Reluctantly, I slide off his lap. He brushes a kiss across my temple before we pull our clothes back on, piece by piece, sharing small touches between buttons and zippers like neither of us can quite stop. He adds wood to the fire and when I tug my sweater over my head, he’s already lacing his fingers through mine, tugging me along as if letting go isn’t an option.
“Where are we going?” I ask quietly.
“I thought I saw blankets in the ballroom.”
We walk down the long, shadowed hallway, the old boards creaking beneath our steps. His thumb strokes lazy circles across my palm, and that simple gesture is enough to make warmth pool in my chest all over again.
The ballroom yawns open in front of us, wide and echoing, the storm rattling against tall windows. My breath once again catches as I take it in. “This is such a beautiful room,” I whisper, my gaze snagging on the stage. “Years ago when I went to summer camp here, I actually did a play on that stage.”
Penn glances over, one brow raised as he heads toward the storage closet. “Yeah? Which play?”
“Mamma Mia. It was a musical.” I smile faintly, memory tugging me back to those sticky summer nights, nerves before curtain call, and the giddy joy of pretending to be someone else.
He digs through a stack of boxes, pulling out feather boas and glittery hats, until he finally finds a pile of wool blankets and tosses a couple my way. “Really? So, you can sing?”
“Not well.” My laugh echoes in the cavernous space.
“Did you play the lead?”
“Sophie.” I tug the blanket closer to my chest, a little embarrassed but also warmed by the memory.
Penn straightens with another armful of blankets, a teasing glint in his eye. “Do I even want to ask who played the male lead?”
I shake my head quickly. “Nope.” It was Dylan and he knows it. “But…” I gesture to the closet with a grin. “I bet the costumes are still in here somewhere. I think they still put the play on every summer.”
He shuts the closet door firmly and catches my hand again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Together we wander back toward the hall, our footsteps echoing, the scent of old wood and dust mixing with the faint tang of smoke from the fire.
I glance back at the stage, remembering my lines, the songs, the applause. But this time, another thought threads in, an image of Penn up there with me. Not as some awkward teenage boy fumbling through choreography, but Penn now. Strong, confident, magnetic. My perfect counterpart. And I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he’d been the male lead. Not just in that long-ago play, but here. Now. In real life.
Oh boy…
16
Penn
The coolness in the room pulls me awake, and when I peel my eyes open to find Jaylynn wrapped snugly around me, my lips curve into a smile I couldn’t stop if I tried. Her breath is warm against my chest, her leg tangled with mine, her arm slung over me in a way that feels…possessive. Like she belongs here. Like I belong to her.
I lift my head, eyes drifting to the fireplace. The flames have died, leaving only a bed of glowing embers. Careful not to wake her, I slip out from under her body and draw the blanket higher over her shoulders. She stirs faintly, sighs, then settles deeper into sleep.
I pause, caught in the pull of her beauty. My heart gives a hard thump as I stand there, just staring, drinking her in. The curve of her lips, still a little swollen from my kisses. The faint pink flush across her cheeks from the heat of the fire…and from the way she opened to me only hours earlier. Something deep in my chest twists, equal parts awe and fear.
A shiver runs through me and I crouch at the hearth, quietly feeding logs onto the embers until they crackle and flare back to life. The warmth seeps into my skin, but it’s not enough. Not compared to the warmth I just left behind. I stay there, crouched low, mesmerized by the flames and by the thought of what I risk every second I let myself fall harder for this woman.
Just as I’m about to stand and slip back under the covers, I feel a soft, familiar touch. Warm hands slide over my shoulders, down my chest, and every muscle in my body goes taut. Need and tenderness collide inside me, swelling until it’s hard to breathe.
“Hey,” I murmur, covering her hands with mine and rubbing them gently. She presses her front against my back, her cheek brushing my shoulder. I turn slightly, catching her sleepy smile, and it hits me—hard—that I have no idea how I’m supposed to walk away from her and still keep my heart intact. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me,” she says, her voice low and raspy from sleep.
God, she’s stunning like this. Sleep-tousled hair falling across her face, eyes heavy-lidded but soft, lips curved in that lazy smile of contentment that can only come after a night of passion. Firelight glows across her skin, making her look almost otherworldly. And I can’t stop thinking about how much I want her again—not just her body, but her.
I tug her gently into my lap, guiding her to sit between my legs. She settles with a soft sigh, her back pressed to my chest, her warmth sinking into me. My arms wrap around her automatically, hands linking together just above her heart as if to keep her there forever.
“This is so nice,” she whispers, her voice stirring heat low in my body.
I bury my nose in her hair, breathing her in. “Yeah. It is.”
For a long moment, we just sit there, the fire crackling, the storm outside eerily silent. I glance toward the window, snow still plastered thick against the panes. “Looks like the storm’s finally died down.”