Page 23 of Worth the Wait
“Itisbusiness.” But her voice lacks conviction, and she doesn’t move away when I set down my wine glass and turn to face her fully.
“Is it? Because sitting here with you, watching you work, listening to you laugh—it doesn’t feel like business anymore.”
Outside, the storm continues to build, but inside our private alcove, everything feels suspended, waiting.
“We agreed to keep things professional,” Lianne says.
“We did, and I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried...” I reach out to touch her hand where it rests on the small table. “I can’t pretend I don’t feel this. Whatever this is between us.”
She doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she looks down at where our fingers have intertwined, her breath catching slightly.
“This is complicated,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“We have history. Bad history.”
“We do. But we also have this.” I gesture between us, encompassing the wine-warmed intimacy of the moment, the way we’ve spent the day rediscovering each other. “And I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t exist anymore.”
Lianne lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Cameron...”
“Just this once,” I say softly, moving closer. “Let me show you who I am now. Not who I was four years ago, but who I’ve become.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to pull away, going to retreat behind the professional boundaries we’ve both been hiding behind.
“This is a mistake,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away.
“Probably,” I agree, then cup her face in my hand, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “But I’m tired of making the safe choice.”
The kiss starts soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. But when she responds, when her lips part under mine and she makes a small sound of surrender, everything else falls away.
I kiss her like I’m memorizing the moment, like I’m trying to communicate everything I’ve learned about love and regret and second chances since the day I let her go.
She kisses me back with the same urgency, her hands tangling in my hair as her tongue meets mine, and I forget that we’re sitting in a wine cellar or that our entire history is built on the pain of our past. All I can think about is this moment, the way her body fits against mine like it was meant to be there, the way her breathing quickens as I deepen the kiss, the way she shivers when I touch her.
Time seems to stand still, the storm outside forgotten as we explore each other, rediscovering old scars and new desires in the flickering candlelight.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, the storm outside has intensified. Rain pounds against the windows above us, and thunder crashes closer than before.
“That was…” She trails off, like she’s not sure how to finish that sentence.
“A mistake?” I suggest, though it comes out half-joking. Because God only knows it is a mistake. But it also feels like the most natural thing in the world, like four years of regret and longing have led us here, to this moment.
“Not a mistake,” she says, shaking her head. “Just… complicated.”
I can’t argue with that. I know there’s still so much we haven’t talked about, so many questions left unanswered. But right now, all I want to do is kiss her again.
So I lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. But she doesn’t. She leans in, too, and when our lips meet this time, there’s no hesitation. It’s as if we both know what we want, and we’re both ready to take it.
The second kiss is even better than the first, and when I slide my hand into her hair, Lianne sighs against my mouth, a sound that makes my heart skip a beat.
When thunder rumbles overhead, she pulls away. “The storm…” she whispers as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“Getting worse,” I agree, though I’m not really focused on the weather.
She looks up at me, her lips still wine-dark and kiss-swollen, her eyes wide with something that looks like wonder mixed with fear.
“What happens now?” she asks quietly.
