Page 55 of Slow Burn

I set my beer down and stand, taking a few steps toward her, close enough that she’s tilting her head up to look at me, but still an excruciating foot away from her.

“And you did as you were told and supervised, right?” I enlisted Austin and Nash to do all the clean-up. Lyla wasn’t about to let me do any work on my birthday, but I wasn’t going to let her do it herself after the effort she put into planning today, either.

“Right.”

The wind catches a strand of her hair and blows it across her face, and I can’t help but think about how she’s breezed in here and turned my life upside down. At the beginning of this, I thought having Lyla at Wild Sage would be a bad thing, that she would change too much.

She has. She has changed me, and only for the better.

Without thinking, I reach toward her and brush the piece of hair away, off her face, tucking the lock behind her ear. My hand lingers there for a second, my fingers grazing the corner of her jaw, and her eyes flare. Her breath hitches, a sweet shade of pink staining her cheeks as she holds my gaze.

I step forward. It’s a risk, standing close to her like this.

“Did you like the party today?” Lyla asks, her voice soft and low.

I nod. “I did, very much.”

The corner of her mouth lifts, and I want to kiss her there.

“I think I saw you crack a smile once,” she says, poking her finger into my chest.

I take her hand in mine and hold it against my pec, wondering if she can feel the steady beat of my heart.

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy every minute,” I say.

“Did you?” Lyla says, her dark lashes flickering as her brown eyes dart back and forth between mine.

“Yes.” I’m not good with my words, or saying how I feel, but I think maybe I can show her.

I close whatever space is left between us, Lyla’s back firmly pressed against the railing.

Between the yoga putting me in a relaxed fog, the one too many beers I’ve consumed today, and Lyla standing in front of me in her snug fitting yoga clothes, I’m not thinking clearly. My mind is hazy, but I don’t care.

I raise my hand and bring it to cup the side of her slender neck, rubbing my thumb along the corner of her jaw. Her head imperceptibly leans into my touch, eyelids fluttering closed. I lean closer, close enough that I can smell her light summer fragrance, like lemons and marshmallows. She smells like sunshine, even on a rainy day.

I hover close to her for a second more, taking in this moment, taking in her.

The soft lines of her beautiful face.

The face I’ve dreamed about ever since I was a teenager.

The face I thought would never stop haunting me when she left.

I take in the moment because I know once I kiss Lyla, I’m going to be changed forever. There will be before kissing Lyla and after kissing Lyla, and that will become my measure of time, my measure of significance for everything in my life.

Other things are going to change, too. Some for the worse, perhaps. But Lyla’s proximity to me is intoxicating, and I’m drawn to her as if she has some kind of gravitational pull, like she’s pulling me into her orbit.

I kiss the corner of her mouth, feather-light and tender, and then I kiss the other. Lyla hums, her hands running up the front of me, landing on my chest.

Her eyes open slightly, and she whispers into the space between us, her voice forming a wisp of a cloud in the cool evening air. “We shouldn’t,” she breathes.

My mouth quirks up into a half smile. “When has Lyla Morgan concerned herself with what she should or shouldn’t do?”

Lyla whimpers, the pained sound of someone who knows they want something off limits. I crash into her, so she doesn’t have a moment longer to second guess this, and so I don’t either. My mouth meets hers, our lips fitting together like they were made for each other. She opens for me, allowing me to sweep my tongue in and find her own.

She moans, and I take a sharp inhale, trying to experience as much of her as possible all at once. Trying to make up for all the years I’ve thought about doing this very thing, and denied myself the opportunity.

My hands drop down to her waist, trailing over the curve of her hips, finding the soft flesh of her ass in those leggings, and I lift. She perches on the railing, wrapping her thighs around me to steady herself, but I’ve got her. I’ll always have her.