Page 9 of The Family Friend

Ten years overdue, but finally.

I stand and walk towards her chair, sitting on my haunches just in front of her. I do it so slowly, giving her room to pull back if she wants to. But she doesn't pull back.

Harriet stays right there, lips parted slightly, fingers gripping the armrest.

Then her eyes go wide and she's up, chair scraping against the stone fire ring.

"I should go. I'm sorry, Heath. I can't⁠—"

And she's gone, running toward the line of houses, toward the strip of woods behind them.

Damn it. I did it again. Misjudged, pushed too hard, read something that wasn't there. The old fear roars up—of course, what did I expect? A woman like her, and me lunging across a campfire like some kid who never learned when to quit.

But I can't let it end like last time. Won't let her run and then spend another ten years wondering what if.

No. If she says she doesn't want me, then that's it. But this running and not knowing? It's going to kill me.

My legs are longer, and I'm used to moving fast. I catch up to her at the tree line, both of us breathing hard. The fire's glow is gone here, just darkness and the sound of the lake behind us and her face tipped up to mine in the scattered moonlight.

She's pressed against an old oak, chest rising and falling, looking at me like I'm something dangerous. Maybe I am. Maybe we both are.

"Harriet—"

But I don't finish the thought. Don't give her another chance to run. I step into her space, cup her jaw, and kiss her.

3

HARRIET

The kiss crashes into me like a storm I never saw coming.

Heath's mouth claims mine, and for one stunned second, my brain shorts out completely. This isn't happening. Not after ten years. Not after I ran from him at the firepit like some scared teenager all over again.

But it is. His lips move against mine with a hunger that matches every filthy fantasy I've buried deep. Better than those fantasies. So much better.

The scrape of his stubble, the way his tongue teases the seam of my mouth until I open for him. Everything.

I slide my arms around his neck and push up onto my toes, kissing him back with everything I've got. He groans into it, the sound vibrating through my chest, and presses me harder against the rough bark of the oak.

The world tilts. One of his big hands cups my ass, the other hooks under my thigh, and suddenly, my feet leave the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking, ankles locking at the small of his back.

The position lines us up perfectly. His hardness presses right against my center through our clothes, thick and insistent, and heat floods between my legs so fast I feel dizzy.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps against my mouth, pulling back just enough for me to see the wild look in his blue eyes. In all the years I've known Heath, I have never seen him like this.

"No."

The word barely leaves my lips before he's kissing me again, deeper this time, like he's trying to memorize the taste of me. His mouth trails along my jaw, finds the sensitive spot just below my ear that makes my toes curl, and ever lower to the frantic pulse at the base of my throat, right between my collarbones.

Jesus Christ.

Every press of his lips sends sparks racing down my spine.

He pulls back again, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine. "Loft?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. We break apart and run toward the house, feet pounding over the grass.

The moment we hit the porch steps, we slow, forcing ourselves to walk like normal people instead of two adults about to combust. My heart slams against my ribs. Between my legs, my pussy throbs with every step, already slick and aching.