Page 72 of Three Reckless Words

I don’t know when we started moving, but we’re closer still, basically sharing breathing space. The height difference is so much I have to tip my head back.

His gaze drops to my mouth and I catch my breath.

Please kiss me.

Please just once.

The force of that illicit, insane thought takes me by surprise.

It doesn’t matter if we’re sharing bad jokes and bees.

He’s a stranger. Older and rich and successful enough to make heads spin and ugly whispers fly.

There are definite reasons—very good ones—why we should absolutelynotkiss right now if we value our lives. Especially the fact that we’re total opposites and—

And okay, aside from that, maybe I can’t think of any reasons. Considering the way his face is closer than it was a few seconds ago, I don’twantto think of any.

This warm, fluttery feeling pulses in my belly. My hand on his shoulder clenches, fingers digging into his hard muscle.

“Winnie,” he rumbles.

God, the way he says my name alone is an eruption.

And I know how crazy this is.

I know I’ve lost it as I stretch up on my tiptoes and put my hand on his other shoulder to steady myself in case my knees give out.

I know his hand lands on my waist, quick and possessive, and his nose brushes mine with the slightest touch that still feels like a fireball.

I know I’ve never experienced a single moment this erotically charged.

Or a man like a human mountain, who takes his sweet time deciding if he wants to take what I’m offering in the most patient, painstaking way possible.

Like every brutal second is a challenge to overcome.

Like he needs to ask for permission with every movement.

Like he’s testing the anticipation he builds, just to see if what’s coming is truly worth the grief.

Oh, Archer, will you trust me just this once?

Will you be a little reckless?

Then his fingers flex on my waist and suddenly he’s backing away.

My hands fall limply from his shoulders. Although the sun beams hot on my back, I feel almost cold without him there, fully hollowed out.

“I should go,” he rasps, a thousand conflicts in his voice.

“Oh. Okay, sure.” Pathetic. I try to collect my thoughts, scattered somewhere across time and space.

He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I can see the redness on his cheekbones under his beard.

He’s simply beautiful in this clean, masculine way. I want to wrap him in my arms and—

Yeah, and kiss him.

But he doesn’t want that.

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