“Hey,” Madeline said as country music began to fill the room. “How did you do that?”
“Backup battery.” He stepped across the pillows and reached out his hand. Madeline eyed it suspiciously. “Come on, give me your hand. Let life happen.”
He smiled so charmingly that Madeline hesitantly slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“I’m going to show you one very easy way to loosen up.”
“I don’t need to loosen up—”
“Madeline.”
She sighed. “You sound just like Trudi, you know that?”
His smile deepened. He slipped his hand inside the jacket she was wearing, around her waist, and pulled her into his chest.
“What are you doing?” she asked, stiffening, panicking slightly. “My God, I don’t dance, Luke.”
“Yeah, you do,” he said easily. “Everyone does. It’s just that everyone has their own rhythm.” He pulled her closer, tucked her hand and his between them, and put his chin against the side of her head. “Relax,” he said softly. “It’s just a dance.” He swayed with her to the right, then to the left, and back again. “Move your feet.” He guided her again, moving her slowly one way, then the other, moving just enough to force her to take steps.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, but the truth was that it was nice. Very nice. She was moving on a cloud, her eyes closed, nothing but the strength and feel of Luke against her, the music washing over them and mixing with the sound of the rain. She could not remember the last time she’d felt so soothed, so mellow, so relaxed.
Around the room they languidly went, the music mixing in with the sound of the rain on that dark, fire-lit evening. Madeline let herself go down the path of desire that steadily built. She was floating along with very little thought; she didn’t think about Julie or Stephen. She didn’t think about DiNapoli. She didn’t worry about complications or where this thing with Luke was going, or what it meant. She just allowed herself to exist in that very pleasant, slightly magical place.
She rested her cheek on his shoulder and allowed him to move her along until the song ended. Even then, he didn’t stop right away. He continued to sway a little bit until Madeline opened her eyes and looked up at him.
His gaze was warm, shining from somewhere deep, mesmerizing her. She felt fluttery again, just like the first time she’d seen him on Sometimes Pass. Madeline didn’t flinch, she didn’t look away as was her nature. She knew he would kiss her again. She knew before he lowered his head, before she lifted hers, that she would forget her private vow not to let it happen again.
When he did kiss her, Madeline was not prepared for the kiss that it was. She would not have guessed that a kiss so warm and gentle on her mouth could be so arousing. Her reaction was purely visceral; her mouth opened, her tongue met his. He pulled her tighter against him, pressing into her, and Madeline’s hands found his shoulders, his neck. His kiss was deliberate, and she found it to be devastatingly sensual, exciting to the point that it seemed to spill over its edges and splash around them, filling the space in that cottage, filling her lungs and eyes and ears and heart with it.
It seemed to last only moments before he lifted his head and left her wanting more. Her hands were still on his shoulders. Her lips were still wet. “I thought we agreed this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Did we?” he asked, his gaze traveling her face.
“I don’t remember,” she lied.
Luke smiled and lowered his head to hers once more, but this time, Madeline kissed him back. She kissed him like she had never kissed another man, like she had never imagined kissing anyone in her life. She could feel him in every pore, could feel her body soaking him up like a big ocean sponge. She felt full to bursting with want and hope and… and giddiness. Something in her snapped free and let go. Her inhibitions began to melt away like tiny little snowflakes. The blood in her veins began to turn to fire; she was erupting with desire so strong that she’d lost control of it before she realized it was there. It pushed against her, demanding release. The feel of his hard body beneath her hands was fanning the burn in her; she put her fingers in his hair, traced his ear, brushed her palm against his shoulders and chest.