“Am I?” she said, sipping her wine, feeling it ease the pain a little more.
“Come on. Stand up,” Kal said suddenly, rising to extend a hand to her. “I’ll show you how romantic ‘Deep Purple’ can be.”
“Without shoes?” she said, eyes wide. “Besides, you can’t dance to this.”
“You can,” he insisted. “Come on. Up. It’s my party.”
“Kal,” she protested as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. His slight build seemed a lot taller without heels, and she tensed, her eyes at his upper chest as he fitted his slim hand in hers and coaxed her into a box shuffle. His body was warm against hers, and she watched his shoes, nervous he might step on her. But he never did, and slowly she began to relax.
“See, I know romance,” Kal said defensively, and she looked up, smiling at him.
“Okay,” she admitted. “You can dance to it. I’ll give you that.”
But the music changed to something soulful and soft. Uneasy, she loosened her grip, but Kal tightened his, and her eyes shot to him as their motions slowed but didn’t stop. She felt good here, the wine relaxing her, and the feeling of an old hurt being set aside was soothing, even if she would have to pick it back up in the morning. Beyond the open barn door, the moon rose higher, spilling light upon them.
Kal’s chest touched hers as she took a deep breath, and she felt him breathe her in. Tentatively, carefully, she let her head fall against his shoulder. What am I doing?
“I’m sorry for everything I did to you at school,” Kal said, his voice rumbling into her with the soft presence of distant thunder.
“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, not looking up as they moved as one.
“It was wrong of me, all the way around. I’m sorry for being such an idiot. And I’m really sorry for spelling your hair white in fifth grade. That was cruel.”
She looked up, stifling a shiver as his hand brushed across her hair. “I forgot about that years ago,” she said.
“Liar,” he said with a smile. “You have beautiful hair. Soft, silky.” He ran his hand through it again, and she froze when he leaned in to kiss her behind her ear. “It’s a crime to change this,” he murmured.
They were no longer moving. An ache filled her, an ache to be accepted for who she was. “What are you doing?” she said softly, and his lips stopped.
“You’re right.” He pulled back, expression troubled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
Trisk reached up and pulled his face down to hers. Excitement zinged through her as their lips touched, and she drew back, meeting his eyes. “Keep doing that no-thinking thing,” she said as she leaned in to find him again.
Their kiss deepened, warm and tasting of wine and pineapple. She made a small sound of encouragement when his hand fell to touch her thigh, his fingers rising past the hem of her dress before lingering to send shivers through her. He didn’t go nearly high enough, but her coming complaint vanished when his grip tightened and he pulled her into him with his other hand.
Her smile ruined their kiss, and she looked at him, knowing her gaze smoldered with heat. He was as domineering as she’d expected him to be, so she’d be just as demanding, and he grunted in surprise when she twined a leg around his, pressing into him while pulling his face to hers, lips hungry as they searched him out. Why not? I’m a free woman. It’s the freaking sixties.
It had been so long, and even then, it hadn’t been satisfying as it had not been with the man she’d wanted. Chances were, this would end much differently.
Her hands brushed his shoulders, and she sent them lower, pressing the small of his back. Lips breaking from his, she found his ears, neck, whatever she could reach. His stubble pricked against her, and she delighted in it until he broke their kiss.
“I gave you a key, not a ring,” he said, his eyes eager but cautious.
“And I’ve not yet told you if I’m going to use it. Why are you thinking again?” she asked, pulling him down to one of the covered bales of straw, sitting atop his lap to put their heights even. He kissed her, and she laced her hands behind his head, fingers in his hair as his hand traced a delicious path up her waist until he cupped her breast. His head dropped, and she moaned as he found her with his lips.
Passion raced through her, but he was going too slow, and when he returned to her mouth, she shifted her weight, grasping him and flipping him down onto the straw-bale table where she sat atop him. There was a clatter of the Jell-O mold hitting the floor, followed by the thump of the radio. The music turned to a static hiss, and she smiled at his surprise melting into anticipation.
“You might be shocked at what they teach you in Self-Defense 101,” she said as she loosened his tie. She was intending to undo his shirt next.