"Haven."
"It's just a kiss," I said. "I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm not asking you for anything you can't give. It's my birthday and I trust you and I just—" I stopped. Took a breath. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. That's all. That's the whole thing."
Something shifted in his face.
"You're a little drunk," he said.
"I'm a lot less drunk than I was an hour ago."
"You work for me."
"I know where I work."
"Haven—"
"Wyatt." I said it the same way he kept saying my name, flat and careful, and something flickered in his eyes. "I'm twenty-one years old. I've known what I wanted for a long time. You can say no. I'll go back inside and we'll never talk about this again, I promise. But stop telling me what I want like you know better than I do."
Quiet.
No more excuses.
He took two steps toward me—enough to reach me, turning so I was between the wall and his broad, tall body. My eyes darted up to his, and I sucked in a breath as I looked up at him. I could smell the faintest hint of cigarette smoke…of whiskey. We’d both been drinking, this was a bad,badidea.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Then he cupped my face with one big, calloused hand…and he pressed his lips to mine.
It was soft at first. Chaste. A gift given by someone who didn’t really want to give it, a kiss planted on a charity case who’dbeggedfor it.
Then my breath hitched and my lips parted.
And the kiss changed.
His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck and the angle of the kiss changed. Deeper. I grabbed his flannel with both hands, pulling him closer with a needy whine, and he made a low sound and walked me back until my shoulders hit the wall.
His other hand found my waist. Slid to my hip. Pulled me in and I went, easy, no hesitation, and kissed him back as hard as I could, because I might just get the one chance and I wasn’t going to squander it.
He broke away and put his mouth on my neck and I sucked in a breath, fingers twisting tighter in his shirt. His stubblescratched. His hand pushed up under my jacket and his thumb dragged across the skin just above my jeans and I made a sound I'd be embarrassed about later.
"Haven,” he rasped. “We shouldn’t?—”
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
One hand dropped low, pulling my leg around his waist, and I felt him then—hard, wantingme, and it made me want him even more. I hauled myself closer by his shirt, then I wrapped my arms around his neck.
He was still kissing me as he tried to protest again—like he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. “You’re too good for me,” he was saying. “Can’t…shouldn’t…”
“I want this,” I breathed. “Please, Wyatt.”
His hand slid under my shirt, wandered up to cup my breast through my bra. I arched, gasping. This was…it was turning into more than a kissfast. His thumb dragged across the fabric and I bit down on my lip to keep quiet.
"Wyatt—"
"I know." He didn't stop. His mouth was on my neck and his hand was still under my shirt and I had my fingers in his hair and I was not thinking about anything except the next second and the next.
