Page 6 of Viking

Her lips part and her gaze locks on to my mouth. The air between us shifts, that invisible pull stretching taut. I watch her glowing in neon and moonlight, equal parts soft and dangerous. Like she doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me.

And then, she kisses me.

Just a whisper of a thing. Barely there. Like it happened by accident.

Her lips brush mine and she pulls back fast as if she’s surprised by it. Embarrassed. Like she’s already halfway down the spiral of regret.

I sit there, stunned. Wrecked in the quiet.

She folds her arms across her middle, eyes flicking anywhere but me, and rushes to buckle the straps of her heels like she’s planning to run.

“Come on,” I say, voice lower than it should be. “Let me walk you back.”

She nods but doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Just starts walking, and I fall in beside her. The night stretches around us, warm and electric and knowing.

We don’t say a word.

I can still feel her kiss. Still hear the softest sound she made when she pulled away. Still feel the way she clung to the moment like she wasn’t ready to let it go, but did anyway.

It’s driving me insane.

Then she exhales. It’s barely audible. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “That was…I shouldn’t have done that.”

I stop walking. So does she. She’s a step ahead, shoulders tight, chin tipped down like she’s waiting for me to confirm she made a mistake.

I step forward, reach out, and catch her wrist, just enough to turn her toward me.

Her eyes find mine and it’s all there. The nerves. The second-guessing. The ache. She’s already trying to take it back.

But she doesn’t need to. I don’t give her the chance.

I lean in and kiss her. For real this time. Not a brush. Not a maybe.

My hand slides to the side of her neck, thumb stroking just beneath her jaw as I pull her in. The kiss is slow, deliberate, deep. It says everything I haven’t found the words for—I’m here. I want this. I want you.

And it’s just rough enough to make sure she feels it in her bones, that this isn’t confusion. This is certainty.

She gasps softly against my mouth and her fingers curl in my shirt, anchoring herself to something solid in a world that’s clearly spinning off its axis. When I finally pull back, she’s breathless. Wrecked. Eyes wide, lips parted, and completely undone in a way that matches me beat for beat.

“The only thing you should be apologizing for,” I say, voice like gravel, “is not doing that sooner.”

Her breath hitches. Then she smiles and slips her hand into mine, tugging me forward. She holds on like she means it. And I don’t let go.

Las Vegas, Nevada

August 5, 2018

6:38 a.m.

Lila

I wake up slowly, the unfamiliar feel of crisp hotel sheets against my skin. For a moment, I stay still, hoping the haze of sleep will soften the clarity of my memory, but it doesn’t. It all comes rushing back in vivid detail: the glittering lights of the city around us, Logan dropping to one knee on the Strip, the heat of his gaze, the teasing curve of his smile. The feel of his hands on my skin, his lips at my ear, the way he made the world outside this room disappear. And I can’t even blame alcohol since I’d had a glass of champagne and a mojito.

Logan’s strong arms are around my waist, my back flush against the warm, solid ridges of his chest. Even in sleep, he holds me like I’m something he doesn’t want to let go. I gently pull his arms from around me, scooting slowly out of his grasp, careful not to disturb his steady rhythm of breathing. He is still asleep. I can see the sharp edge of his jawline, the slight furrow in his brow even in rest. His dark brown hair is a mess and somehow it makes him look impossibly human.

I’m not a tag chaser. My life’s been intertwined with the military for too long to willingly add another layer to it. And for all I know, Logan’s the kind of guy who doesn’t mind getting tangled in bedsheets with girls chasing that fantasy. But he kissed me like I mattered. And even though I don’t do this. Even though I don’t sleep with guys I just met, not even the one I agreed to marry, I’m no better than the girls posted up in military bars, waiting for the next uniform to walk through the door and sweep them off their feet.

My cheeks burn. I like control, stability, things that make sense. One-night stands don’t make sense. They’re confusing and messy. But he’s so beautiful. Those piercing gray-blue eyes are imprinted in my mind and the way they lit up when I told him about my new job, like he’d genuinely cared, unraveled something in my heart.