Page 94 of Ransom

Instead of answering, I pull him closer, claiming his mouth with mine. The kiss turns desperate, years of longing and hurt and want crashing together in a head-on collision.

His mouth moves against mine with a confidence he never had at fifteen. Back then, our first kiss had been tentative, questioning—both of us afraid we'd do it wrong. Now his hands know exactly where to touch, how to trace the curve of my neck. The way his fingers thread through my hair makes me shiver.

The memory of that nervous boy overlays with the man before me. Back then, he was darker. Emotionally heavier. The weight of his past pressing down on him. Now those same dark eyes are softer. At peace. And that throws me off more than anything else. He's not tentative anymore. He's an experienced man.

I remember standing down in that valley the first time. My heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. How Ransom's hands had trembled when he touched my face, like I might break. How tentative he was, how quick to apologize. But I didn't want his apologies then. All I wanted was time to catalog the sensations, to try and understand all those big feelings pinging around in my chest.

Adam's kisses never make me feel like this—like my skin is too tight, like electricity runs through my veins instead of blood. His touch is familiar, comfortable. Safe. But there's no fire, no desperate need to get closer.

Adam is safe and predictable.

Nothing about Ransom, or my feelings for him, is safe.

Ransom's thumb traces my collarbone, and heat floods my body. Every brush of his fingers leaves sparks in their wake. I arch into his touch without meaning to, muscle memory from decades ago taking over.

"Blair." He breathes my name against my throat, and the sound shoots straight to my core.

The bark of the oak bites into my back as he presses closer. And I'm torn between the past, when everything felt possible,and the now, where I'm barely keeping my head above water most days.

His touch holds no uncertainty. His hands grip me like he never wants to let me go. Like he's making up for twenty-five years of distance in a single moment.

And I realize with startling clarity that every kiss with Adam has been a pale shadow of this—a safe harbor when what I really wanted was the storm.

Because that's what Ransom is. A storm perfectly designed to make me question everything I thought I knew. Everything I thought I wanted.

I shove him back before I even realize I'm doing it.

31

RANSOM

My chest heaves as Blair pushes me back. The loss of her warmth hits like a physical blow. Her lips are swollen from our kiss, gray eyes wide and wild. Everything in me screams to pull her close again, to show her how perfect we could be together.

But her arms wrap around herself—a barrier between us.

"This isn't smart." Blair's voice shakes. "We can't?—"

I can't let her talk herself out of this. And I sure as fuck won't let her push me away. "I've spent my entire adult life doing the smart thing. We're in our fucking forties now, Blair." The words burst out of me. "We're not kids anymore. There's nothing stopping us from exploring this."

"Except our completely different lives." She runs a hand through her hair. "You live in Chicago. I live here. Nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed." I take a step toward her, but stop when she tenses. "I built something. Made a life. And now I know exactly what I want."Her. I fucking want her. Any way I can have her.

"Ransom—"

"That kiss." My voice drops low. "Tell me you didn't feel it. Tell me twenty-five years killed what's between us."

She closes her eyes, but I see the tremor in her hands. She’s fighting us so hard.

I’ll fight harder.

"It doesn't matter what I felt."

"It's the only thing that matters." Another careful step closer. "Give me a chance, Blair. Let me show you how amazing we could be together."

"And then what?" Her eyes snap open. "You go back to Chicago? Your family's there. Your business."

She’s trotting out the same argument, over and over. I get it. I did the same thing, with the same fucking argument. But my need for her is overriding any objections I had. They’re not gone, they just don’t matter as much as she does.

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