Page 100 of Wish Upon A Star

“Do you understand?” she asks, her voice a rough whisper.

I nod. Swallow hard. “Yeah, Jo. I understand.”

“So.” She brushes my lips with both of her thumbs. “I need you to make me one tiny little promise.”

I pull her against me, hold her waist. “And that would be what?”

She blinks hard. Swallows. “After…after I…”

I shake my head, and it’s my turn to shush her with my finger over her lips. “Nope, nope, nope. We’re not going there, we’re not talking about after anything. Absolutely not. I will make no promises, and we’re not discussing it. We’re going to enjoy today. This moment. You’re here, you’re okay, you’re alive and we’re together and we’re going to have an amazing, magical, romantic day together.”

“But Wes—” she protests.

“No!” I snap, my voice a harsher growl than I’d intended. “We arenothaving that conversation.”

She nods. Eyes closed, breathing in deeply, slowly. “Okay—okay. Yeah, you’re right.”

I pull her close and sigh. “I’m sorry. That was—that came out harsher than I intended.”

She nuzzles against my chest. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“So, what we’re going to do now is, you’re going to kiss me and we’re going to put all that shit out of our minds. All that matters is you and me, and this day. That’s it. So, Jolene Park, kiss me like you mean it.”

Her lips curve in a smile and she lifts up on her toes and nuzzles my lips with hers, teasing, toying, touching. And then…our mouths fuse, and it’s not me kissing her or her kissing me, but a mutual meeting, desire matching desire. I give her my breath, take her tongue. Her fingers bury in my hair and clutch me, fierce and strong, and her body presses against mine and I feel her desperation, her hunger, her need, her intensity.

How long do we kiss there, like that? An eternity? Mere moments?

Not long enough.

I could kiss her forever, never stop, never need to breathe or pause or move, only her, only this kiss.

Alas, it ends, eventually.

We pull away at the same time, and our eyes open, and she’s smiling, glowing, lit by the late afternoon sun.

I lift her into the helicopter, and fasten the five-point harness, teasing and flirting with touches, “accidentally” brushing her inner thighs and her breasts more than is strictly necessary.

She bites her lip and sits still for it.

I give her a headset and help her adjust it, then buckle myself in and fit my own headset on. Give the pilot the thumbs-up.

A few minutes of preflight checklist and the engine warming up and the rotors getting up to speed, and she’s gripping my hand and watching everything at once—or trying to.

Her grin is ear to ear.

Joy radiates from her. It’s infectious, pushing warmth into me from skin inward, like sunlight melting through my flesh and heating my bones and filling my veins with light—this is Jolene: joy, life, and light.

I take mental snapshots of her smile as we lift off.

Memorize the excited glee in her laughter as she peers out the window at the ground now hundreds and then thousands of feet down as we tilt forward and pick up speed.

I burn into my soul the feel of her hand in mine, fingers twined. Her eyes lit up like the sun on the rippling green sea. Jade and grass and leaves, sunlit—the color of her eyes.

Skin: pale cream dappled with freckles.

Her hair: Copper and sunset red.

All of her: beautiful. Alive. Vital, and pure.