Page 91 of Of Heather and Thistle
When he finally eased back, Flynn rested his forehead to hers. They were both breathless, caught in the hush between decisions.
She could still end this. Pretend it hadn’t happened.
But she didn’t want to.
Heather swallowed, her voice barely a breath.
“Do you… want to come inside?”
Flynn exhaled slowly, like it took everything in him not to say yes too fast.
His fingers traced the small of her back, feather-light, patient. Heather’s heart hammered against her ribs as he watched her, his blue eyes searching hers like they held theanswer.
“You sure?” he murmured.
Her lips parted. Her breath caught.
“Yes.”
The moment the word left her mouth, everything shifted.
His restraint unraveled.
Heat. Motion. The press of his chest. The sharp inhale against her lips.
She barely had time to brace before he kissed her—hard, hungry,certain.
She wasn’t standing at the edge anymore.
She had jumped.
And there was no going back.
* * *
Heather shut the door behind them, but neither of them moved. The only sounds were the quiet crackle of the fireplace and the soft rhythm of their breath—hers shaky, his steady. Her pulse pounded in her ears like a warning or a dare.
She turned slowly, spine pressing to the door. Flynn stood across the room, watching her—still, silent, unreadable. His blue eyes shimmered in the dim firelight, heavy-lidded but calm. He was still giving her an out. Still lettingherdecide.
Heather’s hands trembled. She wanted to say something—to confess that she didn’t know how to do this without destroying it. That she was scared of wanting something real. Scared ofhim. Scared of what it might mean.
But nothing came out.
Flynn’s gaze flicked to her lips. Just for a breath. Just longenough.
Heather inhaled sharply.
And then—
He reached for her.
A single touch—his fingers grazed her jaw, trailed lightly down the side of her throat. Heather’s knees nearly buckled. Flynn paused, as if sensing her unraveling, his thumb brushing the skin just beneath her ear. A question. A tether. A final moment to turn back.
She didn’t take it.
Heather’s mind spun, thoughts racing and colliding, none of them louder than the ache between them. Flynn stepped closer—close enough that his warmth kissed her skin, his breath feathered across her mouth.
His hand lifted, cupping her jaw with reverence. His thumb traced the arc of her cheekbone like she was something fragile and holy.
