Page 25 of Double Take

They laughed.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“No, you first.”

“How’s your head? Any dizziness? Headache?”

“Minor.” She rolled her shoulders. “I expect to have aches and pains in the morning—as well as some colorful spots.”

“You could have been badly hurt.”

“But I wasn’t. And it would have been my own fault for not paying attention.”

“I distracted you.”

“I insisted. I asked you to show…him to me.”

But she really hadn’t understood what she was asking. He had. “It was my fault.”

“In that case—you take the last potato,” she said nonsensically.

“We can split it,” he said.

They bumped hands as each reached for the potato with their scoops. His heart thudded. “What were you going to say?”

She drew her brows together. “When—oh.” She averted her gaze for a moment then looked at him again. “I was going to say that all of this”—her wave encompassed the cottage, the fire, the candlelight, their proximity—“is rather, uh, romantic.”

His mouth dried. “Is that good or bad?”

“Depends on whether or not you’re going to kiss me.”

Everything stopped. His heart. His breathing. Time. He’d swear the fire stopped flickering and froze in place. “Kiss you?”

“Forget it. I’m sorry. I misread the situation.” Her face flushed, and she averted her head.

“No. No, you didn’t. God, no, you didn’t.” He cupped her cheek and turned her face. “I was afraid to hope. I know how confusing this must be. I don’t want you to have regrets—”

She planted her lips on his. Noble resistance caved to longing and desire. He kissed her, tempering need with softness. She sighed against his mouth and melted against him. Her lips parted, and he sought entry, his tongue twining with hers. She tasted like potatoes and hope, sunshine and promises.

He pulled her closer, and she curled her arms around his neck.

For years, he’d dreamed of her kissinghim, the real him. The previous time they’d kissed, she’d believed him to be her husband. No pretense this time.She’s kissing me, not him.He reeled from the glory of it all.

Light and slow became deep and hard, fantasy becoming reality. He paused, and her eyelids fluttered open. She smiled against his mouth and nibbled at his lower lip, her tongue teasing.

He brought her hand to his chest where his heart thumped. “This is what you do to me.”You always have.Such a confession might scare her. The depth of his emotion was too great, their acquaintanceship too brief.

“You do the same to me.” She pressed his hand to her chest. Her heart raced as strongly.

A thrill rushed through him, but an insidious little voice tempered the joy.But can she love me?Sexual desire isn’t love.No one knew that better than him. He hadn’t been celibate. Justthe opposite—he’d tried to forget her with other women. It had failed miserably, the sexual congress causing him to ache all the more for her.

Her eyes glowed with arousal—or was that the firelight? Did he dare trust that she desired him as much as he wanted her? And if she did, what did that mean? What was he to her? She’d asked him to imitate Hammond. Did she wish to compare the two of them in bed? Insecurity paraded that horrible thought.

She wouldn’t do that. She’s not crass.He gave his insecurity a hard shove and sent it tumbling away.

She leaned in and kissed him, and he was powerless to resist her invitation and the urgency of his own longing. He covered her breast with his palm. Through the blanket, he touched her hard nipple. His cock throbbed. If she hadn’t been aware of his erection before, she couldn’t not notice how the blanket tented.

Sensation stormed his body, but his operative mind remained calculating, cognizant of the clock tick, tick, ticking away the moments, the possibilities. He had to report to HQ in less than three weeks. Unless he could extend his leave…

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