Page 52 of Past Tents

“Why are you nervous? It’s just me.”

“Exactly. It’s you.” I didn’t know what I was saying. And then again, I knew exactly what I was saying. It was Clay, the man I’d fantasized about for half my life, even as I told myself nothing could ever happen between us. I’d used him as the cautionary tale, convinced myself I was better off staying far away from the greyhound who’d never stop moving.

But that wasn’t the guy I’d seen over the past couple weeks of spending time together. And the man I was getting to know now had my insides melting. He had me wanting things I’d convinced myself never to believe I could have.

I wanted those things. And I wanted him.

I couldn’t say all of that to him, not when we were chaperoning a group of students, not when telling him how I felt made me feel intensely vulnerable, not when I couldn’t be sure my feelingswould be reciprocated. Easier to chicken out. “I guess I just...I don’t know.”

His head fell forward, almost in defeat. “Ally...” The growl of his voice in the small space sent a cascade of chills down my neck. “Why do I make you nervous?”

Bunching up a wad of sleeping bag in my fists, I exhaled a long breath and closed my eyes. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. His proximity made me nervous. The heavy air between us. The simplicity of moving a few inches closer and feeling the warmth of his body.

The inescapable pull of him. The electricity I felt sizzling in my chest, daring me to lean closer, take a whiff of him, touch his skin.

And yet...I still had a chance to reel it back. Or at least diffuse the situation. Despite spending half my life trying to convince myself I didn’t flat-out want Clay Meadows to kiss me, I could admit the truth now—at least to myself. But I didn’t have to admit it to Clay.

Had I learned nothing from my mother—and my father? Had no wisdom lingered after my failed relationships to convince me that I was better off on my own?

I wished I could believe it. I wished the romantic in me still didn’t wish to be proven wrong. I’d always imagined someone like Clay—or Clay himself—making a case for the fantasy. Proving I could have the fantasy I secretly still dreamed about.

“I think I’ve changed my mind about the fantasy.”

He flinched almost imperceptibly. Eyes heating. Losing their color to a molten darkness.

My heart thundered in my chest like an entire orchestra woodwind section. I moved closer to him, near enough that I felt the heat of him, saw the pulsing of his heart in his throat, felt the sharp inhale of breath.

“Ally . . .”

A warning I ignored.

“Yes?”

His hands flexed and he looked around the tent before his eyes returned to me. Boldly, I leaned in a little more. Our faces inches apart. My nerves raking my skin with goose bumps.

I heard him draw a shaky breath. “I can’t have you this close to me and not kiss you.”

I swallowed hard. “So kiss me.”

He didn’t. He stared, eyes searching mine for something—a sign I didn’t mean it? A reason to back away? There were plenty.

“Goddammit.” A growl mixed with a curse. The snap of tension.

He yanked me toward him. The nylon shell of my sleeping bag swept along the floor of the tent as he reduced the space between us to zero.

The feel of his lips against my jaw was sensory overload. His breath was hot against my skin, one hand slipping along the side of my face and into my hair.

He kissed my jaw, my cheek...finally my lips. His mouth was soft, tentatively tasting, exploring without being insistent.

This was the first time I’d experienced Clay moving like he wasn’t in a hurry. The first brush of our lips turned into a languid, slow burn that made me moan for more.

I licked Clay’s bottom lip and his mouth opened, fusing with mine. Our tongues found each other and tangled mercilessly, impatiently.

Clay tasted delicious, a faint hint of campfire, chocolate, mint from his toothpaste. And as my hands roamed up the hard planes of his chest and wrapped over his shoulders, I felt my heart contract in my chest. Blood rushed hot through my veins.

This was the side of Clay I’d wondered about all these years and never had the temerity to believe I could have. Not that I really had him. This was pure lust and opportunity. Of course I knew that.

But it didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy every minute of it.

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