The Dream Crafter(12)

They wandered to a park, nothing more than a large green space surrounded by a trail and a few trees and flowers. There were a few small groupings of people picnicking, with the littler kids still running around together no matter if they were boys or girls. The teenagers were separated by gender, alternating speaking in their little groups and looking toward the other, laughing and giggling when a glance was intercepted, the one caught looking away with chagrin written over their face and the catcalls or giggles of the others in the group loud in their ears.

He didn’t head for any of the people. Instead they walked around the little trail. The flowers were plentiful and colorful, beautiful in the way that spoke of a lot of upkeep and love, but not in the precise lines of a manicured garden. This instead suggested the community cared for it as a whole, working as they could to keep it up, with no forethought or plan attached. “I like it here too.”

“It’s a good place when things become too much.” He said it not as someone remembering long ago days of trials, but someone going through the hell of now. She wasn’t the only one with burdens, and she squeezed his arm to show support.

“We’re both so cheerful, aren’t we?” Her gentle tease was worth the smile that lit his face, showing white teeth and that adorable dimple.

“Yeah. Enough of that, or I’m handing in my guy card.”

She bumped him with her hip, the move making him stutter-step, though more in surprise than any ability of hers to move him, their arms separating at the motion. “Oh yeah? What rule are you breaking?”

The half-shock on his face was comical, but it was the thread of disbelief, of confusion under it that had her own humor dimming some. Could this be the first time anyone had ever teased him like this? Before her brother was taken, they were always physical with each other, playful touches that showed how much they loved each other. Did he have any of that?

Amana forced the disquieting thought down before it could show on her face, not wanting him to become self-conscious, and concentrated on only the delight he expressed.

He came back from the surprise by putting his hands on his hips, staring at her. “The rule that says a man shall not bring down the lady in his company.” He grasped at her hand and pulled her so she stood in front of him, their faces so close to each other. “It’s doubly wrong when said lady has the prettiest smile he’s ever seen in his life.”

“Prettiest? That’s a high standard.” Her voice came out breathier than she wished, but he was right here, those tattoos within reach and the dimple on display. She didn’t stand a chance.

“Trust me, second place is so far behind you there is no comparison.”

It didn’t feel like a line. Only sincerity and appreciation showed in those eyes, the honey color strong, and he lowered his head to hers.

It was slow, and she had ample time to pull away if she desired. She didn’t, and the first brush of lips was a light caress, a small question. In answer she pressed herself closer, absorbing his warmth into herself, letting it melt the cold that had enveloped her at the earlier meeting and had yet to thaw.

His hands cupped her face and brought her closer, the kiss was kept soft. His fingers roamed over her forehead, down her temples to push back into the fall of her hair. Her hair was twisted in his hand, firm but not painful, as though he was trying to tether himself to her.

His tongue came out to run along her bottom lip, the warmth and wetness creating in her a similar answer. She parted her lips, letting him explore however he desired.

What he desired was slow. There was no rough handling, no grasping at her. Instead each brush against her spoke of cherishing, protecting. He was firm, in charge, demanding, but he took nothing that wasn’t freely offered.

They separated, and only then she noticed how heavy their breathing was, how dark his eyes had become. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a better kisser.”

“Yeah?” His gaze roamed her face, taking in all the little details. Did he see the small scar the side of her temple? Or the one beneath her jaw, that curve where it met her neck? If he did, he didn’t ask about either of them. Instead, he said, “Prettiest eyes, too.”

“They’re only dark brown.”

He gave a snort of a laugh, the sound enough to break the tiniest bit through the sexual tension. “That is such a girl thing to do.”

“What?”

“When you get a compliment, you turn around and say why the compliment isn’t valid. Trust me, I saw your eyes are dark brown. They’re still the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“I am a girl.” The protest was weak, and she gave a huff of laughter herself. “I’ll try not to be such a girl next time.”