One of his hands glides over my back, and I find myself focusing on the thumb swiping back and forth in achingly slow strokes over my spine. Find myself wishing there wasn’t fabric separating him from my skin.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
He backs away slightly, enough to meet my eyes. “We’re dancing.”
“You know what I mean.”
Glancing away briefly, when his eyes return to mine, for once, I swear I can see vulnerability in them. “I don’t know.”
That’s not good enough. Because I know we’re playing with fire. And I can’t afford to get burnt. “Well, then I—”
“What I do know,” he interrupts, his eyes boring into mine, “is that I don’t want this to stop.” He leans in closer, his cheek brushing lightly against mine before he whispers in my ear, “I don’t want this feeling—whatever it is that’s happening between us—to stop.”
My eyes fall closed at his words. “I don’t want it to stop, either.”
Silently, I repeat my response, adding on the one word my heart demands to be tacked on at the end.
Ever.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Foster
The last weekend in April is Shrimp Festival time in Fernandina Beach, which means an influx of tourists and locals alike, flocking to the historic downtown area for a variety of activities. The main one, of course, being the shrimp itself, offered by numerous venders.
“Ooh! Funnel cakes are a must, Kavanaugh.” Noelle grabs my hand and makes a beeline for what appears to be a ridiculously long line for a damn piece of fried dough.
“You’re on your own with that one, Davis.” No way am I eating that garbage.
We’re in line, people already behind us—thank God the line appears to be moving faster than I expected—and she stares at me like I’m crazy. “Sometimes you have to live a little, dude.”
“Listen, dude,” I lean in closer to her, bringing her free hand to lay the palm over my firm chest, “these babies were hard earned. And it wasn’t from eating fried dough.”
She lets out a disappointed sigh. “I get it, I do.” Bringing up her index finger, she wags it at me with a stern look. “But one bite of funnel cake won’t kill you, you know.”
“We’ll see.” Meaning, no, we won’t see. Because I’ve got willpower for days. My body is my temple, and I take care of it to the best of my ability. Hell, my mother’s cooking alone causes me to add more to my workouts in order to burn it off.
What did I say about willpower, again? Because the moment Noelle finally manages to get her beloved funnel cake, which is liberally dusted with powdered sugar and takes a small bite, the powdered sugar clinging to her lips, is when my willpower begins to weaken. It isn’t until her tongue darts out to collect the remaining sugar my willpower disintegrates.
Fucking. Disintegrates.
I would give anything to be alone with her right now instead of surrounded by thousands of people, to be able to pull her close and use my own tongue to lick that sugar from her lips.
Shit. Time to adjust myself as discreetly as possible. As soon as I’ve done so, I find Noelle watching me curiously.
“Will you please try a little piece? For me?” Her fingers tug off a small piece of funnel cake and hold it up in offering.
Amused, I eye her, one brow raised. “You’re going to feed me?”
With a huff, she rolls those gorgeous blue eyes of hers. “Just open your damn mouth already.”
I acquiesce, and she pops the funnel cake in my mouth, but I grasp her wrist before she can remove her fingers. Wrapping my lips around them, I suck off the powdered sugar clinging to them, watching as her lips part, eyes widening.
“Well, hell. I need a damn cigarette after watching that play out, darlin’.”
Noelle tugs her fingers from my lips in alarm, both of us turning to see Kane standing a few feet away, eyes sparkling with amusement. I’m relieved Doc’s beside him, especially since he’s the one I worry about the most as he’s more closed off than the others. And that’s saying a lot coming from me, I know. But I still worry about him. Being a SEAL sniper isn’t a job for the tenderhearted.
Doc pretends to pat all of his pockets as if he’s searching for cigarettes, when we all know he wouldn’t touch a cigarette to save his life, before turning to Kane. “Damn, I’m fresh out.”
“Huh.” Kane appears slightly dejected before suddenly brightening as if he’s thought of a solution. “I can just have Noelle feed me some funnel cake then.” He leans forward and parts his lips. Noelle gives a little laugh, but just as she raises her hand to feed him a piece, I snag her wrist, guiding her fingers into my mouth while I stare—hard—at Kane.
“Foster!” Noelle exclaims just as I release her hand, but my eyes remain on Kane as I chew and swallow.
“Get your own funnel cake, Windham.”
My threat—as all of my threats do, unfortunately—rolls right off his shoulders, which is evident when his toothy grin widens. “Aw, now, you’d best get that burr out of your saddle, Fos. You know I’m just playin’. No one’s poaching on your woman.”