Page 133 of Holding On To Good

“Calhoun,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Did you kiss him?”

“No.”

Urban studied her as if trying to glean the truth. It should have irked her, him not having faith in what she told him but she was honest enough to admit she deserved his lack of immediate trust. She’d been such an idiot. Asking Finn out. Going through with it.

Hurting Urban that way.

“I didn’t kiss Finn,” she said because it seemed to need repeating. “The last man I kissed was you. The only man I want to kiss is you.”

It was such a resounding truth, she was surprised her words didn’t ring through the air like church bells.

And Urban—stubborn, hurt and possibly jealous Urban—still didn’t touch her.

“Please don’t make me be in this alone,” she whispered.

Please don’t make me beg.

She was perilously close to doing just that. It grated, that lack of control. Unnerved her that after all these years she could still want him so much that it meant more to her than her pride. Her sense of self-preservation.

But then Urban spoke. “You’re not.”

And when he settled his hand, light as a breath, on the curve of her waist, nothing else mattered. Not control or pride or protecting her heart.

Nothing mattered except him.

Nothing was as important as this moment.

And what happened next.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Seconds ticked by, counted in breaths and the ever-quickening beats of her heart. She couldn’t stop time, Willow knew. Could do nothing to prolong this moment. What was happening right here, right now, was nothing more than a blip. A tiny fraction of all the minutes and hours and days and weeks in her life.

But there was nothing small about it. It was huge. Monumental. Life-changing.

And she wanted to do everything in her power to remember each and every one of those seconds.

The warmth of Urban’s fingers seeped through the light material of her top at the curve of her waist. The heel of his hand pressed against her hipbone. She slid her own hand up, slowly, slowly, to the back of his neck. His skin was soft there, incredibly soft and hot and smooth. They stared at each other, desire like a cocoon surrounding them, a living, breathing, pulsing entity that pushed at them to let go. To give in to it.

Neither did.

It was her pride—alive and well and kicking after all. It was his stubbornness and the hurt she’d caused by having a drink with Finn. But mostly, it was fear.

Hers.

His.

She idly, lightly, scraped her nails along his hairline, the ends of his hair brushing the back of her hand.

He trembled.

Big, strong, controlled Urban Jennings trembled from her touch.

And everything within her settled. The fear didn’t disappear but it became muted, a shadow of sensation somewhere in the back of her brain, easily ignored. Easily, even if temporarily, forgotten.

Anticipation remained, skimming along her nerve endings like electricity, the hair on her arms, at the nape of her neck, rising with it. Want and need tangled until she had no idea which was stronger. Decided it didn’t matter when the outcome was the same.

And when Urban started lowering his head toward hers, she didn’t revel in triumph.

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