Knowing he’d taken the time to watch every single one…
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you wrote them. And you get judged on that, right? On views and things,” he replied. “I admit, there were a couple that I struggled to get access to in Australia. But I found out how to watch them, eventually.”
He wanted to support her career. Tears pricked her eyes and she found herself so overwhelmed by the simple but sweet gesture. A gesture that she might never have known about if they hadn’t ended up on the same flight. If he hadn’t made sure they ended up on the same flight.
This kind-hearted, sexy marshmallow of a man. How could she possibly resist him a moment longer?
She reached for Sean’s jacket with one mitten-covered hand and pulled him closer, sealing her mouth to his. His lips were cold from the night air, but his mouth burned, and he tasted like heaven. Like the kind of heaven she’d imagined, over and over and over.
It only took a moment for him to respond, but when the shock faded, his mitten-covered hand slid along her jaw and cupped the back of her head. Her tongue danced with his, lips eager to taste their fill while her hands clutched the puffy fabric of his coat.
Sean’s warm breath skated across her skin and the firm pressure of his lips held her captive. Suspended. This was nothing like the chaste brush of lips they’d shared at seventeen. Every cell in her body was dialled into this moment—to the feeling of his facial hair scratching against her skin in the most delicious way possible. To the tightening of his arm around her waist. To the soft but oh-so-sexy moan in the back of his throat.
His tongue delved deeper into her mouth. She leaned into him, trying to close the gap between them even though all their layers of clothing prevented her from feeling much. But the taste of him—earthy and smoky from the whisky he’d been drinking—made her body hum. A yes rose from deep inside her and tightness gathered between her thighs. She felt…treasured. Wanted. Accepted.
And Lily hadn’t felt those things in a long bloody time. Not just since the breakup, either. But, if she was being truly honest, for much, much longer than that. It was easy to point to the day of the morning show as the moment it fell apart. Seeing the difference with how Sean made her feel, the truth came sharply into focus.
Her relationship with Brock had been fundamentally broken.
Because not since the early days had it felt like this. Real. Spontaneous. Magical.
It made her ache with want. To be surrounded by Sean. To be cradled by him. Soothed by him. And, most frighteningly of all, for this moment to last forever.
11
For the rest of the evening Sean and Lily acted coy whenever anyone asked them about their relationship. They stood inside the inn, warming their bodies by the fire, and his fingertips kept grazing hers, until eventually she slid her hand into his.
It didn’t feel fake.
The things she’d told him, the stuff he’d admitted, the kiss… none of it felt fake.
Around one o’clock the party dwindled. The mother and father of the bride had already headed upstairs, along with Lily’s parents, the hour before. The younger generation were all slowing down, too, with jetlag and the weariness of long-haul travel claiming one victim after another.
Lily looked at Sean, her eyes bright and clear. She’d had a few drinks over the course of the evening, but she’d been on sparkling water ever since their outdoor interlude. “Ready to go to bed?”
Her quiet words made hot arrows of anticipation bolt through him, even though he knew there was nothing he should be expecting. But that didn’t stop him from readily agreeing and following her upstairs, his hands wanting to drift to the indent at her waist and swaying hips.
Amelia giggled behind them as they paused to open their door, and she stopped to whisper something in Lily’s ear that made her cheeks redden. Shaking her head, she stepped into their shared room as Sean closed the door behind them.
“What did she say?” he asked with an amused smile.
“Nothing that bears repeating,” Lily replied primly.
Inside, the room was dim, with only the glow of a single lamp. She looked incredible in her little black dress and sleek, heeled boots. Only now, her lipstick had smudged off and her hair was a little messier from the beanie she’d worn outside.
Those changes made her look even sexier.
“She’s got a dirty mind, that one.” She shot him a rueful smile. “The youngest of all of us and a mind—”
“Like a teenage boy?” he supplied.
“That description works.” She ran her hands through the lengths of her silky, dark brown hair. “What? You’re looking at me funny.”
Sean had known from the moment he and Lily made their agreement that, while he would keep his hands to himself unless she said otherwise, his imagination would run riot for the entire time they were “together”. Only now, reality added colour and depth to his imagination. They’d shared a hungry kiss that was better than any he’d had before, because it was preceded by years and years of build-up.
And he wanted more.
“I’m not looking at you funny,” he replied, his voice husky.
Her eyes were dark. “You are looking at me.”
“I’m not denying that.” He took a step forward. “But there’s nothing funny about it.”
Her breath stuttered. “Why?”
“Because you’re the most captivating woman I’ve ever known.”
He was close enough to touch her now, but she was the one who broke. Her hand came up to his chest, her fingertip tracing one of his shirt buttons. “I’m not special.”
“How you don’t see it…” He shook his head. “It’s a crying shame.”
“This is supposed to be a simple arrangement.” Her chest rose and fell behind the tight fabric of her dress. “A deal. I’m not supposed to…”
“What?”
“I’m not supposed to want you.” Her eyes searched his.
“But?”
“But I do.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing on his strength. He found none. Only need. Only want. “I have thought about this moment more than you would ever understand.”
“I think I would understand,” she whispered, flattening her palm to his chest. For as worldly as she was, there was a hint of vulnerability simmering underneath the surface.
“Why’s that?” He traced the strap of her dress with his fingertip and she shivered.
“Because I’ve thought about us—this thing between us—more than you would ever understand.”
Hearing her words unlatched something inside him. He reached for her, tugging her close and sliding his hand along her jaw. When his lips met hers, her body melted against him and her fists bunched his shirt. The kiss was hard and desperate, but ended slower, deeper, and more tender.
“We’ve got no audience now,” he said. “There’s no one watching us. If anything happens…”
“It’s not for show.”
There it was—the line in the sand. If they stepped over it, then they were both acknowledging that this wasn’t about keeping up appearances. It wasn’t about an arrangement or a deal.