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“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want to read too much into this.”
“Colleen—”
“Let’s just have now. Because this is pretty damn perfect, and I don’t want to ruin things by making plans.”
He propped himself up on an elbow to see her face. She looked serious, but not unhappy.
She reached up and touched his lips, traced them, and a little smile came to her own. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Spaniard,” she said. “It’s just that I’m smarter now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, seize the day. Or the woman. Live for today. Look both ways crossing the street. Don’t use your teeth as tools.” Her hand went to his hair, tugging a strand. “I don’t want to ruin whatever we have together by looking too far down the road. I know why you’re here, and I know you’re not going to stay, and I don’t want to think about that right now.” She looked away and scratched her dog’s head.
“Colleen, you could always—”
“Shh. Don’t you know I’m the queen of flings? Enjoy me.”
His smile dropped. “This is not a fling,” he growled.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Be careful what you say to me, Lucas,” she whispered.
“This is not a fling,” he repeated.
“You don’t have to—”
“Colleen. This. Is not. A fling.”
“Fine. You’re a bully, you know.”
He kissed her then, softly, and tasted her, and she opened her mouth to him, her hands fisting in his hair.
“If you break my heart, I will sic this vicious dog on you,” she said against his mouth. “And then I’ll sic Connor on what’s left of you, and then I’ll bring your remains to the Chicken King, and he’ll—”
“Do you ever stop talking?” he asked, and gave her mouth something better to do, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed more, tongues and teeth, lips and whispers, and yes, a smile or two as well, and he slid his hand under her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her breast, relishing the quick intake of breath.
“I haven’t stayed out all night with a girl for a long time,” he said.
“How about with a boy?”
He laughed. “Not with a boy, either.”
“You remember the time we went out on my father’s boat and fell asleep and woke up in Urbana?”
“I remember your black bra,” he said. “The one with the little pink flower in the front.” He undid the button of her jeans.
“And the time in Chicago, when we watched the fireworks. We stayed out all night then, too.”
“I don’t remember the fireworks. I do remember you doing something you’d never done before that night.”
She blushed. “Do you? I have no recollection of that event.”
“I’d be happy to help you remember. It involved you, me, your mouth—”
“Fine, fine, I remember. And I might be tempted to relive it if you’re a good boy.”
“I’mverygood. I thought I proved that. Twice.”
