Page 36 of Only Be Mine

That shouldn’t have made my throat tighten the way it did.

We kissed, slow and unhurried, the fire snapping behind us, heat curling through me like smoke. I turned in his arms and kissed him again, deeper this time, needier, my hands sliding under his shirt because I couldn’t stand not feeling him, not right now.

His skin was warm, solid beneath my palms. Real.

John made a low sound in his throat and pulled me closer, like he was afraid of letting go, and suddenly the space between us was gone. His mouth moved over mine, unrestrained now, and I matched him without thinking, without holding back.

My fingers traced his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. I wasn’t subtle. I didn’t want to be.

I just wanted him.

When I woke the next morning, sunlight spilled through the window in pale ribbons.

I was warm.

Wrapped.

And not alone.

I blinked and became acutely aware that I was wearing a soft T-shirt that definitely was not mine - and nothing else.

My heart jumped straight into my throat.

“Oh my God.”

John stirred beside me, eyes still half-closed. “Morning.”

“I…” I sat up, clutching the shirt to my chest. “Did we…?”

He smiled sleepily. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” he said gently. “You fell asleep on my shoulder. I carried you to bed. You looked so uncomfortable in jeans and a sweater, so I gave you my shirt. That’s it.”

Relief flooded me so hard I almost laughed.

“You didn’t…?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t want to…?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, expression warm and steady. “Of course I wanted to. I just wanted you to want it too… without feeling pressured.”

We spent the day in Silverpine, walking the snow-covered streets. We wandered through little shops and drank coffee in a quiet café with fogged-up windows. And that evening, we ate dinner in a tiny restaurant with candlelight and red wine.

It felt like we were living a different life.

One I didn’t want to leave.

That night, back in the hotel room, the fire burning low, the air heavy with everything we weren’t saying, I felt the pull between us like gravity.

I kissed him first.

No nerves, no alcohol, just need.

John’s hands came to my face like he was afraid I might disappear, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, his touch warm and reverent. When he kissed me back, it was slow, unhurried, like he was learning the shape of my mouth, the way I breathed, the way I softened against him.