Page 88 of Rewind It Back

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” I add, not agreeing or disagreeing with his statement.

I expect it to get a little bit awkward once we’re out of the car and he walks to his house while I cross the lawn to mine. But surprisingly enough, Rio doesn’t head up the front porch stairs to his house. He instead rounds the hood of his truck and starts walking to mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask, still frozen next to his truck.

“What do you think I’m doing, Hart?” He turns to face me, walking backwards. “I’m walking you home. You coming?”

All those reasons I had floating around my head as to why I couldn’t kiss him last weekend, right here in this very spot, are suddenly nowhere to be found.

I catch up to him, and we take the steps up to my front porch slowly, but only when I reach the front door do I realize that he stopped on the second stair from the top.

We both know he’s trying to keep a safe distance, but I’m over here wanting to be reckless.

“What happened to you walking me home?” I tease, key in the lock. “You going to finish the job or what, DeLuca?”

He chuckles under his breath before he takes slow, hesitant steps up the stairs and across the porch to meet me at the door. Leaning one shoulder on the doorframe, he nods towards the unturned key.

“You should go inside, Hallie.”

It’s almost testing in the way he says it with his voice all gruff, paired with a slight flex of his jaw. His hands are once again tucked in his pockets, like a physical manifestation of the restraint he’s trying to possess.

I look down to the lock then up to him, and it feels like a representation of my own internal battle. I could go inside to keep things friendly and professional because I’m not fully over him leaving all those years ago when I needed him most. Not to mention, he doesn’t know the whole story. Or I could lean up and press my mouth against his because he’s the only person I’ve ever loved and he’s standing in front of me all these years later.

The classic battle of the head versus the heart.

Today, the non-logical heart wins when I wrap a fist around the front of his shirt to pull him down, at the same time lifting to my toes, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s a bit unpolished and almost a miss, my lips barely brushing against his.

Reminiscent of our very first kiss, I suppose. Just enough to tell him that I want this.

Pulling back, I catch his eyes and they’re dark and hungry and hooded.

His attention moves back to my mouth, once again asking the question, “You single, Hal?”

I finally give him the long-awaited answer, nodding to tell him yes.

“Good.” He takes a slow predatorial step towards me, tone sharp and leaving no room for question. “Because we aren’t fucking friends.”

With that declaration, he grips the side of my neck and slams his mouth onto mine.

Startling, the only sensation is warmth. Warmth from his mouth on mine. Warmth from the overwhelming presence of his body and the desperation in which he’s kissing me. Because it is desperate. It’s needy and it’s wanting. It feels like there aresix yearsof wanting wrapped into this kiss.

He gives me a moment to catch on to what’s happening, for me to part my lips and ask for more. And when I do, when I give in to him, it becomes all-consuming, every one of my senses ramping up to ten.

He smells incredible. He smells likehim.

He tastes delicious. Just as I remember.

He feels strong and in control, with firm but measured pressure on my throat.

I can’t see him with my eyes closed, but I can imagine how fucking good he looks, towering over me and taking what he wants.

And as far as he sounds... God, the pleading noises coming from this man’s throat right now alone could cause me to come undone.

Rio’s other hand finally slips free from his pocket, and all that restraint to keep from touching me flies out the window. Both hands palm the sides of my face, pushing me flush against the front door. He moves me where he wants me, taking over and slipping his tongue past my parted lips.

The pads of his fingers grip my hair, his big thigh slips between my own, pressing us closer.

An unpermitted moan crawls up my throat as his tongue slides against mine, as I rock my seeking hips against him.

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