He exhales. A long, shaky breath. His shoulders drop.
“Damn, Sedona,” he mutters. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought you scared me off.”
“Maybe.”
I shake my head. I step even closer. We are inches apart now. I can smell him, soap and hay and clean sweat.
“You didn’t scare me, Seth,” I say. “You never scared me.”
He looks at me then. His eyes drop to my mouth. He swallows. His throat clicks.
We’re standing in the middle of the barn. Dust settles around us.
He lifts his free hand. He reaches out. His fingers brush my shoulder, trail up my neck. He picks a piece of straw from my hair.
The touch is electric. My skin tingles where he connects.
He holds the piece of straw between his fingers, then flicks it away.
“Sedona,” he says.
“Yeah?”
He leans down. His face is close to mine, and his breath fans across my lips. He smells like mint.
“I want to kiss you,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s a confession. “I have wanted to kiss you for a really long time.”
I think of Billy. I think of the mess we’re in. I think of the pact the brothers made. I think of the danger.
But I’m tired of running. I’m tired of denying.
I don’t wait for him. I bridge the gap, pressing my lips to his.
He freezes for a second. A heartbeat of surprise.
Then he groans.
He drops the bucket he’s holding. It clatters on the floor. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush against him.
The kiss is different than Billy’s. Billy kisses like a storm—violent, consuming, angry. Seth kisses like the tide. It’s a drowning.
He cups the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He tilts my head, deepening the angle.
His lips are firm. They move against mine with a skill that makes my knees weak. He doesn’t rush. He savors. He tastes like coffee and the cold water we just drank.
I grip the front of his shirt. I bunch the fabric in my fists. I pull him closer. I need to feel him. I need to know this is real.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a low rumble. He presses me backward, walking me until my back hits the wooden post of the stall.
The wood is rough against my spine. I don’t care.
He pins me there with his body, caging me in, his forearms resting on the post on either side of my head.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at me. His pupils are blown wide. His chest heaves.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
