Page 140 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Only if you're caught. Like in those cozy mystery books."
She laughs, bright and surprised.
"Those books exaggerate the obvious! We all know who the killer is by chapter three, but somehow the amateur detective doesn't figure it out until?—"
I kiss her.
Not gentle, not careful, not the slow, considerate courtship I keep telling myself she needs. I kiss her like she's water and I've been crawling through the desert for months. I kiss her because if I don't, if I have to listen to her talk about the twins and their stupidly charming faces and even stupider kisses one more second, I'll combust on the spot. Self-control is for people with less at stake. I want her, and in this moment, I want her to know it.
She stiffens in surprise, and just as I'm about to curse myself for moving too fast, her arms wind around my neck and she kisses me back. It's not a polite, exploratory little peck, either. It's needy, mouth open to mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my uniform like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go. Her lips taste like maple and vanilla, sweet and a little daring, and every time she breathes I get a lungful of her, sugar-dusted pumpkin and something bright and alive underneath. I lose my goddamn mind.
She moans, barely a sound, but I feel it vibrate through her body. I tighten my hold at her waist, lifting her clean off theground until she's on her toes against me. It's instinct, pack impulse, every Alpha urge I've ever tried to keep civil. I want to press her to everything I am, show her exactly where she fits. She digs her fingers into the back of my neck and kisses me deeper, tongue brushing mine. All I can think is mine, mine, mine, and some buried part of me is terrified I'll never get enough.
The whole world blurs around us. The bookmobile, the fairgrounds, the knowing looks from the people walking by. I don't care. It's just me and Hazel, the warmth of her pressed full against the length of my body, the perfect give of her mouth, the way she smells like autumn and home and hopeless longing. I slide my hand from her waist to the nape of her neck, threading my fingers through her hair. She shivers, arches a little closer, and that's it. I'm gone.
I slow it down, just barely, nipping at her bottom lip, trying to remember how to breathe. She gasps, and I can't help grinning into the kiss, because I've wanted to fluster her like this since the day we met. Hell, since way before I was supposed to want anything. I try to remind myself that we're in public, that I'm a grown man, a whole-ass fire lieutenant with a reputation for being calm and collected. But all those years of discipline are fried. Hazel Holloway is in my arms and she’s kissing me like her life depends on it, and I'd give her anything she asked for, right then and there.
She pulls back, just an inch, and I chase her lips automatically. Can't help it. She laughs, breathless, a low, incredulous sound that makes me want to go back in for more. Instead I rest my forehead against hers, both of us sucking air like we've run a marathon.
"Wow," she manages, one hand still tangled in my shirt. "That was—um?—"
"Yeah," I say, voice hoarse. My hands are shaking a little, which explains why I'm gripping her so tight. I force myself to letgo, though every instinct is screaming not to. "Sorry. That was probably not?—"
She shakes her head with a little squeak, cheeks flushed and lips red and absolutely kissable. "Are you kidding? That was—" She stops herself, searching for a word, though I can read every thought on her face. She looks hungry and dazed and a little terrified, which is exactly how I feel.
I want to say something clever, something smooth, but all I can do is look at her and marvel that this is real. That she's real. That she kissed me back. My heart is pounding so loud, I’m sure she can hear it.
She licks her lips, still catching her breath. "So, um. Are you going to murder your friends now, or?—?"
I groan and drag a hand through my hair, trying to regain composure. "They've got it coming. But I might owe them one, too. If they hadn't pushed me—" I stop, take a long, shaky breath. "I'm sorry if I was too much."
Hazel blinks, surprised. "Rowan. I can handle 'too much.' Actually, for once, I'd prefer it."
The words settle somewhere deep, in a place I've kept locked up for too long. I want to believe her. I want to give in to every reckless, selfish thing I've ever wanted to do to her. But she's still looking at me with those enormous brown eyes, like she can't quite trust this is happening. Like maybe, any minute now, the world will snap her back to reality.
"Okay," I say. My voice is thick. "I'm only going to ask this once, and you have to be honest. Did you want that?"
She scoffs, incredulous, and then her lips twist into this mischievous little smirk that takes me out at the knees. "You think I let just anyone tongue me in public?"
I burst out laughing, not even trying to hold it back. The release of tension is so complete, I almost feel dizzy. I want to scoop her up and spin her around, but instead I settle forcatching her hand and lacing our fingers together, grounding both of us.
Hazel's looking at me with a new kind of hunger now. Not just physical, though that's definitely in the mix. It's like she wants to devour every second of this—us—before it goes away.
She squeezes my hand, and I sense what she's about to say before she opens her mouth. "I've wanted to kiss you since the first day you came into the bakery." She says it fast, like she has to get it out before she loses courage. "But I thought you were being polite. Or just not interested. Or?—"
"I'm interested," I growl, and she shivers again, her pupils dilating at the sound. Beneath the sweetness of her, I catch a spike of something sharper—adrenaline, maybe, or the first curl of true heat. My own scent is all smoke and cedar and want, barely leashed.
She bites her lip, eyes dropping to my mouth before flicking back up. "I think, uh, the bookmobile is going to close soon. Unless you want to keep making out on the sidewalk."
I glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the proprietor is giving us a look that is equal parts amused and scandalized. I recognize him as one of the Betas from the Hollow's End Book Nook, and he gives me a sly thumbs-up before ducking back inside.
"I vote for the bookmobile," I say. "But we can revisit the sidewalk option later."
She grins, the dimple on her left cheek appearing and damn near knocking me out. It’s enough to encourage me to kiss her one last time. It’s less “intense”, if I can even label anything revolving Holloway’s lips less anything, but it’s more “public appropriate”.
I think.
When I pull back, we're both panting. She looks wrecked—lips swollen, eyes glazed, face flushed. I probably don't look much better.
