Page 99 of Take Me Away

‘Isla.’ I reach out for a lock of her hair, run it through my fingertips. ‘Best night I’ve had in … a long time.’

That earns a real smile. ‘Me too.’

She steps in close, fingers brushing my jaw. ‘You can kiss me goodnight. It’s allowed.’

Her laugh gets lost as I kiss her – slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. She tastes like wine and mischief, delicious and intoxicating.

‘If I don’t stop…’ I breathe, forehead against hers.

‘You could be ungentlemanly with me again…’

‘Isla,’ I groan. ‘I’m trying to be sensible. Whatever this ends up being between us, I want it to be done right.’

‘The Kit Harding I used to know felt my tits at every chance.’ She laughs, but then her smile drops. ‘You don’t want to make a mistake again?’

Running my hand around the back of my neck, I take a pause. Breathe. Then I step forward, cupping her face in my hands. ‘Isla Quinn. Not once have I ever thought you were a mistake. Even when I missed you, even when I realised you weren’t coming back. You were never a mistake. You were the best of my childhood, made me a man, then broke my heart, but you were never a mistake.’

She blinks up at me. Neither of us speak.

A tear slides down her cheek, just one. A starlit path of sadness.

‘That bruise you left, Isla.’ I press the tear track, erasing it with my thumb. She nods, gaze still fixed on mine. ‘The only time I can’t feel it is when you are here, and it makes me feel so guilty. I should still be mourning my wife, but standing here, with you, is the only time I haven’t ached.’

Her gaze drops. ‘I get it.’

When she looks back up at me, the heartbreak on her face cleaves me straight in two.

‘No, I don’t think you do, Isla.’ I grasp her chin, make her look at me, and then my mouth is on hers, because I no longer know the words to make this right. I’m walking a tightrope between the past and the future, wobbling in the middle, step unsteady but hanging on.

She whimpers into my mouth, tongue deft as she meets my kiss, fingers in my hair, body pressed so tight against mine it’s like she’s crawling into my clothes.

It’s not a want that overtakes me. It’s a need. Desperate and raw.

‘Open the door, Isla.’ My words are mumbled, lost in the kiss.

The cool of the front door key presses into my palm as she hands it over, mouth never leaving mine. I move us back against the door, feeling for the keyhole, while kissing the fuck out of Isla Quinn.

And nothing has ever felt more right.

Chapter Twenty-Two

ISLA

I’m already breathless when he lifts me, my back slamming the hallway wall with a thud that rattles a picture frame. The sound is half laugh, half moan, caught between my throat and his mouth.

‘God, Kit,’ I gasp, head falling back as his lips scorch a line down my neck. ‘You’re trying to kill me.’

His teeth graze my skin, a bite sharp enough to sting, and he groans against me. ‘That’d be a hell of a way to go.’

We’ve barely stumbled past the front door. My jumper is shoved high above my bra, one sleeve sliding useless down my arm. His hands are everywhere, greedy, punishing, and I’m clawing at his shirt like it’s the only thing standing between me and air. Buttons ping. Fabric tears. I don’t care.

We can’t stop. Can’t breathe. Every kiss is messy, teeth and tongue, every touch a dare. He’s hard against me, insistent through his jeans, grinding me into the wall until I swear sparks crackle under my skin. Never – not on a red carpet, not on set, not anywhere – have I felt more wanted than I do pinned beneath Kit Harding’s weight.

He drops me for a second, just long enough to tear his shirt off and fling it aside, then he’s back, hauling me into his arms like I weigh nothing. ‘Mine,’ he mutters against my mouth, raw and unguarded. ‘I’ve got you, Isla. I’ve fucking got you.’

The way he says it – like it’s a promise carved into bone – nearly undoes me.

By the time he gets us to the bedroom, clothes are history. He lays me down but doesn’t pause, dragging my knickers down with one rough sweep, his mouth following. He kisses down my stomach, biting my hip like he can’t decide if he wants to worship or devour. I arch up, hands tangled in his hair as I lift my hips towards his mouth, a plea torn from me when his tongue finds me and swipes across my clit. I shatter, quick and helpless, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer, like a curse.