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“No, it’s not that.” A small laughed escaped, and I looked at him. “We won.”
He nodded. “Usually, that makes people happy.”
“It does.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
I shook my head and met his eyes. “Because it’s been a long time. Do you ever just really need a win?”
An intense blue heat radiated from his gaze and his brow furrowed. Not in pity, but like he understood. “Yeah.”
I glanced at the falling night sky. The last seven days had been a roller-coaster that left me feeling like I was in a free-fall, with no idea where I stood with anyone or what my true value was. It was a battle against every insecurity, every fear, and every nightmare. Everything good I wanted to cling to seemed to be disappearing. My job, my father, Jack.
It was a meaningless race, but Cal had hung on to me, ran with me, and we’d won.
He seemed to understand that, deep down, I just needed a moment of victory over something, because never coming out on top could start to weigh on a person. But in that moment, I was weightless, because Cal was still holding me. Not just me, but all my baggage, and for a brief moment in time, I let him.
The crickets’ song was stronger now that everyone was out of earshot. Cal and I were left in the open field beneath the stars of Colorado.
“What’s your name?” he whispered. His face getting closer.
“Lana. We’ve had a whole conversation and race, and you’re just now asking?”
He nodded, a serious expression lacing his face.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know first.”
“First?”
He didn’t answer, instead he snared my lips and pulled me closer into his body.
My eyes shot wide with surprise. My instinct was instantly at war with itself. Push him away or pull him close?
He was big and warm, and I felt like nothing could touch me. While his hold was tight, his kiss was soft. Gently tracing my lower lip with his tongue, making me open for more. The decision was reached: I pulled him close and gave in.
Delving his tongue deep, he slowly worked my mouth with his. Taking every ounce of this moment, every second, to his advantage. As if searing every move and taste to memory. My entire body hummed with need. With confusion. With lust.
I was wrapped up in strength, yet desperate to find my own.
He hissed, then smiled against my mouth.
“I told you so…” He bit my lower lip. “You have claws—you should bare them more often.”
I relaxed my grip, realizing my nails were digging into the base of his neck, beneath his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, running my fingertips over the welts I’d left. “I didn’t realize.”
“Don’t be sorry about being passionate. It’s a good thing.”
There was that word again: passionate. It was showing up more often, and making me forget the bad and want more of the good.
I’d never considered myself a passionate person, but his words hit me, just like Jack’s and Harper’s had. Wanting someone, wanting sex, wanting more, was a good thing? For so long, it had been associated with terror. But in the last week, my world had tipped on its axis.
I was nowhere near the strong woman I wanted to be, with healthy experiences, but maybe I was getting closer. Maybe I could try.
Cal leaned in once more. Just as his lips touched mine, the firehouse alarm went off, and Cal’s cellphone beeped. With a mumbled curse, he set me down and cupped my face.
