well that another surgery will likely come in the next few years, according to his cardiologist.How will I handle it, essentially on my own?
“You never know what’s coming and want to be ready to tackle it?”he offers, guessing that I’m struggling for the right words.
“Exactly.I don’t want to make a commitment to a dog I can’t keep.Fostering was nice though.I think short-term is the name of the game for me right now.”
“You’re smart.I’ve dealt with that myself, in a different way.I never know where I’m going next with my job.When I was younger, it seemed exciting.But at 32, it just feels frustrating.”
“I imagine that would be.”I fight a frown.I hate the idea of him leaving in six months like all the other renters have.
I have to watch that—I’m feeling a dangerous attachment already forming that I can’t possibly afford.
The same attachment I can’t have my son experiencing if he gets too close to this man.
“But,” he begins, leading me up several steps to a gazebo as the snow picks up its pace, “if work doesn’t send me someplace over the next week or so, I’m kind of hoping that you’ll let me take you out again?”
He says the words like a question.
As if he even has to ask.
“I’d love that.”
He turns and we’re facing each other.He brushes his hand along my chin to my ear and then lets his fingers thread into my hair.
I feel my face tilt upward toward his instinctively.
Kiss me, every fiber inside of me seems to whisper to him.His other hand rakes into my hair as well.
The wind kicks up, but all I feel is heat.Heat… and a need that seems to come from my very soul.I go up on my tiptoes and when I do, he takes the hint, and bends to kiss me.
I savor the brush of his lips against mine, breathing in his scent, a musky blend that I swear will always make me think of this moment.My hands splay across his chest and then slide to his back, pulling him closer.
Even with his coat on, I can feel his muscles as his arms move, enveloping me.
The heat—the charge between us—feels radioactive, and my pulse quickens as my mouth opens slightly to him.When his tongue tentatively slides into me, my heartbeat thunders in my ears.
It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed like this.On the tepid dates I’ve had, the kisses were restrained and the feelings inside me were cautious and unsatisfied, as though I was just going through the motions.
They weren’t like this.They didn’t have my core heating up like a flame at the feel of his lips on me, his taste in me, his grip holding me, possessing me.
Instinctively, I try to press my body closer to him, aching for pressure in a place that demands satisfaction—that center of my need that seems to scream, “Take me right now,” even though we’re standing within sight of a holy place and people are milling around nearby.
At what point in these four years since my divorce did I become so filled with this need?And why did I not even notice it until now?
Half-moaning, I open to him even more, delighting in the slow, seductive slide of his tongue along my teeth.
His breath ragged, he loosens his grip on me and eases his face from mine.
The smile he gives me—with that perfect blend of sweetness and seduction— etches itself into my memory forever.
“I should get you home,” he murmurs.
I give a slight nod as he drapes his arm over my shoulder.