Page 86 of The Tartan Thesis

I consider walking into the fire.

Beau’s not laughing silently now.

“That’s quite the list,” he says, entirely too pleased. “Turns out I was being sexy AF and didn’t even know it.”

“Oh please,” I say before I can stop myself, finally looking at him, “you always know you’re being sexy AF.”

“Thank you for noticing!” he says, jostling me with the arm still slung around my shoulders, giving me a wink, hamming it up for my sister.

“Well,” Freya says, pushing to her feet, “I’m pure done in, and my work here is complete. I’ll leave you lads to it.”

She tosses her blanket over Beau’s lap, gives us both a kiss on the cheek, and walks toward the house, like she hadn’t just sent a delicate situation careening over the side of a cliff.

Halfway, she turns back and calls to us. “Do you mind putting out the fire and storing your chairs in the barn when you’re done snogging?”

“Of course,” Beau says. “We’ll take care of it.”

“She’s actually the worst,” I mutter, watching her go.

Beau chuckles. “No,” he says, “I think she’s on to something.” He hooks a finger under my chin, turning my face toward him. My breath stutters. He’s looking at me like he could devour me. And, God, I’d let him.

“Aye?” I say, swallowing hard.

“Aye,” he says.

Then he’s kissing me. His hand comes up, sliding along my jaw, down my neck, thumb brushing just under my ear as he pulls me closer. The kiss is slow at first, like he’s taking his time learning me again, then it deepens. My fingers curl into the back of his coat as I lean into him, letting it happen, letting him lead. It’s easy to lose myself in it, to forget where we are.

I pull back before things get too heated, and Beau’s eyes open slowly, lashes lifting, his thumb still moving lightly along my cheek.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of kissing you.” A chuckle slips out of me.

His expression flickers, something like hurt crossing his face, so I rush to fix it. “Sorry!” I say quickly. “It’s just, I’ve only heard you say ‘fuck’ twice, and both times have been while we were kissing.”

His eyes smolder, darker now, his lips curving into a smile again. “I don’t swear unless I really mean it, Torin.” And I’m glad I’m sitting because my knees go weak.

Then we’re kissing again, harder this time, my lips parting, his tongue gliding over them. I had almost forgotten how good he is at unstitching me. No amount of whisky could make me feel as drunk as I do on him when his mouth is on mine.

Beau lets out a deep groan as my hands go around the back of his neck, and suddenly I’m not sitting beside him anymore. He hooks an arm under my legs and pulls me onto his lap without ever breaking the kiss. I land against him, heat, pressure. Now it’s my turn to groan.

We pick up the pace, faster, messier, passion replacing caution as his hands roam over my chest, my back, my ass, pulling me in so I can feel that he’s as hard as I am.

He breaks the kiss long enough to say, “Fuck,” again.

I smile into his mouth, my lips brushing his as I repeat his words back to him, “Thank you for noticing.”

He laughs, and then—

—the chair gives. A crack of metal, a sudden drop. We go down, sprawling in a pile of metal bars, blankets, and warm limbs, Beau letting out an “oof” as we hit the ground, me on top of him.

“Shite, are you alright?” I ask, trying to scramble off of him, but he pulls me back to where I was. He’s laughing, and realizing he’s okay, I join in. He tucks me against his chest, both arms around me again, and I love the feel of his body rumbling with laughter.

“We should get up,” I say once our chuckles subside. He groans like I’ve said something unreasonable but lets me go. I pull away with reluctance and haul him to his feet. I dust off his back as best I can, fingers lingering, and we tidy up, folding blankets, stacking the intact chairs, and tossing the broken one in the bin. Beau douses the fire with the buckets of water and sand the crew left for us, steam rising in a hiss as the flames die down.

“You should know,” I say, nodding toward him, “that ‘doing handy things’ is on The List.”

“I’m not sure this counts,” Beau says with a laugh as he finishes and turns to me, voice becoming serious, “but I hope to check off every item on this list of yours someday. All those and so many more.”

Then he kisses me again.