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She went back into the maze, her long hair swaying behind her. “Are you sure no one is going to hear us?” she called.
“Shakespeare-in-the-park.”
“Very funny.”
The afternoon was still and quiet, the air warm but not yet thick with summer humidity.
“Can you hear me?” she called, her voice came like a bell.
“Yep,” I called back, projecting my voice toward her. “Go.”
Willow began her lines. I smiled to hear them punctuated with cursing as she ran into a dead end of the maze.
“How should I, your true love, know from another one? By his—shit!”
I laughed silently. “That wasn’t it.”
“Goddammit,” she muttered.
“Wrong again,” I called, and laughed harder.
“You’re not helping,” she yelled.
Shakespeare echoed back and forth over the hedges until finally Willow arrived back at the windmill. The sun behind her lit up her hair like gold as she planted her hands on her hips. Her eyes were impossibly blue as she gave me a look.
“Well, I hope that was fun for you because…”
Her words died away and the fun-and-games mood between us downshifted into something deeper. The moment held, naked and obvious and lying between us, waiting.
The time for talk was over.
I closed the distance between us in three long strides, took her face in both my hands and kissed her. She gasped in surprise but didn’t flinch or stiffen. It took all I had to keep my mouth soft on hers. Make it easy for her to get away. But she moaned softly, a sound full of ecstatic relief to my ears. Her lips parted, she pressed into me closer and her tongue ventured a tiny bit into my mouth.
Christ, it’s too good.
She tasted so sweet, her tongue soft as it slid against mine. A growl in my chest as I sank deeper into the kiss, my tongue sweeping her mouth. Her body melted against me, and I held her tighter, kissed her harder. Every turn of my head, every move of my mouth in hers, she responded. Willing. Eager.
My hands dug deeper into the soft, silken thickness of her hair. I wrapped it up in my fists, careful not to pull. Like ocean tides, her mouth drew me and released. We moved in tandem, back-and-forth, opening and closing, shallower tastes and nips of our teeth, tongues tangling and exploring. The need for her grew hotter, more urgent. Finally I forced myself to slow down, kiss her deeply one last time, then break away.
We stood together, breathing hard, her hands gripping the lapels of my jacket. I was loathe to take my hands out of her hair, but I slid them down her back and let them rest on her slender waist. One more deep breath with my forehead pressed to hers, then I took a step back.
Her eyes were full of tears.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Was it too much?”
“No,” she said, with a breathy little smile. “It was perfect. And I thought I’d never have anything perfect again.”
She craned on her toes to kiss me again, soft, slow, and deep. Taking her time, indulging in the victory over her nightmares. And me, I kissed back, reveling in the sweet ecstasy of her mouth on mine. Even if every taste and touch was going to make it so much harder for us in the end.
“What are we doing?” she breathed between kisses. Her fingers were grazing through my hair and I’d never felt anything so fucking good in my life.
“I don’t know.” My mouth was on her neck, dragging kisses down her throat. “We were supposed to be professional.”
We kissed until the erection in my jeans was painful. Pressed to me, she felt it and gasped. I pulled away.
“Sorry… It’s got a mind of its own.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s okay. It really is.”
