Page 66 of Shattered Sun
“All good.” My affirmation comes out throaty.
Swallowing past the sudden dry patch, I bring the spoon to my mouth and take the first bite. An explosion of flavor hits my tongue—tangy and salty, buttery and creamy, smoky with a hint of sweetness—and I moan loud enough to garner attention from other patrons.
“Damn, that is good.”
Kirsten laughs as my cheeks heat. Then my laughter blends with hers, and it is the lightest I have felt in a long time.
This invisible structure forms around us—weightless and carefree—for the rest of dinner. The sullen woman who greeted me at the start of the evening is nowhere to be seen. Boisterous and flirty Kirsten is back in full force.MyKirsten.
After I settle the bill and we don our coats, she leads me out a side door and on to an enclosed wood deck. We climb a flight of stairs, her hair whipping as we reach the top. Guiding me toward the rail, she leans against it and sighs.
“I love this part of the restaurant,” she whispers into the wind. “In the summer, they throw parties up here. Good food, great people, and the best view.”
While she stares at the bay, I memorize her profile in the fading light. How the shadows dance over the arch of her brow, the slope and flare of her nose, the perfect pout of her lips. My eyes roam over the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose and beneath her eyes, less noticeable than they once were. And the stars… they twinkle behind her but are no match to her beauty.
The glow of the lighthouse bulb flashes over her face and she twists in my direction, blinking a few times.
With one look, she locks me in place. The salty air hums between us, growing thick and warm and potent. On instinct, I inch closer to her. Breathe faster and harder when the hum expands, morphs, becomes more intense, palpable.
I lift a hand to her cheek, trailing the back of my finger down the line of her jaw, my eyes following the action. Her lips part as she inhales a shaky breath, her body trembling beneath my touch. Unhurried, I trace the column of her throat, pausing just before the hollow. And before I overthink my next move, I lean in and press my lips to hers.
Soft and warm and sweet, her lips quiver beneath mine. I lick her bottom lip and she gasps, her breasts pressing my chest, her body melting against mine. Barely a beat passes before I dip my tongue inside and taste her. Salty and sweet and something distinctly Kirsten. Her tongue sweeps over mine and heat explodes beneath my sternum.
I moan into the kiss a second before I’m shoved away. The wind is a slap to the face, but not as hard and painful as the icy glare from Kirsten. The hum from moments ago is long gone. Now, the space between us is loaded with shame and regret and embarrassment.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Yes.” Her brows furrow. “No.” She stares up at the stars, swallows, and shakes her head. “Yes.”
Taking a step toward her, I chuckle. “Gonna need you to be a little clearer, sparkles.” Another step. “Yes or—”
“I’m with Travis,” she blurts out, cutting me off.
Her confession is a ruthless punch to the gut, robbing me of breath and sense and hope. I repeat the words over and over in my head, swearing I misheard her. Because Kirsten with Travis is a reality I can’t seem to grasp.
“What do you mean you’re withhim?” My fingers ball into fists at my sides. “Since when?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugs herself tightly. “We haven’t labeled our relationship.” The muscles in her jaw flex as she gives me her profile. “But we’re more than friends.” She swallows, then meets my gaze. “For a couple weeks.”
I lay my forearms on the rail, take a deep breath, then another, as I stare at the now inky sky. Closing my eyes, I focus on my surroundings. The salty, cool air on my skin. The waft of spices from the kitchen below. The cheers and chatter from patrons at the restaurant’s bar watching sports games over a beer. The sturdy rail beneath my arms.
Determination floods my veins as I open my eyes. I refuse to lie down and give up.
“Are you sure?” I ask a breath above a whisper.
She grips the rail but keeps a foot of space between us. Heat blankets me as I eye that gap in my periphery. “What?”
Figuring I have nothing to lose, I turn to face her and shift closer. “Are you really with him?”Closer. “What kind of man makes a womanthinkthey’re more but gives no clear indication?”
“Ben, don’t.” She takes a step back.
Uncomfortable topic? Good.
I shuffle forward. “Why? Because it makes you question if youarein a relationship with him?” I reach out and capture her hair between my fingers, staring at the buttery locks. Swallowing, I inch closer. Meet her stormy gaze with nothing but deep affection. “You would never have to question how I feel for you.” I release her hair and trail my fingers down her jacket-clad arm. “You would never have to question whether or not I am yours. Whether I belong to you and you to me.”
Her eyes fall shut as she trembles beneath my touch. “Ben, I’m begging you.” Shaking her head, she opens her eyes. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“Where is he, Kirsten?” Voice soft, I invade every ounce of her personal space. “You’re here with me, not him.”