hungered for a taste of him, even if he was evil and manipulative and I was only a temporary fascination in his immortal existence.
But life had taught me that nothing lasted. Youth and beauty faded. Physical strength diminished as wisdom flourished. Love changed. The world spun on and time passed whether I lived my life or didn’t. Whether I took risks or played it safe.
I was done playing it safe.
So I pushed off the steps. A breeze stirred the hair on the back of my neck. Water dripped from the still wet leaves as I moved across the concrete path toward him. He waited, that hot green gaze boring into me. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as though he had just stopped himself from reaching for me.
My hands smoothed up his chest. Beneath the windbreaker that matched my own, he had changed back into the flannel shirt tucked into jeans. Because I said I preferred this look? I did. It made him seem infinitely more accessible to me than the power suit. No changing the fact that Joey Whitmore was a small-town girl at heart.
The sweet scent of autumn leaves mingled with the spicy musk that was his unique fragrance. My inhale reached all the way to my toes, determined to savor the moment.
“You’re making me crazy,” he muttered.
I shook my head. “That was never my intent.”
“I know. That’s why it works. No games or guile, no power plays. You have no idea how appealing you are to me, lamb.”
He dipped his head and waited. Through the screen door, the first bong of the hour sounded on the grandfather clock. Seven PM. We were almost out of time.
My hands slid up to grip his shoulders. I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach his lips. Soft, so incredibly soft as I brushed my mouth against his. It was a light, sweet kiss, one filled with affection and gentleness, admiration, and a spark of magic.
Another bong. A third. I brushed my lips across his and held my heat and need in check. I was no randy teenager to lose myself in a kiss. And yet, when his hands drifted to my hips and he pulled me even closer, my toes curled. I lapped at the seam of his mouth tentatively and a harsh groan escaped. He tasted like sin, like the very essence of life itself. A wild thought flitted through my mind. This is what I’ve been missing.
At some point, my fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. I gripped him as though I never wanted to let him go.
A sexual fire burned in me. A flame I had all but forgotten I possessed. Kissing Robin fed it, made it burn brighter…hotter…until it threatened to consume me.
The seventh and final gong sounded and though I didn’t want to, I withdrew.
“Please help me find her.” The words were exhaled from my mouth even as I gulped for air. “We’re almost out of time.”
He too seemed out of breath. His eyes were hot as they fixed on my lips as though he’d gotten only a small taste of a dish he craved. Then he stepped back from me and shook his head. “Come on, I know where to look.”
He held out a hand and I took it. The connection felt different this time. My awareness of him was open. In fact, everything seemed sharper, more compelling. It was as though when lost in the throes of that kiss I had developed another sense that fed me new information about the world.
Would it fade? If not, could I close it back down? Would I want to?
Judging from the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze something had changed for Robin too.
But there was no time to talk about it.
Robin shifted us from the wet walkway in front of my house to a gravel path that stood before a rickety-looking barn.
I spun in a circle, not recognizing the location. A farm for sure. What looked like a hillside dotted with Christmas trees rolled down the hill. Bill Tucker’s grandparents had a Christmas tree farm. This must be their property. Without the streetlights that stretched along the walkways in town, I only had the light of the moon to go by but it didn’t appear there were any other structures nearby. “Are you sure this is where I am?”
He nodded wordlessly and pointed to a circular turn around with an old chestnut tree in the center. A dilapidated tire swing