Like I’m a tender thing, a sweetness, something to be cherished and loved and savored like a delicacy.
Like I’m worthy of warmth, desire, and this rushing inferno infusing every pore.
It’s a shot to my heart, a shivering firestorm, as Alaska’s mouth caresses mine in a slow soul-searching kiss.
This wandering smooch that feels like seeing a shooting star for the first time. Like discovering the exhilaration of something profound, and something no one else will ever experience.
Every first kiss pales before it.
God, this is the first kiss—the real one—so powerful no other kiss ever mattered.
His tongue mingles with mine, hot and focused.
When he tastes me, I whimper, and he gives back a molten groan.
His lips make me believe for the tiniest second I’m someone else.
Not my father’s daughter.
Never touched. Never tainted.
Never tasted by anyone but him, and my heart turns electric, stalls, and sighs with pure bliss.
Why did I even try to deny it for so long? To fight this tooth and nail?
I’m head over heels for Alaska Charter.
For this selfless soldier, this amazing father, this stalwart protector who looks at me and doesn’t see the stains of my past.
He just sees the person I am now, everything I fight for, everything I work for, everything that matters in my deepest, darkest dreams.
Yes, he’s rapidly becoming one of those dreams.
And sweet baby Jesus, I want to kiss him forever.
Digging furrows in his shirt with my nails, I clutch at him, leaning in, almost panting against his lips.
Maybe I’m too eager—too needy—but the delicious pressure of his lips feels firm and fiery and thrilling.
My entire body awakens, aware of his bulk, his wild-mint and musk, the way his beard scratches my cheeks with just enough roughness to make the tender, gentle flick of his tongue against my lips that much more sinful.
It feels like we cling to each other for hours, his enormous hands sliding down my back, gripping my waist like he’s shaping me with his touch.
We don’t have hours, though.
We don’t even have minutes.
My heart skips for an entirely different reason as Shrub bounces up at my side, barking at the front door, just as the doorbell chimes through the house with an ominous echo.
Paisley.
That’s my first thought.
Paisley and her goons, that little nightmare pixie standing on my doorstep, waiting to press her pet knife to my throat and demand to know where I’ve got the gold—and how much I’d care if she severed Alaska’s fingers one by one until I tell her.
Calm down.
Calm down. It could be anyone, but if I stall any longer I’m just going to piss her off more.
And if I know anything, it’s that a pissed off nightmare pixie is a highly unstable, lethal nightmare pixie.
I break away from Alaska with a gasp.
He’s breathing hard, looking down at me with smoldering eyes, his lips reddened.
He has no idea what’s going on—the enormity of what could be lurking on the other side of that door—and if I can, I’m going to keep him out of it.
“Crap timing, right?” I say with a shaky smile before pushing myself up on wobbly legs. “Let me get that.”
“Sure,” he says huskily—so throaty, so deep, and despite the terror piled up inside, my blood burns at the desire in his voice.
Even if I don’t want him involved, knowing he’s here and I’m not alone makes me feel braver, a bit safer, as I stride to the door.
Hand on the knob, I rise up on my toes to peer out the peephole.
Only to sag as the tension rushes out of me, leaving me boneless with relief.
No nightmares waiting on my doorstep with sharkish grins after all.
Just Libby Silverton, standing on my porch with a buttery smile. The other angry pixie in my life, only this small, mouthy cowgirl is also one of my best friends.
She’s rocking on her heels with a bottle of wine dangling from one hand, whistling.
“Oh, crap,” I mutter. “I forgot!”
“Forgot what?” Alaska hefts himself up and starts lumbering over.
“I made plans with Libby. We’ve got a thing going—her and me and Clarissa, too. We’re doing a joint booth at the summer festival next week. Coffee from me, candy from Clarissa, pony rides from Libby and Holt.”
“Sounds eclectic,” he says with a smile.
“Yeah, but—ohh. I’m so sorry, Alaska.”
“Don’t be. I get it.” He smiles gently, and there’s not even a half second’s resentment or suspicion.
Totally not what I’m used to from most guys after they get a hot make out session unceremoniously interrupted.
“You want me to get gone?” he asks.
God, I want him to stay.
It shocks me how much I want him to stay, but...
“You’d probably get bored. Lots of fussing over silly decorations.” I smile wryly and pull the door open. “Plus, it’s going to be a hen party.”
“And a big boy like you makes a perfect target,” Libby chimes in without missing a beat, both of her eyebrows rising to her hairline as she peers past me, giving Alaska a once-over and whistling through her teeth. “Well, well, what’d I walk in on, Fliss?” Her grin widens, much too knowing. “Should I come back later?”
“Oh my God, Libby. Shut up.”
Alaska takes it with a carefree laugh and sweeps us both a bow before edging past me.
When his body brushes mine, my face ignites—no, not just my face.
Certain parts of me are alive with a vengeance, rudely reminding me they still exist.
Whatever else happens tonight, it’s going to involve me slipping into my drawer for fresh panties.
“Ladies,” he says with rumbling amusement. “Good luck with your planning.”
Then he pins me down with a beastly stare.
Eep. I tell myself that look is just because of the secrets between us, the terrible knowledge, but with my mouth still tingling from his kiss, my cheeks still so sensitive with the scrape of his beard...yeah, even I don’t believe it.
“I’ll see you back at the cabin, Fliss. Call me if you want me to come get you.”
He’s off, clattering down my front steps to his Jeep, moving with this lazy, casual confidence that turns into a sexy swagger because his is the kinda confidence that doesn’t need to shout itself to the entire world.
It’s just there.
So bone-deep it’s an essential part of him, and so devastatingly attractive.
I don’t think I remember to breathe until he’s gone.
Of course, the entire time I’m watching him, Libby’s watching me.
And when his headlights disappear around the corner, she jabs me in the side hard enough to make me squeak, smiling like a wolf.
“Inside. Right. Now,” she hisses, already grabbing my arm and dragging me. “I think you’ve got some stories to share, Miss Fel.”
Don’t I, indeed.
But they aren’t for Libby’s ears.
They aren’t for anyone’s.
Though I’m starting to wonder if Alaska Charter might be ready for my secrets—the good, the bad, and the ugly—after all.
14