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There was nothing accidental about the arm that hauled her up on her toes so that she crashed into him, or the test kiss he gave her to gauge her acceptance, or the way her arms wound around him and her breathing shorted.
She held his face, thumb rubbing over the scar on his cheekbone. “You made a puzzle for me.”
She’d made a new life for him. “No life I make for myself can be truly whole if you’re not in it.”
And he’d dedicate himself to making sure she felt that, knew it, never had occasion to fear it, for as long as the moon ran the tides and the waves crashed on rock, and there were edges to fear, explore and conquer.
The next kiss was the wonder drug, a cautious mix of tender desperation and unchecked lust. It was a blockbuster. A category killer. Close and deep. Starved and ecstatic. It was made to change perceptions, neutralise opposition, swamp the market and save lives.
Its active ingredient was all Foley, and its efficacy was as close to forever as two less ordinary lovers would ever have.
