Page 41 of Sunny Skies Ahead
Kameron didn’t waste a moment, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His arms trembled with the strain of holding himself up, and I broke the kiss with a startled gasp. The spell we’d both be under broke, and I scooted away from him, allowing him a moment to haul himself up onto the dock.
He wiped his thumb over his lip, and I realized I was doing the same. My fingertips hovered over my tingling lips, still swollen and raised from the scratch of his beard and the fierceness of his kiss.
“Imogen.”
My name on his lips was the last seal breaking.
“I am so sorry,” I blurted before he could speak again. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay,” Kameron said, though his chest still heaved with the aftershocks of our kiss.
Ourkiss. Oh no.
I stood quickly, smoothing down the bunched fabric of my dress, keeping one palm pressed to my side as a gust of windblew past. Kameron was still sitting on the dock, shirtless, and trying desperately not to stare at my legs.
I cursed internally. The wind was not my friend today.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, because what else was there to say?
Hey boss, that was the best kiss of my life.Can we please do it again?
Kameron stood, opening his mouth to say something as he reached for me.
I took a step back, and even though he deflated, I stood my ground.
“See you at dinner!” I called, turning tail and doing what I’d always done best: run in the opposite direction of what I’d screwed up.
I wanted to look back. Wanted to pick up right where we’d left off.
But I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, all the way back up to the tiny house. I let the door close behind me, smacking the back of my head against the cool wood.
I’d really done it this time.
Chapter fourteen
Kameron
Ididn’t stop thinking about the kiss the entire rest of the afternoon.
I’d lived through a lot of crap in my life. I’d weathered storms that would have broken other people. I’d gotten incredibly good at compartmentalizing when things went south. I could forgive and forget and move on without putting much effort in.
But the feeling of Imogen’s kiss was a feeling I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forget.
Perhaps more alarmingly, I realized as I walked down the hill to the tiny house; I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to sweep this under the rug as a mistake. It didn’t feel like a mistake in the moment, and it didn’t feel that way now.
Our kiss felt like a reckoning, a homecoming.
I wanted to do it again. I wanted to do it properly, where I could feel her smooth skin beneath my hands, capture every beautiful, breathy sound, see those curls that drove me wild fanned out against my pillow. I wanted to learn how she liked to be kissed, to give her everything she wanted and more.
I wanted more. That was the simplest way to describe it. I always wanted more when it came to Imogen. I had an unsettling suspicion that it would always be like this.
Unless we found a way to clear the air.
I stepped onto the porch of the tiny house, raising my fist to knock on the door. I hesitated, and in the two seconds I hesitated, the door opened, and I damn near jumped out of my skin.
Imogen had changed clothes. She was wearing a sage green PJ set that looked impossibly soft. The tank top rode up just enough that I could see a sliver of her brown skin, and that desire to kiss her, touch herexactlyhow she wanted to be touched, flared to life again.
“Hey,” I said awkwardly, not trusting myself to say anything else. It was embarrassing, really, how freaking awkward I was when it came to Imogen.
