Crap… am I a bad kisser? “I’ll just be a minute,” I call after him, trying to sound normal, then stare at my pile of dry clothes with unblinking, blurry eyes. That must be it.
It was my first kiss. Chances are it wasn’t great, right? I mean,Imay have loved it, it may have rocked my whole freaking world, but what if Murray hated it? What if he found it gross, and he never wants to do it again?
What if he’s changed his mind—about all of it? Aboutme?
“Damn.” I pluck at my soaked sweatshirt hem, chest aching. The fire hisses beside me.
If I’d known I was that bad… well. I’d have practiced on my hand or something.
* * *
“You’re quiet.”
My turn to grunt. I’m sitting on the kitchen counter, feet swinging as Murray chops vegetables. He lifted me up here like it was nothing, like I weigh less than a feather, and normally that would thrill the breath out of me, except I can’t shake off this low mood since he dodged away from me back there.
Because Murray ran from me. Practically charged the door down to get away, and now I’m all cold and clammy inside. Like I never got out of those wet clothes, even though I’m bundled up in leggings and thick socks and a fresh blue sweatshirt right now.
“Jessica?”
The knife pauses over the chopping board. Murray peers at me, his unscarred side closest. Did he plan that? Does he still care what I think?
“Yeah?” I squeeze the edge of the counter, kicking my heels. “What’s up?”
The lighthouse keeper frowns but says nothing, going back to his chopping, the blade hitting rhythmically against the wood. That’s good. My throat’s too tight to talk anyway.
I stare down at my knees.
I mean… I’d get better at it, right? Kissing him. With some practice, and if he told me what he likes, I might not put him off so badly. I work it over and over in my mind, my heels thumping softly against the cupboard doors, and the broth for the risotto simmers on the stove as Murray keeps chopping.
And chopping.
And chopping.
What are we doing, feeding the nearest town?
“It was my first kiss.” After five minutes, I can’t take it any more. I need to say this, my hoarse voice echoing around the white-tiled kitchen. Forcing my legs to keep still is a monstrous effort, but I blow out a harsh breath and look Murray in the eye. “I was never gonna be great on my first try. That’s—that’s a lot to expect of me, and I made my situation pretty clear in my profile. That, um. That I’ve never dated.”
And… yeah. There’s that trademark scowl. Murray’s grip is tight on the knife handle, the other palm spread flat on the counter. I chicken out of holding his gaze, staring at his mounds of chopped vegetables instead. Shiny red peppers and slivers of white onion. Glossy purple eggplant and discs of zucchini.
“What are you talking about?”
Ugh. “Back there.” I wave a hand vaguely at the kitchen door, still watching the veg like I’m fascinated. “We were having, you know, a moment or something. And then you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
There’s a long pause.
Atensepause.
Then the knife clatters to the kitchen counter, and Murray’shere,crowding against my legs where they dangle over the cupboard. Big hands land on my knees, and then my thighs are pushed wide, and he’s pressing closer still, big body sealed against mine.
His warm breath mists against my cheeks. I can see the individual hairs of his beard; each ragged line of his scars.
“You think it was bad?” Murray squeezes my legs, and lord, I’m panting. Blinking up at him with muddled thoughts and my heart pounding hard in my chest. “You think that kiss wasbad,Jessica Brown? You think it didn’t tear me up from the inside? You think I’m not fighting every second to keep my hands off you?”
Oh.
Oh, wow.
Despite his urgent words, despite the way his chest heaves above me, Murray’s stroking gentle circles on my knees with his thumbs.