Page 10 of Surrendering To The Forbidden Mountain Man

The kettle screams.

We break apart. Her chest is heaving. My hand is still tangled in her hair, and her fingers are still gripping my shirt, and her mouth is swollen and wet and her eyes are glassy.

"Kettle," she breathes.

Right. I reach past her without stepping back and pull it off the burner. The screaming stops.

In the silence, the only sound is both of us breathing too hard.

Her forehead drops to my chest. My chin rests on top of her head. My arms wrap around her because letting go right now is physically impossible, and she fits against me. God, she fits. Her head under my chin, her hands on my ribcage, her body warm and solid and real.

"I should go," I say into her hair.

"Yeah." She doesn't let go. "You should."

"Ben."

"I know."

"I need to think."

She pulls back enough to look up at me. Her hand comes to my jaw. Thumb across my bottom lip. "Don't overthink this, Reid. You're good at that."

"I'm good at most things I do."

"Apparently." Her mouth curves. "That kiss was. Yeah."

My forehead drops to hers again. "Sunday. Dinner. Your dad's house. Let me talk to Ben first."

"You don't have to ask my brother's permission."

"I know." My hand finds her hip. Squeezes once. "I'm not asking his permission. I'm giving him a warning."

She laughs. The real one, full and warm, and the sound fills the small kitchen and wraps around my ribs.

Pulling away takes more effort than any extraction I've ever performed. My body protests every inch of distance. But I pick up my toolkit, and I walk to her front door, and I stop with my hand on the knob.

"Wednesday," I say.

"What about it?"

"The field. When you told me to stop running." I look over my shoulder. She's leaning against the kitchen counter where I just kissed her, arms crossed, mouth still swollen, eyes bright. "I stopped."

The door clicks shut behind me.

The stairs are cold. The truck is cold. The drive home is dark and winding and I take it ten under the limit because my hands are shaking on the wheel and the taste of her mouth is still on mine.

I kissed Mira Cross.

Fourteen years. And it took a stripped lock and a tank top and a question I couldn't answer with anything but the truth.

Ben answers on the second ring.

"Hey." His voice is casual. Sunday-night casual. "What's up?"

"I kissed your sister."

Silence. Long enough that I check the phone to make sure the call didn't drop.