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“Like I’ve kicked you in the stomach.”

“I merely wish to talk you, as we’ve done before.”

“This isn’t talking. This is you punishing me for wanting somebody who actually wants me back.”

“That is unfair. You know—”

“I do know. The way you miss her...the way you love her...it’s amazing.” Her voice cracked, paining me to hear it. “But you haven’t betrayed her, and until you learn to forgive yourself, you’ll never move on. If you want to be chaste with me, then be chaste with me. I understand, but you can’t hold it against me for looking to someone else, just like you can’t expect whateverthis—” she gestured between us “—whateverthisis to go on like everything’s the same. Now are you going to step aside like a gentleman, or will I have to stampede over you like a bull?”

“Do not go. Please.”

“Don’t ask that of me, Aire!” she exploded. “What the hell do you want? Do you want the truth? It hurts, okay? It hurts to hear you say that. It hurts to be around you—right now, everything about you hurts.” She shouted to the canopy, flinging her arms out in supplication. “For Autumn’s sake, what does a timber girl have to do to get a meaningless tumble around here?”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” I implored.

Her face sagged back down to me, bereft yet resigned as she whispered, “Then leave me alone...or don’t.”

Leave her be. Or do not.

Leave her be. Or choose her.

Aspen shouldered past me and met the boy halfway. An exchange of pleasantries commenced before they swayed into the dance, their arms raised and bent, their upright palms flat and almost touching. He bleated something that made her chuckle, though from my vantage point, she lacked her usual flirtatious swelter.

A fresh wound tore through me, because she was right. That wound bled, and with every brush of the lad’s hand across her waist, a tempest built. I no longer knew myself, or perhaps I had lost this dormant part of me and only newly recovered it: the furious, impassioned part that lived and breathed.

Aspen’s eyes found mine over the boy’s shoulder. Although she tried her best to savor him, she kept straying to me.

She did not know the dance steps.Idid.

Draining the tankard, the astringent taste of earth and wheat pouring through my gullet, I left my post—and with it, my restraint. I would do this sober and make the choice in earnest, for it would take beyond a single serving to tarnish my judgment.

With my gaze never leaving hers, I cut a feverish, exhilarating path through the swirling bodies, deftly sidestepping various feet and slipping around numerous shoulders. Her pace slowed, forcing her partner to frown at her, this turning point dissolving the last of my reservations.

I stopped between them, deaf to whatever challenge her young phallus of a partner spewed at me. Quite simply, I did not care about him, nor anyone in our sphere.

Quite simply, I offered her my gloved hand.

When she took it, my heart soared.

My arm claimed her waist and spun her, left once, then right once. She gripped my biceps, muscles that jumped in response. Her mouth began to curl, that marvelous beauty mark shifting.

Her clothing tossed about with mine, her shirt collar emitting the fragrant note of melted sugar. I released her, and we circled, then switched direction, her body following my lead, and my body following every curvature.

Aspen rotated, the shock of her backside swinging against my groin, a direct course of action, hell bent on rousing me. She did this three times, with none the wiser. Denying me a moment to recuperate, she bid me farewell, dancing away from me, putting villagers and music between us.

A naughty tactic.

Relentless, I trailed her through the crowd, embarking on a provocative game of chase as she held up her skirts and dared me to catch what I wanted.

Amid the stimulus of this celebration, I hunted and snatched her at last. Relishing in her yelp, I hoisted her against me, my arms spanning her back, her breasts pumping into my chest. I lowered my head.

“What have you done to me?” I murmured against her lips.

“The same thing you’ve done to me,” she rasped, barely finishing the sentence as my mouth slanted over hers.

Surrounded, surrendering, I crushed this girl to me and kissed her in the midst of a crowd. She groaned into my mouth and kissed me back. Her lips split beneath mine, a hot chamber for my tongue, the tip writhing against hers in an arduous rhythm.

Kissing Aspen signified a point of no return, akin to being trapped and liberated. I crushed her to my torso, drugged from the decadence of her fingers as they tugged the roots of my hair, spurring me closer.