Page 53 of My Star-Crossed Summer

I reach over and run my fingers through his hair—so soft, like a rabbit’s fur—and he makes another contented sound that makes me feel like a match that’s been struck. And just like that, my resolve is gone. I twist my fingers in his hair and pull him toward me. His mouth crashes against mine, and I can’t help myself. His lips are soft, his movements achingly slow, and the rough scrape of his jaw sends a chill down to my toes. His fingersslide along my cheek as he nips at my bottom lip, and all I can think isYes. This. Finally.

His fingers trace my collarbone, and when his lips move to my neck, I slide my hands beneath his shirt and feel the heat radiating from his chest. Those hard muscles feel even better than I’d imagined, and when his hand squeezes my hip, I feel certain he could make me explode like a star.

I’m dying to touch him everywhere, to feel all of his skin pressed against mine.

But we can’t.

I pry myself away from him and scramble to sit up. “Omigod,” I blurt. “I’m so sorry.”

He lifts a brow and says, “Good lord, why?”

“I should go,” I tell him. “I don’t trust myself around you.”

He gives me a devilish grin that makes my heart do a barrel roll. Being with him feels so right, but this is the absolute worst time to be thinking of all the ways I want to touch him and all the places I want him to kiss me. No, not want.Need.

It’s obvious he wants me to do all those things and more—and that intense hunger in his eyes is not helping this situation.

“I’m serious, Noah. I should leave. Right now. Before I get us both fired.”

“Stop,” he says, taking my hand again. “Roll up your giant blanket and stuff it between us. I’ll stay on my side of the sleeping bag. I promise.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

His eyes flicker with mischief. “I’d love to hear more about that later. Maybe you can tell me on our date.” He tucks his hands under his cheek and nods toward the space next to him.

I bite my lip, knowing I should leave. Because it’s the professional thing to do. The right thing.

But it’s definitely not what I want, and that might be the scariest part of all. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and he reaches for my arm.

“Stay,” he says. That one word, so quiet and tender, tugs at my heart. I think of that moment on the beach years before, how I left him without a word, and I can’t make myself do it again.

He shoves the blanket between us, a flimsy barrier that’s merely symbolic. When we’re finally settled under the covers, him on his back and me curled toward him like a comma, I close my eyes and concentrate on the sound of his breaths, the pattering of rain on the tent.

Another glimmer, I think, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.

Sometime later,I wake up and realize that Noah’s arm is draped over my side, his big hand splayed over my hip, my blanket barrier long gone. He’s sound asleep, his breaths coming deep and even. His body’s locked tight against mine, so snugly that all of his hard parts are pressed into my soft ones. I know I should move away and shove that blanket back between us, but I can’t make myself do that. It’s too nice, this feeling of his hips tucked against mine, his broad chest so warm against my back. I don’t even want to go to sleep anymore—instead, I want to catalogue all the points of contact, the way it feels to have him so close. I want to etch all of these feelings into my memory so I never forget.

His hand tightens on my hip as he pulls me closer, and I wish I knew what he was dreaming right now.

One more week, I tell myself. Seven days on our best behavior.

Starting now.

Chapter Sixteen

NOAH

When my phone’s alarm wakes me, I realize that I’ve wrapped myself around Victoria like a coat. My arm’s tight across her chest, one leg draped over hers, and there are so many other parts of us touching that it short-circuits my brain.

Because it feels even more amazing than I imagined, and I’d give my eye teeth to lie here all day with her.

When she begins to stir, I quickly disentangle myself.

“Sorry,” I whisper, as she turns to face me. “Apparently, I’m a snuggler.” I’m not sorry, though, because if I could spend the rest of my nights tangled up with Victoria, I absolutely would. Judging by the sweet half-smile tucked at the corner of her mouth, she wouldn’t argue.

“It’s okay,” she says, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. Then she seems to realize where she is, and her eyes widen with alarm.

In one flutter of her lashes, the spell is broken. She’s throwing off the blanket, fumbling to find her boots. Her hair’s barely in its ponytail, and it takes everything in me not to pull it down the rest of the way and run my fingers through it as I draw her back down into these blankets.

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