my arms and something else altogether pooling low in my belly. When they slip back into my hair, he cups my jaw in his big hand and sighs against my lips.
It’s the sigh that undoes me. As has always been the case with us, so much is spoken with what’s unspoken, and this moment is no different. The sigh tells me he’s waited for this as long as I have and that maybe, just maybe, the touch of our lips is twisting him up inside as much as it is me.
I let my hand drift from his chest to the waistband of his boxer briefs. He breaks the kiss and draws in a sharp breath as he stops me with a hand around my wrist.
“Let me,” I whisper. I pull from his grasp and graze my fingertips against the skin just above his waistband. “Please.”
“Mia.” He rubs his hands down my arms. Goosebumps cover my skin, and his warm hands simultaneously heat it and remind me just how cold I am. “You’re freezing. Let’s go to the car.”
I don’t want to leave. I want to stay right here. On this rock. In this moment where Arrow kisses me and I have the courage to touch him. But he’s already slipping back into the water, taking my moment away.
I follow him, and we swim in silence to the dock and gather our clothes off the shore before heading to the car.
Suddenly too aware of my near-nudity, I step into my shorts and clutch my shirt to my chest. “I don’t want to go home,” I tell his back as he reaches the Mustang. And he can take that however he wants—like I’m some brazen hussy or like I’m avoiding Brogan, who will undoubtedly be looking for me at the apartment. Maybe both are true.
Arrow nods, opens the driver’s-side door, and pops the trunk. He grabs a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders. “So we’ll stay here and watch the sun rise.”
Taking his hand, I climb through the front door into the tiny back seat of Arrow’s Mustang while he turns on the heat, kills the lights, and turns on the dome light. There’s not enough room back here for him to sit comfortably with his long legs, but he follows me anyway, pulling the door closed behind him before wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
I settle into him, leaning my head against his chest. “I don’t understand you,” I say, peeking up at him through my lashes.
“What don’t you understand?”
I take a breath and let it out slowly. “One second I think you like me, I think maybe you want me, and the next . . .”
He squeezes his eyes shut, and I watch his throat move as he swallows. “You’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not trashed. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Okay,” I admit. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Only what I want.” But that’s not completely true either. I know what I want right now. But tomorrow? Next week?
“You’ve been drinking,” he repeats, but he softens the words by following them with a kiss on top of my head. “Are you warm enough?”
I nod against his chest, then wiggle the blanket off one shoulder so I can wrap it behind him. Now we’re both under the blanket together.
“Tell me something,” he says.
“Like what?”
He swallows. “Something about your childhood. A good memory.”
“I have a lot of those. I had a good childhood. Nic pestered me mercilessly as big brothers do, but we had fun.” I let my eyes float closed, remembering the good days. “Mom would take us to the park and on these long hikes through the woods. She’d tell us stories about Prince Nicholas and Princess Mia and the adventures they had trying to save their kingdom from various villains. We thought she was the smartest woman ever, and we’d beg for her to tell us more stories, so she’d use them to get us to do our chores. She’d tell us stories while we folded the laundry or helped her with dinner.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.” I smile remembering it. She wasn’t just a good mom. She was amazing. “I didn’t know we were poor. I mean, it was clear the other kids at school had more stuff and nicer clothes, but I was probably in fourth grade before I realized that was something worth envying. When my mom was around, life at home was better than good. It was rich. Anything felt