Page 113 of At First Catch

My hand slides firmly along her waist, pulling her flush against me while her fingers twist into my shirt like she’s trying to hold herself steady.

The feel of her body pressed against mine, after all that pent-up tension, almost overwhelms me.

Hadley kisses me back just as desperately. Every bit as certain. Every bit as impossible to let go of. Hadley kisses me like she’s done pretending this doesn’t matter.

Drizzle pounds steadily against the marina windows while I hold her against me in the middle of the office, every ounce of restraint I’ve been clinging to unraveling faster with every second her mouth moves against mine.

She’s standing in my arms, kissing me like she feels this every bit as deeply as I do. The awareness crashes through my chest hard enough to ache.

My hand slides instinctively higher along her back, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us at all.

The soft sound of Hadley’s breath against my mouth sends a shiver down my spine. Like my body already knows where she’s supposed to be.

I break the kiss long enough to breathe.

Huge mistake.

Because the second I see her— flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes dark and dazed from kissing me—every rational thought I possess evaporates again.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter roughly.

Hadley laughs breathlessly.

“That’s becoming your catchphrase.”

“You make it necessary.”

A flicker of heat reappears on her face.

God.

I love that she still blushes around me.

The shower shrinks the marina office around us while thunder rolls low across Back Bay in the distance.

As her fingers ease their pressure on my chest, a gentle concern registers in her eyes.

“What?” she whispers.

I look down at her standing there in an oversized gray sweatshirt and rain-damp hair and entirely too much honesty in her eyes.

Then I do something deeply dangerous.

I tell her the truth.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore. I’ve spent most of my life convincing myself not to need people. Turns out you ruined that plan.”

I shake my head once, more at myself than her.

“Not because I want to rush you.” My voice comes out quieter than I expect. “Because every day I spend with you feels like another reason I don’t want to imagine this place without you in it.” My laugh is small. Almost embarrassed. “That’s new for me.” I meet her eyes. “Wanting someone to become part of the picture instead of wondering when they’ll leave it.”

Her breath catches almost imperceptibly.

“Nolan.”

My hand traces the gentle curve of her jaw, a hollow ache echoing in my chest as the world outside fades to a dull hum.

“You leave coffee on my desk, and I stop pretending breakfast isn’t important.”