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I laugh, “You followed me all the way here to ask about Bloomington?”
He stops on the footbridge.
“I followed you here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you from the moment I saw you at the festival today.”
I give him a saucy look. “So you’re just following me around for my looks, huh?”
“I like the way you looked. Sure. But I’m following you around because I liked you even more after we talked. I just knew there was something special about you, and I wanted to explore that specialness.”
If he’s trying to sweep me off my feet, he’ll have to do better than that. I don’t care if my knees are tingling or if he gives me the flutters inside my panties. Any hot guy can do that.
“And now that you have explored some of that specialness?”
Rowan’s fingers release my hand, and the next thing I know, that big mitt spans the whole side of my face. His touch is rough, warm, and solid. “Now? I see you. And I think you see me too. Not everybody understands people like us. But I get you. And I know you have to go back to Bloomington, but dammit, I don’t want you to go.”
Wow. That’s…something.
Ah, hell. I’m gonna be fired anyway; I might as well break the other rule.
I roll up on my toes and lean in. And I wait.
He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face when he speaks. “What, you’re not gonna kiss me again?”
“I’m waiting for you to make a move this time.”
And just before he brushes his lips over mine, Rowan murmurs, “Good girl.”
That warm hand that cups my face drags downward and back, until he’s grasping the entire back of my neck. No onehas ever kissed me so fervently before. Soft, and passionate, his teasing tongue promising a whole lot more than kissing.
Rowan’s free hand roams down my spine, down to my hips, up my sides, exploring everything, as if committing my every curve to memory.
I grasp the hem of that clean-smelling shirt as we kiss, needing more closeness.
“Don’t think about touching me, just do it,” he rasps.
He growls low in his chest when my hand roams under that shirt hem, flattening my palm over his abdomen. The soft trail of hair from his lower chest down to the fly of his jeans is a pleasant surprise. For some reason I imagined him being as hairless as a dolphin, but the fuzz is delightful. The more I explore as we kiss, the more he groans.
“Are you gonna touch me, Rowan?” I ask between kisses.
With a growl, he hikes up my nightgown, his hand claiming my lower belly.
The sensation is so new and overwhelming that I pull back from the kiss to catch my breath. I gasp as he drags his hand downward and fingers my white cotton panties.
Just when I think he’s going to go lower, he goes higher, hiking my nightie up as he cups one of my breasts.
Our mouths meet again, his tongue licking the seam of my lips. I open at his urging, and our tongues meet in a slow, sensuous dance as he slides his hand over my breast. Rowan’s fingers toy with my nipple, pulling a moan out of me.
He tastes like spearmint gum and mouthwash, and I smile against his lips. He’s made an effort. And I love effort.
My hand hesitates at the button of his jeans. I don’t want to take it out in the middle of nature. What if a bug bites his left nut and he gets Lyme disease?
“What’s on your mind, B?”
“Let’s go to my room,” I whisper, shivering against him.
“Shit. You’re freezing.” He apologizes as he crushes me against him. “And you’re barefoot. Are you crazy?”
“Maybe,” I say, muffled into his chest. Oh yes, he smells even better up close—woodsy soap, the outdoors, and all him—and I inhale every microscopic hormone and pheromone he sloughs off.
