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“I’m okay.” What else can I say? I append a question of my own. “And you? How are you?” What I’m dying to ask is, who the hell is that blonde and where is she? I’m such a chicken.
He tilts his head almost nonchalantly. “I’m okay, too.” His eyes don’t leave my face, studying it as if he’s memorizing it.
God, I hope that’s not it. If someone’s memorizing my face, I figure it’s because they don’t plan to ever see it again.
There’s this silence between us that’s thick with accusations, feelings, questions, and the past. But it doesn’t look like either of us is going to delve into it.
“Why are you here?” I’m hoping he answers this one.
He runs his fingers through his hair. It falls from his hands and goes right back to where it was, framing his face. “I grew up here.”
“No. I mean here, here.” I wave my hands, indicating the bridge, the spot behind us, the water.
He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding. A working man’s chest, wide, thick, very defined, even under the black jacket he’s got over his white T-shirt. I wonder if he’s still involved in his father’s shrimp boat business now that the old man isn’t alive anymore. And God, I need to talk to him about that. To offer my condolences, even to say I’m sorry that I wasn’t around for him during that painful time.
He shakes his head as if he’s shaking a memory out of it, then shrugs. “You?”
A part of me wants to scream at him. He’s answering questions with questions. He’s avoiding putting himself out there, at risk of saying anything that he feels would give me leverage. This isn’t the Josh I used to know. This man is guarded better than a vault during a riot.
And now he’s expecting me to respond when he hasn’t answered my question. My temper flares, but I doubt ranting would serve me very well. I shrug. Two can play the shrugging and not answering game.
His eyes flick down, right at my breasts, under my open windbreaker, the shrug made them shift, rise. Of course, he’d notice.
A warmth infuses the flesh from my chest to my face. I don’t bring attention to what he’s doing because that would mean highlighting what he’s making me feel.
His gaze rises slowly. Up my chest, my neck, lands on my lips and stops right there.
He’s looking at my lips the way a criminal covets a jewel.
Remaining immobile, I repress the urge to bite my lower lip, a bad habit I have when I’m in doubt.
Josh leans in. Closer. He’s below me on the inclining ramp, but when he leans forward, he’s almost even. I lean backward, bracing myself on my elbows, in almost a semi-recline. I do this because he’s getting too close for comfort. His intensity is like a flame that’s threatening to burn me. He doesn’t stop moving. His gaze doesn’t falter. He’s approaching slowly, with stealth, and the further back I lean, the more that puts him almost on top of me.
And then he is.
He’s on top. I’m lying on the inclining ramp. His arms are on either side of my torso, his head even with mine. His hair falls down around both of us, like a drape, preventing the cloudy day’s already muted light from entering the chamber his hair’s created.
I realize I’m holding my breath, and yet I don’t want to breathe because I’ll be breathing him in. I’ll smell the scent that is uniquely Josh, and it will shot-put me back to the place I was a few short years ago, where he was my universe.
I don’t even open my mouth to tell him to stop. To leave. I don’t want him to stop or to leave. I study his face like it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. His Native American heritage from his mom’s side blends with the Mexican blood from his dad. High cheekbones, full lips. Eyes nicely set in a face with perfect planes.
And he gets closer. Now his mouth is a scant two inches from mine.
I have to breathe. I suck air in, then breathe it out. Josh inhales, nostrils on a perfect nose flaring. I know what he’s doing. He’s taking me in. Taking my breath in like he’s drinking my essence.
I close my eyes against the burning sensation that heralds tears. I won’t cry. I can’t do this.
A feather-light impression, his lips brushing mine, his tongue tracing my upper lip, traveling to my lower lip. A sensation long-awaited and long-forgotten rushes over my body, reminding me that I’m a woman, that I’m a sexual being, no matter that I’ve been abstinent for more than a year now—been that way since I determined that sleeping with nameless guys wouldn’t alleviate any of the pain I was feeling over Josh.
My lips part in a welcome that my heart has no business extending. His tongue passes over my lips’ threshold, taking my mouth hostage, trespassing on my heart’s territory at the same time.
Before I know it, my hands are in his hair, wrapping it around my fingers, pulling his head down further, crushing my lips with his. My tongue goes from conquered to conqueror, venturing into his mouth, claiming him.
“Cassie.” He says my name like it’s drawn out of him in the middle of a torturous interrogation.
Josh lowers his weight on me, his body covering mine completely. The chill of the cold concrete beneath me merges with the heat of his body on top of mine. I run my fingers through his hair, marveling that it feels like I’ve never stopped doing this. My hands travel down, touching his neck, his chest—the muscles hard. Josh either hasn’t switched jobs or spends time in a gym.
I open my eyes and catch him staring at me. The look in his make my heart skip a beat. He’s not guarded this moment. He’s the Josh I used to know.
