Page 110 of Camp Bliss
Zach clenches his jaw. He rakes a hand through his hair so roughly I’m surprised I don’t hear roots tearing. He balls his fist against his thigh.
“When I kissed you and—” He scowls at me. Is that distrust? Is that anger? “And you kissed me back. Did you mean it?”
My breath catches.
It’s not anger. It’s not distrust.
It’s vulnerability.
My hand shoots out to cover his.
I can’t make the words come fast enough. “I-I meant it,” I rasp.
His copper brows leap. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so surprised.
“Really?”
My lungs feel too full, and my breath comes out choppy. “Y-Yes.” I squeeze his hand that’s still in a tight fist. “Of course, I meant it.”
Is that relief in his eyes? Doubt? The moment feels so fragile, like it’s balanced on a skyscraper’s ledge. One shift in the wrong direction, and it’s a long way down.
And then his hand flips beneath mine, and he is gripping me. Tight.
The left side of his mouth lifts. His eyes spark. “You meant it.” Awe touches the words, and the tilt of his lips spreads into a smile that lights his whole, beautiful face.
My heart hammers. Heat flushes my face.
I swallow.
The image of him walking away from me in the clearing tightens my middle, so I have to ask.
“Did—Did you?”
His free hand lifts to my cheek. It’s just a whisper of a touch, but I feel it in every nerve.
Zach’s eyes blaze. “Hell, yes, I meant it.” His voice rumbles in a way I’ve never heard before.
And even if I’ve never heard it, boy, do I feel it.
The tip of one finger draws tiny, light circles on my cheek, sending ripples of sensation spilling down my body.
“I made the mistake of startling both of us today.” A slight notch forms between his brows. “So now, I’m gonna ask permission. Greta—” He says my name with a reverence it’s never held. “May I kiss you?”
Is this really happening?
“Yes.” The word is such a tiny sound, I nod to make sure he’s understood.
And this time, I hold perfectly still so I can witness the smile that I could stare into until the end of time as it closes in on mine.
This time, when our mouths meet, it’s not an explosion, but a melting. A slow glide of lips. A sacred meeting.
With the hand that’s not still gripping his, I reach for his face. I lay my fingertips on the perfect line of his jaw, an anchor to cling to as his hand at my cheek slips behind my head. When Zach angles me to the left and tilts to the right, I open for him.
His breath goes gruff, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth.
I greet it with mine, and my pulse thrills at his taste.
I know him already.
