Page 77 of Making It Up

“We’re just gonna stay here like this all night?” he asks. “I like this, but I had bigger plans.”

I like the sound of that. I pull back slightly to look into his eyes. “I’m intrigued.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel heat slide through me.

“And if I stay this close to you, I might kiss you. Wouldn’t want to ruin the memory from the deer stand.”

I deserve that, considering my sassy remark last night. “I’m starting to think it might be worth the risk,” I tell him.

He takes a short breath. “I’m glad to hear that. But maybe we should go up to the house.”

That seems like a great idea. I lean back further. “Okay.”

He stands staring down at me for a moment, his hands braced on the seat on either side of my hips.

Then he mutters something that sounds like dammit before leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.

And just like that, I’m convinced that stopping this to go up to the house is a terrible idea.

I slip my arms back around his neck and arch closer, tipping my head as one of his hands slides from the seat over my hip, up my side, to the back of my neck. He holds me still as he deepens the kiss, his mouth opening, and his tongue seeking entrance. I readily part my lips, and he groans.

He tastes my mouth fully, and I deeply regret not kissing him last night. I won’t make that mistake again. I now hope that David Bennett will kiss me every single day for the rest of my life.

That realization slams into me, and I jerk back.

I blink up at him, breathing quickly. Oh crap. I am falling into this head over heels. I’m thinking things like the rest of my life on our second kiss.

That is not good.

Yes, he just hinted that this is feeling less casual to him, but that doesn’t mean that he’s thinking in terms of never kissing anyone else again.

I take a deep breath as I try to calm my heart rate and spinning thoughts.

He seems to be studying my eyes.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod quickly. I’m not not okay. I realized what was happening and I stopped it. I’m aware that I’m going too fast. I’m not blindly falling in love. I’m not broken-hearted.

Yet.

David Bennett probably kisses every woman the way he just kissed me, and as long as I understand that and don’t get caught up in thinking this is like my fanfiction, where everything works out the way I want it to, then I’ll be fine.

“Yeah. I’m definitely okay,” I say, giving him a wobbly smile.

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You still want to go up to my house?”

So much that I probably should say no, actually. But I nod. “Yes.” I want to see this backyard surprise. I want to spend more time with him. I do want to kiss him some more. I just need to keep my thoughts and feelings about it all realistic.

The way he smiles at my answer does not help me feel any less oh-crap-I-want-so-much-more-than-I-expected.

He pushes away from me, shoves a hand through his hair as he studies me for another moment, then turns and climbs back down into the ditch to retrieve my muddy boots.

He somehow straps them into the back of the four-wheeler, then comes around to climb on. But not before he eyes my bare legs beneath the skirt of my dress.

“Not really four-wheeler attire,” he comments.

“I got a very firm text from Game and Parks saying that tonight wasn’t a good night for four-wheeling.”