Page 29 of Kissing Her Rescuer

“No. It's not that.” He reeled his bait all the way in and set down his pole. “I just assume that almost everyone else in the county is a better choice than me to try and do anything for a wedding besides direct traffic.”

“You're wrong.”

He took his hat off and wiped his forehead.

“You can't beat my dad. He's worse than you.”

Dewey smirked, bending the brim of his baseball hat down even farther. “That might be an accurate statement.” He started to put his hat back on, but she stopped him with a light hand on his chest.

She didn't have to ask him to kiss her. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned down and planted one, chaste kiss on her lips. They were alone in the woods, and that was all he had?

Poor Dewey. It had to be hard always trying to do the right thing.

Without overthinking, she ran one hand over his abs, feeling every dip and ridge of muscle, to his biceps, and then his shoulder, resting her hand at the back of his neck. He leaned down when she lightly tugged him and kissed her again.

A little better.

Eliza pushed harder against his chest, and he stumbled backward, his back bumping into a tree. His fishing rod fell to the ground. The authority over him gave her a rush as she pressed her body hard against his, her mouth claiming his. With his size and muscles, he could push her away.

But he let her kiss him.

She rose on her toes, trying to get a better angle. Maybe fire him up a little more because his control was unflappable.

His fingers tightened on her hips as if to push her away. “Eliza—”

“Just kiss me and stop talking. Or thinking.” She leaned back in, but he tipped his head away.

Disappointment sucked away her excitement. It wasn't the passion they'd had before. Only a simmering burn. Had they lost that spark? Was she reaching for a moment that she'd never get again? A great memory that she'd exaggerated over time.

She slouched and picked at his shirt, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry. I wanted to see if it was still there.”

“It?”

She peeked up under her lashes, embarrassment starting to creep in. “Like before,” she whispered.

“Like before.”

Did he have to repeat all her lame statements? “Yes. Like before. When it felt like we couldn’t get enough of each other.”

“It is.”

“How do you know?”

He flipped their position, her back now pressed against the tree, her toes barely touching the ground.

Using the word “attack” didn't seem appropriate, but that was the only way she could describe it. He attacked her mouth with his.

Nothing clumsy or rough. A planned, purposeful onslaught of uncontrolled desire. Every touch of his lips and tongue having a purpose and making her want more.

The one night in Alabama hadn't been a dream. He proved it. The fire between them was real.

His hand slipped from her hip to her ribcage. Finally, he cupped her breast.

And then everything stopped. His hand disappeared, and he broke off the kiss.

“Damn, Eliza.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“Ditto,” she said, her breath labored. That was what she'd wanted. She went for it and got it.

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