Running his hand up the back of her neck, spearing the spill of her hair between his fingers, he tilted her head back, urged her mouth open wider. She sighed into the soft heat and tang of him, dissolving into the intimate flavor.
He plumbed deeper, coaxing a shiver from her, a savory shock of awareness. The humming in her head escalated, setting her on a steady course to oblivion.
She didn't care. She wanted this. Wanted him. If truth be told, she'd wanted him for years. But she could not have ever imagined it being like this.
His hand moved up her spine, came to rest at her neck where her sleep shirt dipped in the back, touching her bare spine and sending another startling shiver skipping through her. She made an involuntary sound of pleasure. It squeaked from her lungs on a gentle sigh.
He wore jeans and a Western shirt and a belt buckle that was pressing into her navel. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows revealing tanned arms dusted with black hair. His wrists were muscular, his palm square, fingers broad. The jeans fit him snug, molding around powerful thighs. His lips seared hers, melting her legs straight into the earth.
She couldn't have moved if someone had hollered, "Flash fire!"
Making a low, desperate noise, Ridge swept his tongue into her mouth, exploring at first, then plundering. Taking her fully, completely.
Kaia had never in her life been kissed like this. Never mind the humming. Although it was as if a chorus of angels were singing "Hallelujah" over a bullhorn. This kiss was an entity unto itself.
Maybe it was because she'd imagined it for so many years, waited so long for it. Maybe it was because Granny Blue's legend was true, and this was how she knew she'd found her soul mate. Or maybe it was just because Ridge Lockhart was the hottest thing on two legs and he seemed to feel the same way about her.
Whatever the cause, she was in heaven.
It felt so perfect. So right.
He tasted like her fondest memories-marshmallows roasted over a campfire, homemade peach ice cream eaten on the front porch swing, chilled watermelon slices on a hot August day.
He tasted both familiar and foreign, like déjà vu in an exotic land you knew you'd never before visited.
He tasted like all the times she'd wanted to take a walk on the wild side but had been too afraid to step from her comfort zone.
Or maybe it was all of the above.
He tasted, quite frankly, of bravery and freedom. He'd been the one to walk away from Cupid. Fly the coop. Make a huge splash in the big world beyond the arid borders of the Trans-Pecos.
She felt proud and jealous and sad, an odd triad that had her clinging even tighter to him, wanting to suck as much emotion from this moment as she could. Wanting to infuse herself with his life force.
Their first kiss would never come again. She closed her eyes and allowed every cell in her body to strum with the sweet hum of their music. To steep in the bubbling bliss.
Everything about him stunned her. His strength. His scent. His taste. His sound.
Sudden light illuminated them. Bright and startling. For one crazy second she thought maybe they were being transported straight up to heaven.
Flood lamp.
Someone had turned on the flood lamp and they were standing directly below it. The front door of the mansion opened behind them. Voices spilled out. Party was over. People heading home.
Her instinct was to pull away, afraid of getting caught kissing him. Afraid her family would see and make a thing of it.
But instead of letting her go, Ridge took her by the hand and led her to the other side of the plane, where they fell into darkness again.
As he drew her into his arms for another kiss, she giggled. "Should we stop?"
"You're right," he said, leaning his head back so he could peer into her eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this."
"If we keep this up, we're going to get caught."
"I know." But instead of stopping, he threaded his fingers through her hair, held her face while he seized her mouth once more.
Setting off that beautiful tumult of humming again. The One. The song sang. He's The One!
Resistance pushed through her veins. She tried to think of a dozen rational explanations for the humming, why Ridge couldn't be The One. But her ears flooded with the sound, and her mouth filled with the taste of him, and it was all so overwhelming she could barely remember what her own name was, much less all the reasons why this couldn't be happening.
Bottom line? It was happening. Logical or not.
Ridge made a guttural sound, low and deep at the back of his throat. In the distance, she could hear party guests calling out good-nights, car doors slamming, engines starting.