18 #2
“Put your arm around me.” She does exactly as I say. Her arm is cold against my neck. After running up the trail, I’m overly warm.
“I’m sorry that you have to do this.” She’s so close, her words reverberate through my chest. “It was dumb of me to come out in the rain without any gear.”
“We all do stupid stuff when we’re heartbroken.”
“It wasn’t that. Jack showed up, and he had the gall to pretend he was in love with me . . . you were right . . . he never loved me.” She sounds so sad and wistful as she says this.
“Oh! Annie! I’m sorry.”
“Why did I ever believe him?” she asks in a small voice. I say nothing. What can I say? I tighten my hold on her, providing what comfort I can.
“Thank you for carrying me.” She snuggles against my chest. I’m concentrating every muscle on holding her safe and making sure each step is secure as I make my way in the dark and the rain.
The rhythm of my steady hiking lulls her to sleep. About an hour later, I stop at a shelter under a rock ledge. Still cradling Annie, I sit down on a rock so that she’s effectively sitting on my lap as I gently shake her awake. “Annie, I need you to drink more cocoa.”
She opens her eyes and nods. And so help me, she moves the hand wrapped around my neck and runs it through my hair. Her fingers are no longer icy cold. She’s warming up. I’m giddy with relief.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she sighs, her hand still tickling the sensitive skin on the back of my neck, sending shockwaves through my body.
I’m struggling here. I’m not positive that she’s totally coherent.
My best guess is that she is. I’m no longer worried about hypothermia.
She’s warmed up a lot. But she’s acting so very flirty, I fear she might not have all her senses.
And the more she fiddles with my hair, the faster I’m losing mine.
“You know what else I’ve always wanted to do?” she asks seriously, watching me try to pretend I’m made of stone as I pour her cocoa. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.”
I hand her the cup, my hand only slightly shaking. I’m trying my best to take good care of her, while she’s doing everything she can to distract me. She sips her drink slowly, her eyes steady on mine. “I bet you’re a good kisser.”
“I’m out of practice,” I say flatly. When she’s finished, I take the cup from her and gulp down the rest. We really need to get going.
“We should do something about that.” Her hand returns to the back of my hair and she gently guides my face down to hers until our noses lightly bump. Every fiber in my being wants to kiss Annie Greenwood, but I also really need to get her off this mountain.
“Annie, you’re killing me,” I say through gritted teeth.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, which is no help at all, because even after miles of hiking in the rain, she still smells like Annie.
I’m overwhelmed by her distinct, sweet, floral scent.
“You have no idea how much I want this . . . how much I want you, but—”
“No, you don’t get it,” she says, her lips so close I can practically taste the cocoa on her breath.
“This is what I want.” Her mouth brushes mine with aching tenderness, and .
. . I am undone. I forget what I was about to say, as well as my name, and why I’m on this muddy ridge after dark. The only thought left is Annie.
After months of longing and frustration my mouth takes her parted lips—no more restraint, no more holding back.
I can’t get enough. Neither can she. Our hands are everywhere, desperately pulling the other one closer.
Annie’s kisses are wild and frenzied and staggeringly beautiful, like powerful waves crashing against rocks.
She’s the water, and I’m the rock—and as everyone knows, water wins every time.
I’m gasping for air, drowning in the cocoa-sweet taste of her mouth.
I’ve completely lowered my defenses. With each kiss I’m revealing all my cards: I adore you.
I worship you. You are my everything. But maybe that’s okay, because Annie’s responding wholeheartedly, the way she plays piano—full of passion and raw emotion.
And it doesn’t matter that my arms and legs are burning or that my t-shirt is soaked with rain. I never want to stop.
“I knew you’d be a good kisser,” she says, a little breathless when we finally come up for air. “But . . . wow! Eleven out of ten, no notes.”
Perhaps I should compliment her in return, but I can barely form a coherent thought. She gently pats my beard. “Do you know that you’re the first man I’ve kissed with a full beard?”
“I can shave it, if you want.”
“No, don’t—I like it.” She runs her fingers across my cheek. “It’s surprisingly soft. And it suits you. I didn’t know I liked beards until I met you.”
“Then I won’t shave.”
“Good!” She studies my face with a furrowed brow. “Brandon?” She says my name with a slight question. Her hair is wet and her face has literal streaks of mud. And I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Yes, Annie?”
“Can we go home now? My ankle really hurts.”
“Oh! of course. I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
”Because I’m an idiot,” I answer. And because I wanted to kiss you so desperately, I went against my better judgment. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was a mistake.”
“Don’t say that. It was wonderful. Not a mistake.” she whines charmingly. “Kiss me again.”
“No can do.” I honestly don’t think she’s delirious. But that’s beside the point. It’s late, there’s no time for kissing.
Annie quickly falls asleep again as I carry her down the hill.
I mull over what happened. I probably shouldn’t have kissed her.
But I hope some of what she said is true.
I really wanted you—and you’re here! . .
. I missed you. She’s fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder and her arm around my neck.
My heart is pounding, my glutes are burning, and my arms are thrashed, and yet, I carry forth, on some sort of superhuman high.
I reached her on time. The Universe gave me a second chance, and I didn’t fumble.