Page 22 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

“I didn’t plan to kiss you either.”

We sit in the weight of that for a moment.

I clear my throat. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

She turns to look at me, eyes searching mine. “Do you still?”

My breath hitches.

Her hand brushes mine on the bench—fingertips first, then her palm, sliding slow. Warm. Intentional.

I turn toward her.

“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

She leans in at the same time I do, and this time—when our mouths meet—it’s slower. Surer. It’s less about proving a point, or whatever the hell it was we were doing last night. It’s about savoring the moment.

Her hands slide up my chest, gripping the flannel tight. My fingers curve around her waist, dragging her closer. I can feel the heat of her through the blanket, feel her breath catch as I kiss her deeper.

This isn’t soft.

It’s not polite.

It’s as if years of quiet tension and a few days of long looks and unspoken what-ifs collapsing into something real.

Her body twists toward mine. I pull her into my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her thighs straddle me, the blanket scarf falls to the grass.

Her fingers push into my hair. My hands grip her hips, anchor her there, pressing her into me.

She gasps into my mouth as I kiss down the line of her jaw, my hands sliding under the sweatshirt. Her skin is warm and soft, her breath shaky.

“Gage,” she whispers.

The sound of my name on her lips does something brutal to me. I pull her closer. I want to tear these clothes off of her and lay claim to her. It’s the most primal desire I’ve ever had.

It’s that thought that stops me.

I bury my face in her neck.

She doesn’t move.

She clings to me.

At last, I release a breath. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

“We both could.” She leans back to cup my cheeks. “But it’s a risk we both have to be willing to take.”

SEVEN

TESSA

Misty Mountain is starting to feel like… Well, I don’t know what exactly.

It’s not quite home. Not yet. But not just a pit stop, either.

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