Page 32 of Whiskey and Whispers
Before she could talk herself out of it, Cat pushed all the good reasons to do nothing out of her mind. This wasn’t about being wise and playing it safe. This was about stepping out on the precipice, closing her eyes, and jumping.
Don’t look down. Don’t think about it too much. Grab onto that life and go for a ride.
She’d done that once before when she’d given the crazy idea of being a model a chance. It hadn’t worked out badly. She could take that leap again. This wasn’t any crazier.
“I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me.”
Even in the dim light of the campus quad, she could see it. Shock. Pure shock.
She’d screwed this up royally.
I should have stayed in New York City.
It had been one hell of a day.
First, one of his best friends was gunned down in cold blood, and now Cat was telling him she wanted to kiss him. Or she wanted him to kiss her. Either way, the outcome was the same.
It was all unexpected, and he hadn’t had either of these items on this year’s bingo card. He’d thought he’d meet up with Cat, they’d chat politely about the past and what they were doing now, and then they’d simply nod and wave to one another whenever they saw each other around town.
But that hadn’t happened.
The simmering attraction between them was still there. It had been covered up and pushed away for a long time, but with each passing moment, it strengthened. The tension he’d first felt hadn’t just been anger. No, it had been something else.
Heat.
His verbal scolding last night had been a coward’s way of dealing with his emotions. His anger had been real and justified, but not to that degree. He’d tried pushing her away, and then had gone right back as if the entire thing hadn’t happened. He’d offered her a ride to the hospital because he wanted to be near her. It was that simple.
And that complicated.
If he kissed her, he would want to kiss her again. And again. While he hadn’t spent his free time these last several years fantasizing about Cat or dreaming about her coming back, he had a feeling that kissing her would wipe away all of the peace he’d carefully constructed for himself. Nothing would be the same afterward.
Cat, however, had decided that his silence was a refusal.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, rising from the step and slowly backing away. “I should go home.”
Fuck it. Thinking is overrated.
He also levered up, and with two long strides, he stood in front of her. Catching her up in his arms, he pulled her close to his body, the heat searing through his clothes all the way to his skin.
Pressing his lips to hers, Tate’s fingers snaked through her long, silky hair, but not before caressing the creamy skin of her cheek. Kissing her felt like a tall, cool drink after a long, hot walk through the desert.
Petal soft lips. Intoxicating scent.
Every rational thought in his head had dissolved with an aching need taking their place. He hadn’t even known how starved he was, and yet now he couldn’t get enough of the woman in his arms.
To his surprise, Cat appeared to feel the same. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, pressing herself against him, wanting to be as close as possible.
It was only Tate and Cat in their own little world. Just the two of them. No one else mattered.
“Dude, get a room!”
There it was. Reality again. Unwanted, but needed.
He and Cat weren’t teenagers necking in the car by the lake after the local football game. They were adults making out on the steps of the campus auditorium in full view of a bunch of students walking by. Utter madness.
They pulled apart reluctantly, the evening air cool on his fevered skin. His instincts screamed to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his cave so he could have his wicked way with her. The more civilized part of his brain said that he should say something.
He had no idea what that might be. What does a person say to someone they loved a long time ago, and then kissed fourteen years later? No college class or rom-com had adequately prepared him.
