Page 83 of Escape

So, I took advantage of the moment and the way he was looking so adoringly at me. I pressed my palm to the center of his chest and slid it up toward his neck as my eyes focused on his mouth.

Huck must have realized what was happening because I felt his fingers press in firmly on my shoulder as his other hand landed on my hip.

The next thing I knew, my lips had brushed up against his, and I inhaled the scent of him.

God, he smelled good.

Being in his arms felt even better.

But I knew nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to compare to being kissed by him.

“Josie,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

I didn’t back away. I didn’t hesitate. I’d wanted this for as long as I could remember. “Kiss me, Huck.”

As he always did, Huck gave me what I needed.

He gave me that and then some.

Because the moment his lips touched mine, something all-consuming moved through me. This man was meant to be mine.

Or, perhaps more precisely, I was always meant to be his.

TWENTY-TWO

Huck

Regret.

God, so much regret.

When I walked into Betty’s weeks ago and ran into Josie for the first time in years, I wound up having what I thought could easily be considered an unhealthy number of thoughts about her. She consumed nearly every waking thought, and I wasn’t too proud to admit I thought about all the things I wanted to do to and with her.

Kissing her had been close to the top of the list.

With what I’d learned was happening in her personal life and what did happen when she decided to accept my offer to help her get out, the thoughts I had about Josie had shifted. They were all about making sure I could see her through the worst of it and helping her to heal.

Sure, I’d had moments with her that made it impossible not to consider other possibilities, but for the most part, I was solely focused on her recovery.

Ever since I brought her home from the hospital, things had changed. With each day that passed, I saw new parts of her to admire and respect—her determination and tenacity, her softness and vulnerability, and her laughter and playfulness.

And once Josie started going to her therapy sessions and getting her rehab for her shoulder, I found myself unable to resist the urge I had to start steering us where I hoped to see us go. As her physical and emotional health improved—she’d been getting great progress reports from the doctor and physical therapist and had only had one nightmare not long after she started therapy—I felt better about taking baby steps toward finding something even more meaningful between us.

I didn’t want to push her before she was ready; I didn’t want to be blind to the fact she likely had a lot to work through with her therapist.

But I was struggling to hold myself back. I was finding it extremely difficult not to blur the line between friendship and attraction.

I wanted to do more than just touch her arm or squeeze her hand. I wanted more than the occasional hug and constant conversations.

I wanted to kiss her.

I wanted to taste her.

I wanted to touch her in places I’d never touched her before.

I wanted to make her mine.

So, I thought about all those things. I thought about them often—not only just doing them, but also about how it would feel. Would her lips be as soft as they seemed? How would she taste? When I touched her body, would it shudder beneath my fingertips? And how would she react when I called her mine?