Page 46 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

Letting go of David’s hand had been easy. I’d never felt like I was missing something.

But now, holding hands with Gabriel across the table in a diner that was so warm condensation dripped down the window panes, I knew what had been missing in my previous relationships.

An emotional connection with someone who made me feel like I was lit up from within. Molten lava flowing like syrup.

Just by holding his hand.

I swallowed, opened my mouth to speak, to ask what this sorcery was, but closed my mouth and said nothing.

His eyes met mine and I saw the answer. There was no real explanation forthis. No way to describe the phenomenon of finding your person, the one who banished the clouds on a gray day and made you wonder how you’d gotten through life without them.

Gabriel turned my hand over and studied my palm like he was reading my future. Or my past. With his index finger, he traced a line that ran up the middle of my palm, and I didn’t know much about palm-reading, but I thought that was my Fate Line.

“That kind of love only comes around once in a lifetime,” he said, intertwining his fingers with mine. “If you’re lucky.”

If you’re lucky.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was already darkwhen we left the diner, and even more bitter cold than it had been earlier.

Gabriel insisted on walking me home but I didn’t want to risk it on the off chance that Annika would choose this very moment to return to our apartment, so I said goodbye on the corner and hurried away before I changed my mind.

I’d only walked half a block when he snagged my hand, reeled me in and framed my face with his hands. “I don’t want to let you go.”

It was so dramatic, so stupidly tragic, that tears stung my eyes.

My best friend wasn’t speaking to me, and the boy of my dreams was standing right in front of me, imploring me to be with him, but I couldn’t even say,Yes, yes, yes, take me. I’m yours. Never let me go.

“Gabriel…” The wordswe can’t do thiswere on the tip of my tongue but those weren’t the words that came out. “Kiss me.”

“Thank fuck. I’ve been dying over here.”

No sooner were the words out than my back hit the wall and our mouths crashed like a thunderstorm.

It was that crazy, frantic kind of kiss where you feel like you might die if you stopped, and I was certain that no one in the history of kissing had ever experienced anything so all-consuming, so thrilling and earth-shattering as this kiss.

His lips, firm but soft. Our hands groping. Fingers tugging.

His tongue swept into my mouth and I tasted coffee. A little bit salty, a little bit sweet. I loved the taste of him and the scent of his skin.

He was like a drug, and I couldn’t get enough.

When he pulled back, I was panting and breathless and needy. I fisted his coat and yanked him toward me.

Our lips collided again. His hands were in my hair and his body was flush against mine, my back pressed against the unyielding brick wall.

We were trying to touch each other everywhere at once, readjusting an inch here, a hand there, my back arching off the wall, desperate to erase every sliver of space and get as close to him as humanly possible.

With our lips still locked, he wrapped his hands around the backs of my thighs and lifted me off the ground. My legs cinched around his waist and even through our layers of clothes, I couldfeelhim.

I thrust my hips and he groaned, the sound so low and guttural, it shot straight to my core. I could feel the wetness seeping through my cotton layers.

“Oh god,” I moaned, digging my fingers into his hair and kissing him like my life depended on it.

We were practically dry humping against a wall, and I didn’t even feel the cold anymore. I felt like I might spontaneously combust into flames.

“Get a room!” a guy shouted, followed by braying laughter and catcalling that effectively jolted me back to reality.