Page 55 of The Executioners Three
Things were looking up for Theo Porter. Sure, he had a hole in his stomach that hurt like hell and someone had spilled hot cider on his boots. But it was so easy to forget that when he was kissing Freddie Gellar.
She made everything easy, from understanding what had happened to him to actually imagining a future.
Above all, kissing her was easy. Just the most natural thing in the world. Theo forgot he even had stitches across his abdomen because her lips and her sighs and her fingers were the most potent painkillers.
So it was inevitable that they would—once more—lose themselves in each other on stage, audience be damned. Just as it was inevitable that, after being forced off by a frantic chorus teacher, they’d aim for the shadows behind the water mill.
It was a place Theo had started to think of as their spot, ever since that first pageant rehearsal that had changed everything between them.
They half ran, even if it really was against the doctor’s orders, and the almost boisterous noise of the pageant faded, softened, muffled completely as Freddie pulled Theo around to the other side of the mill.
In moments, the only sounds were voices echoing into the night and the soft burble of wintery water.
“Gellar,” Theo said softly as his hands slid around her waist and he pulled her close. He’d never known he could find 1600s garb this sexy, but he was really into it on Freddie. With her wild hair and sharp eyes, with her curves and her wit…
“Yes, Mr. Porter?”
“I would like for you to know that you are just as good at distracting me now as you were two weeks ago. I mean, technically I have an abdominal wound that’s four inches long, but I don’t feel a thing when you kiss me.”
“Well, I do have that effect on everyone.” Freddie preened, flipping her dark curls over one shoulder—and revealing the pale line of her neck.
Theo had to forcibly restrain himself from immediately kissing her there.
He wanted to have this conversation first. It was important.
So much of his life really was looking up—he had a guaranteed spot at Allard Fortin, as well as more than enough money to fix his Silver Sweetheart, pay for college, and get his dad a better apartment.
But Theo wasn’t sure he could really enjoy any of it until he said exactly what he needed to.
And in turn, heard what he really wanted to hear.
“I hope you don’t actually have that effect on everyone,” he told her, half in jest. Half serious. “Because…” He swallowed. “I’d prefer it if you only had that effect on me.”
Freddie sniffed primly. “In that case, I regret to inform you that it isn’t something I can turn off and on again. It’s a constant state of being.”
“I believe it, Gellar. But… Well, do you think you could grant me exclusive rights?”
“You want exclusive rights to my charm and cleverness?”
“Yes. And to, ah, your distraction techniques.” Theo’s gaze raked over her face, then her neck. “Assuming those rights are still available.”
She smiled now. That bright, delighted smile that she was never too shy to share with the world. “I might consider such exclusivity, Mr. Porter, depending on what you offer in return.”
“How about instead of considering what you’d get from me, you instead consider what you wouldn’t get. Because you see, you are my fire.”
She gasped, recoiling far enough that she hit the water mill. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Theo grinned. “The one desire.”
“No, no, no. If you continue to quote the Backstreet Boys at me, then I cannot be held accountable for my actions.”
“But Gellar, you have to believe me when I say, I want it—”
Freddie kissed him. A hard, hungry kiss on the lips that made Theo move just as hard and hungrily against her. Perhaps too hard and hungrily, given his stitches… But it was so easy, so natural.
When at last they pulled apart, both fully breathless, Theo murmured: “You really are dangerous, Freddie Gellar. But I guess…” He smiled. “I want it that way.”
“How dare you!” Freddie smacked him lightly on the arm… and then kissed him on the lips all over again.
And together, Theo and Freddie practiced their very best distraction techniques while the autumn wind whispered, a cold stream trilled, and a positively effervescent Fête du B?cheron rallied late into the night.