Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(51)

He stayed, watching as she went to pull a pan of biscuits from the oven. The smell of hot bread flooded the kitchen.

Returning, Zoë stood very close to Alex. “I know you’re right,” she said. “And I know what I’ve got ahead of me. Probably more than I can handle. My grandmother will be here in a month, and after that …” She gave a helpless little shrug. “So I know my limits, and I think I know yours. But the problem is—” A nervous breath of laughter. “Sometimes you meet a really nice guy, but no matter how you try, you can’t seem to make yourself want him. But that’s not nearly as bad as when you meet the wrong guy, and you can’t make yourself not want him. You feel hollow inside, just waiting and wishing and dreaming. You feel like every moment is leading to something so amazing that there’s no name for it, and if you could just get there with him, it would be such a … relief. It would be all you’d ever need.” She let out a trembling sigh. “I don’t want distance from you. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but I have to let you know how I—”

“I already know,” he said coldly, dying inside. “Give it a rest, Zoë. I’ve got to go.”

Zoë nodded. She didn’t even look offended. Somehow she knew that it was the only way he could leave her, that some things couldn’t be seasoned to make them go down easier.

Alex reached for the door handle, but she stopped him with a touch on his wrist.

“Wait,” she said. “One more thing.”

Even though she was no longer touching him, the skin of his wrist had come alive with craving. It was getting worse, he thought with something like despair, this need that threatened to turn him inside out.

“From now on I’ll never mention anything about this again,” Zoë said, “or tell you about my feelings, or even try to be friends with you. But in return, I want one favor.”

“The cat door,” Alex said in resignation.

She shook her head. “I want you to kiss me. One time.”

“What? No.” He was aghast. “No.”

“You owe me a favor.”

“Why the hell do you want that?”

Zoë looked stubborn. “I just want to know what it feels like.”

“I kissed you once before. Right here.”

“That doesn’t count. You were holding back.”

“You want me to hold back,” he assured her grimly.

“No I don’t.”

“Zoë, damn it, this is not going to change anything.”

“I know that. I don’t expect anything to change.” She was practically vibrating with nerves. “I just want it as a sort of … amuse-bouche.”

“What’s an amuse-bouche?” he managed to ask, afraid of the answer.

“It’s a French term for a tidbit the waiter brings from the chef at the beginning of a meal. Nothing you order or pay for, it’s just … given.” At his stunned silence, she added helpfully, “The literal translation is ‘to please the mouth.’ ”

Alex gave her a dark glance. “You want a favor from me, it’s going to involve crown molding or adding extra can lights. I draw the line at amusing your bouche.”

“One kiss is impossible? Twenty seconds of putting your lips against mine scares you that much?”

“Now you’re going to time it,” he said sardonically.

“I’m not going to time it,” she protested. “That was just a suggestion.”

“Well, you can forget it.”

She looked offended. “I don’t understand why you’re angry.”

“Like hell. We both know you’re trying to prove a point.”

“What point is that?”

“You want to make sure I know what I’m giving up. You want me to be sorry about not going after you.”

She opened her mouth to deny it. But she hesitated.

“If I did kiss you,” Alex said, “the only reason I’d do it would be to make you sorry as hell that you asked for it.” He gave her a hard look, willing her to back down. “Still want it?”

“Yes,” Zoë said promptly, and closed her eyes and lifted her face.

Alex was right, of course. Any kind of relationship between them was a bad idea, for many reasons. But she still wanted him to kiss her.

She stood with eyes closed, braced for whatever he would do. An electric quietness surrounded them. She felt him move nearer, and his arms went around her so slowly that a shiver crossed over her like rough light. There was the curious sensation she remembered from before, of being absorbed, drawn in, as if he were feeling her with all his senses, drinking in every breath and blush and heartbeat.

One of his hands came up to her face, angling her jaw upward, his fingers shaping over the fragile bones. A soft brush against her mouth, and another, ephemeral kisses that made her lips feel swollen. Her balance faltered, but he gripped her against the support of his body and held her steady. Bending his head lower, he dragged his mouth along the thin, blood-heated skin of her throat. She felt the tip of his tongue rest against a pulse point, and she went weak, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Slowly he kissed his way up to her jaw, while one of his hands cupped the back of her head to lift it, and finally she felt the full, hard pressure of his mouth on hers, making her dizzy with wholesale relief.