Dolly All the Time(51)

“You’re really getting good at that,” I say, looking at our hands clasped between us. I’m not sure if I mean the compliments or the hand-holding.

He lifts my chin with a single finger, and he’s looking right inside me.

“Stewart, I…” I start to protest but I’m leaning in closer. I want to tell him what an abominably bad idea this is, and I also want my dress in a puddle at my ankles. He leans in and kisses me. The press of his mouth on mine sends a jolt throughout my body. Actual sparks, gold in color, appear behind my eyes. I clutch his neck and pull him closer to me, parting my lips and taking him in. He is delicious, I think. A purely delicious man. His stubble, barely there, brushes my skin, and I realize I was wrong—I did not know what this would be like. He winds his hands into my hair, and I feel us tangle up in each other—hands, limbs, our breath sweet from Chablis. My body is wound up so tight that when his teeth brush my bottom lip, I let out a gasp.

“Okay?” he asks. I nod and he kisses me again more deeply, trailing his fingers down my neck and along my collarbone. His hands find their way to my hips, thumbs low on my stomach, steadying me and unsteadying me all at the same time. I run my fingers along the soft fabric of his shirt, just above his belt, and his breath falters.

“Dolly,” he says against my lips, and the way he says it vibrates down to my core.

“How was it?” I ask.

He’s running his mouth along the side of my jaw and he laughs. “Pretty good,” he says, and meets my eyes. I touch his lips with the tips of my fingers and he kisses them. “Are you asking me to stop?” he asks.

I nod, and I hate myself for it. Just once I want to do the absolute wrong thing. I kiss him again, long and deep. It’s a crazed kind of kiss, like it’s going to be the last kiss on earth. My hips are moving against him, traitorously, and I feel him respond. I know that I am giving all the mixed messages.

“Okay, now stop,” I say, and steal one more kiss, just a brush across his lips. “This could get out of hand.”

His hands are on my hips and he pulls me even closer. “This is already out of hand, Dolly.”

“I think maybe we need to think this through.”

“Okay,” he says. “You’re right.” He lets out a breath and looks away.

I reach up to his face and turn it back to me. As soon as our eyes meet, I’m kissing him again, because I cannot stop. Long and deep, it’s the sort of kiss I might never be able to climb out of.

“We need to go back out on deck,” I say, pulling away. “I can’t stop kissing you here.”

I climb the ladder, and his hand grazes the back of my calf. The tips of his fingers trace that sensitive spot on the back of my knee, and I feel the ghost of that touch all the way up my leg. I don’t know if it’s that Stewart is the sexiest man in the world or if it’s the chemistry between us that’s sending me over the edge, but I know for sure that this needs to stop.

I make my way back to the bench seat. He comes up a few minutes later, hands me a mug of milky Earl Grey, and sits next to me. I scoot a few inches away in hopes that I’ll be able to think clearly.

“I feel like you have an important take on what just happened that I’m not going to like,” he says. His voice is all business, but his eyes are playful.

I laugh a half laugh. This is too much. This fantasy of a man who was making me tea. A man who has something running through his bloodstream that hits my system like a ghost pepper. Stewart is stopping by the Comfort Inn on his way to a better place. Which is fine; that’s my function here. But it doesn’t mean I need to get wrecked in the process. The most terrifying thing about Stewart is that his mouth was on mine two minutes ago, and I already miss him.

I am in danger of misunderstanding what this is, so I set it straight for both of us. “Method acting,” I say. I scoot another inch away and sit cross-legged on the bench. I take a sip of my tea. He’s put honey in it. He is a uniquely dangerous man. “That’s what this is.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We are doing a great job getting to know each other, and I think it helped. We seem believable as a couple. I think your parents ate it up. And couples touch, it was good that we’ve been doing that, and tonight? We had some wine.” I open my eyes as wide as they can go to show him just how much wine that was. In reality, I had three sips. “So we come out for the sunset, what’s more romantic than that? And you kiss me. A great kiss, I might add. Great. No notes. And I think we nailed the chemistry of this whole thing with just that kiss. We don’t need to do that again.”

He’s watching me come down from that overly animated speech. I feel like I sold it, but he’s looking at me like I didn’t. I blow into my mug and take a sip.

“So you’re telling me that was acting,” he says.

“That’s what I want to tell you.” My voice quivers the tiniest bit.

“But is it true?” he asks.

I don’t answer. I tug at a loose string at the hem of my dress. Amazing how one tug can make something completely unravel. “I need it to be,” I say finally, without looking up.

“Okay,” he says. “And I trust you’ll let me know if that changes.”

“Deal,” I say.

Stewart turns away from me and watches the night sky for a bit. The stars are right where he left them. Everything seems to be in order. He gets up and raises the anchor. We stand side by side at the helm as we motor back toward the yacht club.