A Midnight Clear by Emma Barry & Genevieve Turner Page B

children alone. She didn’t want to spend in her life in service as her mother had. But not every man in the Navy was an admiral, and not every wife died young.
    Joe had done nothing except ask what she wanted and to try to give it to her. He was kind and thoughtful and aggravatingly attractive.
    She liked him. And he said he adored her.
    So as much as it scared her, it was time to take another risk.
    Too soon, Joe slowed the motorcycle and drove it back to the clearing. When they parked, Frances clambered off and removed her helmet. She watched Joe do the same and then get everything stowed.
    When he was done, he watched her intently for a few beats. “Did you enjoy flying?”
    “More than I can possibly explain to you. I know how much trouble you went to. Thank you.”
    “Frances, I would do anything for you.”
    She believed him then. After all his declarations, he’d finally convinced her.
    Joe gestured at the motorcycle. “Mike will come by it to get in a few hours. I borrowed a car too. I’d like to drive you home.”
    “Let’s take the long way back. Over the bridge.”
    Joe took her hand and led the way. Around them, the trees were mostly bare. Here and there, scarlet, orange, brown, and yellow still exploded on the branches, but most of the leaves littered the water and clung to the roots of the trees. The forest stood on exactly the knife’s edge between fall and winter.
    Joe was humming, some song she didn’t recognize. He was pleased, but he was lost in his thoughts. As they crossed the white bridge spanning over the water near the bandstand, she tugged on his hand to bring him to a stop.
    “Joe?”
    He looked down at her, curious.
    “Thank you again. It was a silly request, but it’s the first thing I’ve asked for myself in… forever.”
    “You should have everything you want,” he said.
    She took one hesitant step toward him and then another. She hadn’t released his hand, and she rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. She didn’t want him to misunderstand, so she set her free hand against his chest.
    “You should too.”
    She raised her face to his and waited.
    She wasn’t certain how she’d even once thought he could be lying to her about his intentions: The whole process of his thoughts was written on his face.
    He wanted this and it scared him to death.
    He rested his hand on her shoulder, both drawing her closer to him and at once keeping her fixed a breath away.
    “ Frances .” It was a warning and a plea at once.
    “You said you’d do whatever I wanted, do whatever would make me happy. Well, this would make me happy.”
    A beat passed. He wasn’t going to make her say it, was he?
    He nodded, the movement jerky as if he wasn’t quite conscious of it. His eyes were fixed on her mouth. He wet his lips and leaned closer. Or maybe he just thought himself closer. His eyelids drifted closed and then he swallowed, steeling himself.
    His mouth touched hers.
    The jolt of it was sharp, joy and pain and instant jarring rush.
    He rocked back on his heels and then he swooped forward and kissed her again, this time on the corner of her mouth.
    And again, her top lip.
    And again, in the center.
    Then his mouth opened and closed around her bottom lip. He pulled ever so slightly.
    She gasped and the kiss became a whole other thing.  
    If the motorcycle had made her want, had made her cold and achy, this kiss promised that Joe had the remedy. It was everything warm and slick, a shuddering world.
    In an instant, her spine melted and it was only Joe’s hands keeping her up, only the slide of the tongue against hers that made standing worth it.
    She made some incoherent noise of both frustration and pleasure and he stumbled back.
    “Too much?” Raw and shaky and a mirror of her own state.
    “Not enough.”
    And he was kissing her again, worshipping her, making every ounce of her feel as if she were safe and wanted with him.
    They stayed locked together until the last golden moments before