I turn my head to stare at the double doors that lead to my balcony and face Caden’s cottage. I understand, and now I have to figure out what to do about it.
Is clinging to security who I want to be?
Or do I want to be something else—someone else?
Someone who doesn’t let fear stop her. I used to be like that. Wyatt and Jackson always talk about it, but their words are separate from me—belonging to a younger girl, another time and place. Not me.
But could I be?
Again?
I calm my breathing.
Yes, I think I could. Or at least tonight I want to try.
I sit up, rest my palms on the bed, and look at the balcony. I could go outside and beckon him over. I’m almost positive he’s on the porch, waiting in those dark shadows to see if I’ll finally say yes.
But I don’t want to do that.
I want to go to him.
I stand, creep down the stairs, and go out the front door.
Barefoot, I walk across the lawn, and the wind blows in my hair, whipping across my cheeks. The night air is hot, humid, and sticky, the grass damp against my feet. I envision him watching me walk through the emptiness, looking like Cathy on the moors inWuthering Heights.
My heart is pounding, my skin flushed, but I don’t let it stop me.
And finally, I see him sitting on the rocking chair my granddaddy made a million years ago.
I step onto the porch, breathless. “Hi.”
He gives me a long look. “You look mighty pretty in the moonlight.”
I walk over to him, coming to stand tall and proud before him. “Ask me again.”
His eyes darken, and he rocks gently in the chair. “What do you want, Catarina?”
I step forward, lean down, and whisper, “You.”
Then I kiss him, and hide absolutely nothing.
My mouth clings to his, and he wraps his hand around the nape of my neck, tugging me closer.
The chair is narrow, but I manage to slide on top, my dress riding high on my thighs as I straddle him. His free hand settles onto my hip, squeezing gently as our tongues tangle.
I tilt my head, deepening the contact.
It feels exactly right, exactly how I envisioned it. I don’t feel like I’m losing anything, but instead, gaining something I didn’t know was missing.
I trace the line of his jaw, letting the pads of my fingers smooth over the rough planes of his face. His mouth moves over mine.
Our breathing becomes hot, ragged.
My body strains, wanting to be closer.
I blot everything out—the folly of my actions, tomorrow, the repercussions of this act. Everything.
Instead, I sink into him.