Heat crawled up my neck and bloomed across my chest.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep, low enough that it vibrated through me.
“Morning,” I whispered back, softer than I meant.
Neither of us moved to untangle. His leg stayed hooked over mine. His hand flexed slightly against my stomach, thumb brushing once, deliberately, along the sensitive skin just below my navel.
My breath caught.
His eyes darkened as they returned to mine.
“I don’t hate waking up like this,” he murmured, almost under his breath.
My heart tripped hard. “Cross-window emergency services,” I managed weakly. “Very committed. Five stars.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, but his gaze never left mine. His thumb moved again—slow, small circles against my skin. “You scared me last night,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head once. “Don’t be. I’m glad I was close. It’s why I borrowed the trailer.”
His hand slid slowly up my arm, fingertips tracing my skin. Like he was memorizing me. I felt it everywhere. We were so close now. His breath mingled with mine. The faint rasp of hisstubble when he shifted. The heat of his bare chest against my back.
“Do I need to dramatically retreat through the window?” he asked, voice teasing but thick.
I smiled. “Scale the gap like some kind of small-town Romeo?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re not Romeo.”
“Ouch.” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“You’re better.”
He still hadn’t moved away. Neither had I. The cool morning air drifted in through the cracked window, brushing over my bare shoulder, but I wasn’t cold. Not with him this close.
A reckless thought slid through me.What if I just…
He must have felt it too. His hand flexed at my stomach. His gaze dropped to my mouth.
I twisted my neck and tipped my chin up.
His eyes flared.
I leaned in.
The tip of his nose brushed mine. His breath caught as his other hand came up to cup my jaw. Thumb grazing my cheekbone as if I might vanish.
I didn’t pull away.
Our mouths met—soft at first, tentative. Just a press.
Then deeper. A small, real kiss. His lips parted mine just enough for a breath, for heat. His hand slid into my hair. Mine found his bare shoulder, fingers curling against muscle.
It was gentle and electric all at once—years of almosts finally tipping over the edge.
And then?—
