Page 24 of The Soul Never Forgets

Subdued laughter vibrates in his chest. “That’s easier said than done.”

“The game plan is we’ll resist the temptation for three weeks and then we’ll have the rest of our lives to be together.” And then the next life. And the next.

“I want to know everything about Frank and Augustina. I’m years behind. I need a crash course in what you learned about soul mates while you were in the coma.”

He’s in luck. “I was afraid of forgetting them after I woke, so I began journaling about their lives. Their story begins when Augustina goes to her summer home in Pascagoula and meets Frank at a secret betting house. It ends when she is on her deathbed surrounded by their children and grandchildren.”

“That’s truly extraordinary, Caroline.”

“We can read the entries together if you like.” Nothing would make me happier.

“Are you sure? Your journals are your private thoughts.”

“Not really. It’s more like a series of biographies about Frank and Augustina. There’s nothing in them that I would want to keep from you.”

“Then yes, I would love to read them together.”

I need to see him again as soon as possible. “What time will you be free tomorrow?”

“My last patient of the day should be gone by five.”

“Should I come to your office after five?”

He grins. “Not a good idea. My receptionist shows a little too much interest in my personal life. I’d prefer to keep private matters away from the office.”

Right. Cathy-the-receptionist looked peeved about me being with Dr. Wes at the office without a chaperone.

“Do you want to come here? I can cook dinner if you like.”

His eyes widen and he smiles. “That sounds great.”

“What kind of meals do you like?”

“I’m not a picky eater. Surprise me.”

I knew what kind of pizza he likes. I bet I can come up with something he’ll eat. “All right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Shall we say six o’clock?”

“Six is perfect for me.”

He opens his arms. “Can we be trusted to hug each other? Or is that kind of physical contact too risky?”

“I think we can manage a simple hug.”

I step into his embrace, and he wraps his strong, warm arms around me. His scent, a mild musk with hints of cedarwood and patchouli, fills my nose. It’s masculinity at its best.

My body melts against him, my curves molding perfectly against his anatomy. He buries his face in my hair against my neck and inhales deeply. And then I feel his warm breath against my skin.

“You smell so good, Caroline. Like vanilla and cherry blossom.”

I lace my fingers through the back of his hair, and I pull him against me hard, a soft groan escaping the back of my throat.

The physical contact between us has been limited. A handshake. The grasp of his hand on my lower arm. The brush of our fingers when we reached at the same time for the same slice of pizza. Nothing like this. I thought we could handle it. I thoughtIcould handle it.

I was wrong.

My resistance is melting. It’s turning into a pool of liquid fire in the pit of my lower abdomen.

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