Chapter 4 #2
"Honestly?" His laugh was shaky. "I want to stop fighting it. I want to see where this goes. But I also know that's selfish. That it complicates your retreat experience. That I'm supposed to be professional and—"
"Brent." I reached out and took his hand. The contact sent a jolt through me. "I'm an adult. I know what I'm doing. And what I want is to stop fighting it too."
His fingers threaded through mine. We sat there for a moment, holding hands, and it should have felt silly but instead felt monumental. Like we were standing at the edge of everything changing.
"There are going to be complications," he said.
"I know."
"Rebecca's going to have a field day."
"Let her."
"When the week ends—"
"We'll figure it out." I squeezed his hand. "But right now—"
I didn't finish the sentence. I leaned forward, closing the space between us, and pressed my lips to his.
For a heartbeat, he froze. Then he made a sound low in his throat and kissed me back, his free hand coming up to cup the back of my head, pulling me closer. His fingers threaded through my hair.
The kiss was everything I'd imagined and nothing like I'd expected. Soft but intense. Gentle but desperate. His mouth moved against mine like he was memorizing the feeling, and I opened for him, tasting coffee and mint and him underneath.
I shifted closer, and suddenly we were pressed together, chest to chest. My glasses were crooked—probably smudged—but I didn't care.
All I cared about was the way his hand tightened in my hair, the way his other hand had found my hip and was pulling me closer, the soft sound he made when I deepened the kiss.
We broke apart for air, both gasping. His pupils were blown, his mouth already swollen.
"Jason," he breathed, and the way he said my name—rough and wanting—made me lean in again.
This kiss was hungrier. His hands slid under my shirt, palms hot against my lower back, and I gasped into his mouth.
He took advantage, his tongue sliding against mine, and I forgot how to think.
Forgot everything except the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his hands were mapping my skin like he was memorizing me.
When we finally broke apart again, my shirt was rucked up, his hair was a mess from my hands, and we were both shaking.
"We're really doing this," he said, forehead pressed to mine.
"We're really doing this."
"I have a workshop in an hour."
"I know."
He pulled me closer and we tumbled back onto my bed, careful not to crush the manuscript pages scattered across it. For a moment we looked at each other and then he was kissing me again.
This time there was no hesitation. His mouth moved over mine with purpose, and I matched him, pouring four days of wanting into the kiss.
My hands found the hem of his shirt and slipped underneath, exploring the warm skin of his back, the lean muscle there, the way he shivered under my touch.
He made a low sound and shifted his weight, pressing me into the mattress.
The solid weight of him on top of me, the heat of his body against mine, made my head spin.
"God, Jason," he muttered against my lips, then moved to my jaw, my neck. I tilted my head back, giving him access, and when his teeth scraped against my pulse point, I couldn't hold back the sound that escaped me.
His hips rolled against mine—involuntary, desperate—and we both froze for a heartbeat, the intensity of it stealing our breath.
"Brent—" My voice came out wrecked. "You have—workshop—"
"I know." But he didn't stop. His mouth found that spot below my ear, and his hand slid higher up my ribs, thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. "I know, I—" Another kiss, this one slow and deep and absolutely devastating. "Can't stop."
"Don't want you to stop." I pulled him closer, and we kissed until we were both gasping and desperate, until my hands were exploring the planes of his back and his were doing things that made me forget my own name.
When his hand started to move lower, toward the waistband of my jeans, he seemed to catch himself. He pulled back slightly, breathing hard, his eyes dark and wanting.
"If I don't stop now—" His voice was rough, strained.
"I know." I was breathing just as hard, my body aching with wanting more.
"Workshop," he said again, but it sounded like a curse.
"Yeah." I forced myself to let go of him, even though every part of me wanted to pull him back down.
He sat up, running both hands through his hair, trying to get himself under control. His mouth was swollen, his eyes dark, his hair destroyed. He looked thoroughly kissed and thoroughly frustrated, and the knowledge that I'd done that to him made heat pool low in my stomach.
"I really do have to teach that session," he said, his voice rough.
"I know." I didn't let go of his shirt. "But later—"
"Later," he agreed, stealing one more kiss. "Definitely later."
He stood, trying to straighten his clothes and hair. I watched him, unable to stop grinning.
"What?" he asked, catching my expression.
"You look thoroughly kissed."
He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "Good. That's how I feel." He leaned down for one more quick kiss. "Try not to look at me too much during the session or I might forget what I'm teaching."
"No promises."
After he left, I collapsed back onto my bed, my lips still tingling, and a grin on my face. I'd kissed Brent Lafferty. Multiple times. And he'd kissed me back like he'd been thinking about nothing else for days.
My phone buzzed. Garrett: How's the retreat going? Learning lots?
I smiled and typed back: More than I expected. In all the best ways.
His response was immediate: That's cryptic. Spill when you get home.
Maybe, I sent back. Then, because I couldn't help myself: Probably. Yeah. Definitely.
Garrett: JASON ALEXANDER FOSTER. Did you meet someone???
I bit my lip, grinning at my phone. I'll tell you everything when I get back. Promise.
Garrett: You'd better. Finn and Micah are going to lose their minds.
***
The afternoon session was torture but in the best possible way. Brent was teaching about craft elements in mystery and suspense. Every time our eyes met, I had to bite back a smile. Once, I caught him mid-sentence, and he stumbled over his words before recovering, his ears going red.
It was adorable.
Rebecca noticed. I saw her narrow her eyes, saw her look between us with calculation. But I couldn't bring myself to care.
After the session, Brent announced one-on-one appointment slots were available for later in the week. Half the room signed up immediately. I hung back, not wanting to seem obvious.
But as people filed out, he caught my eye and smiled—this small, private smile that made my stomach flip.
Claire appeared at my elbow as I gathered my things. "So," she said, voice low. "You and Brent seem... close."
My face heated. "We're roommates. We've been working together."
"Mm-hmm." Her smile was knowing but kind. "For what it's worth, I think it's sweet. You both seem happier."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just smiled and escaped before she could press further.
***
The evening social was both better and worse than usual. Better because I kept catching Brent's eye across the room, sharing secret smiles. Worse because all I wanted to do was drag him back to the suite and pick up where we'd left off.
Someone had strung more lights around the great room, and the scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon filled the air. Holiday music played softly in the background—instrumental versions of Christmas classics. The lodge felt warm and festive, but all I could focus on was Brent.
When most people had drifted off to their rooms, I slipped out and headed for our room. My heart raced with anticipation.
Brent appeared ten minutes later, and the moment the door closed behind him, we were reaching for each other.
"Hi," he said, already pulling me close.
"Hi."
We kissed until we were both gasping and laughing, stumbling toward the loveseat.
"So," he said, settling me against his side.
I was still grinning. "We kissed."
"Multiple times."
"Extensively."
He laughed and pressed a kiss to my temple. "I kept thinking about it all afternoon. Couldn't focus on anything else."
"Me neither. Poor Rebecca was asking me a question and I zoned out thinking about your mouth."
"My mouth, huh?" He kissed me again, slow and sweet. "What about it?"
"Everything." I kissed him back. "The way it feels. The sounds you make. The way you taste."
He groaned and pulled me into his lap, deepening the kiss. We stayed like that for a while, kissing and talking and learning each other in this new context.
"Tell me something," he said eventually, his fingers playing with my hair. "Something you haven't told me yet."
I thought about that, my head resting on his shoulder. "I almost didn't come to this retreat. I stood in the library parking lot with my bags packed and I nearly turned around and went back upstairs."
"What made you go?"
"My friends showed up. All of them. They basically wouldn't let me chicken out.
" I smiled at the memory. "Garrett brought coffee.
Finn threatened to drive me here himself.
Micah gave me this look like he believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.
And Asher... Asher packed half my wardrobe because he said I needed to 'look the part. '"
Brent's laugh rumbled through his chest. "I like your friends."
"They'd like you too." The words came out before I could think about them, and I tensed slightly. Too much? Too fast?
But Brent just tightened his arms around me. "Would they?"
"They would. Garrett would interrogate you about your intentions. Finn would be gruff but secretly protective. Micah would recommend books you'd actually love."
"Sounds perfect," he said, and he meant it. I could hear it in his voice.
We talked about other things—his first book deal, my decision to move to Juniper Bluff, the moments that had shaped us. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by kisses and comfortable silences.
Eventually, reluctantly, we got ready for bed. The bathroom routine felt different now—charged with promise instead of tension. When he emerged in his sleep clothes, I didn't try to hide that I was looking. When I came out, his eyes tracked my every movement with open appreciation.
"Own beds?" he asked, though there was a question in his voice.
I wanted to say no. Wanted to climb into his bed and stay there. But we'd started this, and part of me wanted to savor it. Build the anticipation.
"Own beds," I said. "For now."
"For now," he agreed, and the promise in those words made my pulse jump.
We turned off the lights and settled into our separate beds. But the space between us felt different now. Full of possibility instead of longing.
"Jason?" Brent's voice in the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're my roommate."
I smiled into the darkness. "Best roommate assignment ever."
His laugh was soft and warm. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
I fell asleep thinking about stolen kisses and the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. Tomorrow we'd figure out what this meant, how to navigate it.
But tonight, I let myself feel happy.