He kissed her. Or maybe she kissed him. It didn't matter. What mattered was the way she gasped against his mouth, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way six years of wanting crashed over them both like a wave. She tasted like wine and summer and everything he'd convinced himself he couldn't have. Her dress had ridden up her thighs and his hands were on bare skin, and she was making these small sounds that were destroying what was left of his self-control.•

He stood, lifting her with him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, the thin fabric of her sundress the only thing separating...