Page 94 of Catch the Sun

“An experience. An experience with someone I trust.”

“Kissing is an experience, too. Have you ever been kissed before?”

I close my eyes and keep shaking my head, ignoring the burning ball ofheat blooming in my lower belly as I envision Max’s lips on mine. “Kissing is different. It’s more.”

He takes a step closer to me. “Your logic is flawed, Sunny. If you think you can only have meaningless, experience-driven sex with me and not feelmore, I’d be willing to call your bluff.”

The feeling blossoms into fireworks and I squeeze my thighs together. “Are you implying you want more?”

“What I want is beside the point. It would be more. That’s just a fact.”

“Because you’re so masterful in the bedroom,” I say, forcing out a chuckle. “I’d have no choice but to fall madly in love with you?”

My attempt at levity falls flat. The look in Max’s eyes is light years away from anything resembling humor.

He takes a slow step forward, his gaze boring into me. And when we’re toe-to-toe and face-to-face on this old bridge beneath the stars, he lifts a hand and grazes his knuckles along my jaw. “I wouldn’t know.”

His words are overridden by the feel of his skin against my jaw. A rough thumb brushes over my bottom lip and I choke on a small gasp, my eyes fluttering closed. His scent invades me, pure and clean. His touch unravels me. My legs quiver and my heart thumps, and after a few dazzled beats, his statement finally registers. “You wouldn’t know what?” I murmur.

“If I’m a master in the bedroom or not.”

My eyes slowly open. “I’m sure you’re well aware.”

All he offers is a stiff headshake.

A frown forms between my brows as implication unfurls inside my chest and I murmur, “What are you saying?”

Max lets out a tapered breath and leans in close, his lips dusting my ear and sending shivers up my spine. Then he confesses gently, “I’m a virgin, too, Ella.”

The world stops.

Myworld stops.

Never once did I ever consider the notion that Max Manning was a virgin at eighteen years old, with a face like his, with a heart like his, with the silent power to take my bleak, loathsome stance on romance, shred it into tiny bits, and toss those pieces to the wind.

Max is a virgin.

When he pulls back, he’s staring at my stunned, parted lips. His palm cups my jaw, fingers sliding into my loosening curls. “I didn’t want this either,” he admits, his throat working, eyes still fixed on my mouth. “There’s been no place for girls or relationships in my life. I have too much baggage, too many responsibilities, too much of nothing good.” His other hand reaches for my shaking palm and presses it against his chest. He holds it there, his dizzied heartbeats vibrating into my fingertips. “But there’s a place for you, Ella,” he says. “I have all the room for you if this is where you want to be.”

Tears rush to my eyes.

It’s too much. This moment, his words, my fingers splayed over his beautiful heart.

I wrench my hand from his grip and run.

“Ella.”

He calls after me as my sneakers smack the bridge planks in time with my heartbeats. Crisp air bites at my skin. Want nibbles away at my resolve. Indecision chews me up and spits me out until I don’t want to run anymore.

I slow to a stop, out of breath.

When I spin around to face him, I see that he’s still standing in the same place. Not running after me. He hasn’t moved, but his face is equal parts torture and hope. His hood is pulled back and his hands are balled at his sides like it’s taking all of his self-control to keep his feet glued to that spot on the bridge.

“Stay,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear him over the howl of the wind.

But I do.

I hear him.

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