Page 118 of His Last Shot
My hands find her waist, and with a gasp, our mouths crash in a fierce, desperate kiss, the air around us crackling with urgency. All five years tumble down into this one kiss. A fire that has lied dormant for one thousand eight hundred twenty-five days is roaring to life. Five years of built-up frustrations are being unleashed.
She recoils her legs, and I place her on her feet, all the while our lips never coming apart. Before I know it, her hands are threading through my hair, her mouth working along with mine, as if our lips never forgot the assignment.
It’s crazy. Unbelievable.
The desire to touch every square inch of her body is making my hands act of their own accord. One lands on her waist while the other finds her neck. My thumb strokes down her throat, followed by my mouth. Her head tilts to the side, granting me better access. Her breath hitches, a gasp escaping her lips, causing us to break apart.
“We need to slow down,” she says through pants.
No lie there.
I nod, wanting to break through all the yellow tape as my senses flicker back to life. She’s right. We have time. All the time in the world now.
My fingers trace the delicate curve of her cheekbones as I press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. As she melts into me, her gentle hum vibrates against my mouth. Her smell overpowers me, and GOD, did I miss that smell so much.
And since we were always on the same wavelength, she breaks the kiss, buries her face into my neck, and inhales. “You smell so good,” she mutters. “It’s new.” Her lips grin against my neck.
Nuzzling her closer, I smile, my grip tightening. “It is.”
“Should be illegal. You’re not allowed to smell that good.” I chuckle with relief. I thought of her when I picked it out.
She pulls back, her stare embedding itself back into my soul. “I missed you,” she whispers.
“I missed everything,” I reply softly, meaning every word.
A gentle breeze kicks up, blowing a stray hair across her face. I tuck it behind her ear, my fingers lingering for a moment, before uttering the three words I’ve waited so long to say again. “I love you, Rachel.”
Her eyes slide shut. “I love you too.” Hearing her say that was like smooth honey. I slide my palm over and then back down her spine, my thumb tracing lines through the thin fabric of her dress. Our love is open now, transparent.
“Is this it? You and me? No more obstacles?” I ask, still tracing lines, still stroking, never letting go.
She shakes her head. “None. It’s you and me. Forever.”
A few heartbeats later, she glances around, noticing her surroundings. With a soft sigh, she steps around me, and I take her hand in mine. “You did all of this?” she asks as she walks over to the table and grabs the rose, smelling it while never taking her eyes off of me.
I shrug, suddenly unsure. This moment is huge. Us coming together again. I could have done more. “I know it’s not much, but—”
She places her hand on my chest, the gentle pressure of her touch reassuring me. “It’s perfect.”
With a quick turn to the table, she watches me scurry over and pull out a chair, my hand waving over its worn wooden surface. “Madam.” My exaggerated English accent is awful.
Her giggle fills the air as I scoot her in, a joyful sound against the quiet.
Just like that, we are back on track.
As I pour her a glass of wine, she gestures to the coffee cup. “Some things never change, I see.”
“You know me … coffee till the day I die.” I shoot her a wink as I sit and grab my cup, taking a sip of the iced brown sugar shaken espresso. A double shot, no less.
I want to be wide awake for this reunion.
With a soft thump, my cup lands on the table. I reach across, my hand outstretched in a silent invitation. She glides her hand into mine, her skin just as soft as I remember. I rub small circles with my thumb on the top of her flesh.
Even with the memory of our sexy reunion kiss lingering, a sense of foreboding settles in as I know we need to talk about everything that led up to it. “Let’s rip off the band-aid and hash it all out.” She nods. “What happened after I left the bar that night? With Dexter. With you. I want to know everything.”
With a long, shuddering sigh that carries the weight of the past five years, she lets it all out. Anger builds in my chest as she relays how Dexter treated her theday after, choosing to never see her again. After everything, he shut her out. Unbelievable.
What a piece of sh—I guess one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.Whatever.
