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“A French-cheese kiss.” Silas’s finger stroked the shell of my ear.
I shivered at his touch. “A camembert smooch.”
His finger trailed slowly, achingly slowly, down the side of my neck.
“I’ve never talked about cheese this much when someone was about to kiss me.” Our lips were close and our breaths mingled, our noses almost touching. “That might have ruined the moment.”
“No.” His lips brushed the corner of my lip. “It didn’t.” The teasing sweep was maddening, and I tipped his head, seeking his lips fully against mine. “I’ve wanted this since the first time.” He dipped his head and teased his lips over my jawline. “I never stopped thinking about it.”
“Silas,” I murmured.
“You’re my best friend,” he said, holding my face so our eyes met while he repeated my words from all those years ago—but I’d meant them then to stop us. Now they felt like a lit match near kindling, and his lips lowered to mine.
