Chapter 22
The angle was awkward, and the man was surprised.
What Hazel had meant to be a light brush of her lips ended up with her half falling into Maxwell, steadying herself at the last moment by grabbing the edge of the stair above her, and his arm went around her more as a helpful gesture than a passionate one—at least at first.
Just when the initial traces of embarrassment and regret were starting to needle Hazel, Maxwell’s hand on her waist opened, splaying his fingers against her back.
He made a quiet sound in his throat before parting his lips and shifting forward, no longer a passive recipient of her energy or her weight but meeting her with equal force.
His mouth was firm and faintly cool against hers—the soda, she thought, and could still taste a hint of it—and his lips and tongue felt like silk.
Arousal uncoiled within her, as heady as the wine had been but much more familiar.
After all that had happened, in the face of all she knew lay ahead with no clear path away from it, she’d found a moment free from thought or dread.
Hazel let herself plunge into sensation.
Tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss, she settled her free hand on Maxwell’s arm for support.
His bicep was lean but solid beneath the light fabric of his shirt, showing a wiry strength that Hazel hadn’t anticipated but that the firm pressure at her back confirmed.
When he cupped the side of her face, though, he was gentle, skimming his fingertips up her jawline and threading them through her hair.
Hazel let out an unsteady breath at the touch.
Like the brush of their fingers before, it was barely intimate, hardly there at all, but it sent a wave of feeling down her whole body, tingling over her breasts and pulsing between her legs.
Every time she moved or even drew breath, her loose shirt dragged over her stiff nipples, and the seam of her shorts was beginning to exert a delicious kind of pressure.
Maxwell traced the line of her backbone slowly upward, making her gasp again and arch forward.
Their current knee-to-knee position wouldn’t give her the contact she craved, though, and the stairs were too narrow for easy adjustment.
If Hazel straddled him like she wanted to, they’d probably both fall.
And the frustration was fun in its way. Going slowly, with their surroundings setting an artificial barrier, she seemed to feel every touch ten times more than she had with her previous lovers.
Hazel pulled back just enough to trail her lips up to Maxwell’s earlobe, caught it gently between her teeth, and relished the shiver that ran through him.
The hand in her hair tightened. When she released Maxwell’s earlobe and looked into his face, his irises had become thin green rings around his wide pupils.
Hazel suspected her own looked the same.
Drunk, she thought—but on desire. Even the wine didn’t compare.
Careful of their precarious perch on the stairs, she scooted toward him so that her knees bracketed one of his.
She still wasn’t anywhere near as close as she wanted to be—there were annoying inches of air between her chest and his, let alone lower—but it was enough.
She leaned forward and touched her lips to the exposed hollow of his collarbone.
Maxwell froze.
It wasn’t arousal holding him still that time, or not just arousal. Hazel could tell even before she looked up and saw his expression: He might as well have just had a bucket of cold water dumped on him.
She let go of his arm and sat back. “Sorry. Bad spot? Too fast?”
“I—no—” He dropped his hands and almost scrambled to his feet, giving Hazel a good view of the effect she’d been having. That didn’t matter, though, not when he sounded completely miserable. “I can’t. I’m so sorry.”
Humiliation beat out disappointment, but not by much—and neither of them mattered right then. “Hey,” Hazel said, getting up slowly. “I’m the one who should apologize. I made the wrong assumptions. I should have thought more before I acted.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Maxwell interjected quickly. “I do—obviously I do feel… But it wouldn’t be right.”
“Oh,” she said, and thought she knew what he meant. Maxwell didn’t wear any rings, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a partner waiting somewhere, even if he was living at his sister’s without them. “No problem. I get it.”
He shook his head. “It’s not like that, there’s nobody else. I wish I could explain.”
So do I, Hazel thought, but that wasn’t fair.
Not when she was keeping fairly huge secrets of her own.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said, ignoring her body’s twisting frustration and drawing on a life of both occult discipline and distressed clients.
“We’ve met twice. You brought me wine, I made a move, it didn’t work out.
No big deal. You’re still welcome to wander around and look at birds if you want, and we can forget this ever happened. ”
Maxwell gave her a small, pained smile. “You’re very generous.”
“No, I’m just…not sixteen.” She still did have limits, though, and so she picked up the bottle and the glasses. “I’d better get back to work, though. Thank you for the wine.”
“Drink it in good health,” he said, paused, and then turned away. He headed out across the yard to the road, and Hazel went inside, aching with unsatisfied lust and dejected in a way she told herself was silly.