Page 67 of The Story Between Us

And all she could think was…kiss me, Nate.

Aw, shoot.

But yay too, because his hand slid from her shoulder to her jaw. His thumb traced her cheekbone, and she shivered—from the way his touch left fire in its wake. From the way he was looking at her mouth like he was starving and she was the only thing that could save him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Do you know that? With your freckles and your smile and the way you believe in everyone except yourself⁠—”

“Nate—”

“I’ve been trying not to notice.” His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, and her lips parted involuntarily. “I’ve been trying so hard. But you just…charged into my life and…I had to admit that I’ve never forgotten you, Livvie.”

She should stop this. She knew she should stop this. Richard’s voice was somewhere in the back of her head, saying don’t screw this up, and her career was on the line, and this was reckless and stupid and⁠—

“I didn’t forget you either,” she whispered.

His eyes went dark. Darker. His hand slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, tilting her face up toward his.

He was going to kiss her.

He was actually going to kiss her, and she was going to let him, and tomorrow everything would be different, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except the heat of his hand in her hair and the way his breath was coming faster and the impossible, electric tension between them.

“Livvie.” Her name in his mouth was a prayer. A plea. “Tell me this is a bad idea…”

Probably. But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Her hands had fisted in the front of his Henley, pulling him closer, and she could feel the heat of him through the fabric, could feel the rapid beat of his heart under her palms.

“Tell me I should stop,” he said, closer now, and then his lips brushed hers—not quite a kiss, not yet, just the ghost of contact that sent lightning through her whole body. “Because if you don’t⁠—”

Her phone rang.

The sound threw water over them. They jerked apart, both breathing hard, and Livvie fumbled for her phone.

Richard Ames.

Of course. Of course.

“You need to take that?”

She shook her head, and swiped it off. But, well, Nate had stepped away, his mouth tight.

“That looked like your boss.”

She nodded. “He’s been calling about updates.”

Nate’s mouth tightened. “Right. Yes.” He blew out a breath. “Right.”

The magic was gone—replaced by something awkward and charged, the space between them filled with everything they hadn’t said, hadn’t done, hadn’t let themselves finish.

He didn’t take her hand as they walked back to the car. He drove her home in silence, although he got out as if…

But no. He just came around to open her door, help pry her out of his vintage Porsche.

Then they stood there like a couple of teenagers.

Great. They were back to that summer, and she still hadn’t gotten her kiss.

“Thank you,” Livvie said. “For dinner. For…everything.”

“Thank you for what you said. About the writing.” He met her eyes, and even now—even with the moment shattered—the intensity there made her breath catch. “It meant a lot.”