the patio tiles in the garden terrace and we have a lot of leftover tiles. They’re Mediterranean style. Easy to install, too . . . there’s a video online that gives a step-by-step. If you’d like, I can take a look at your space and see if the tiles would work there.”
Wow. Someone willing to help me with my remodel without strings attached . . . that was something new. “That’s really nice of you, Paul. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll show you the tiles when we get down.”
When we get down? Laughter bubbled up inside me. I’d forgotten how high we were. Lost in my conversation with Paul, it felt like we were strolling (backwards) down a mountain or something. It was hard to believe I’d been worried. . . .
Then I glanced beneath me.
Nothing.
My stomach dropped and my feet halted as I gaped at the darkness spread out below. The dotted city lights blurred. “Oh . . . my . . .”
“Kaitlin? Don’t look down. Look at me.” Paul’s voice was low, calm, and commanding. “Right here, Kaitlin. Lift your eyes.”
I wanted to look over at him. I really did. But the horror had grabbed me with its claws, holding me captive, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the vast empty space below.
My knees shook as terror sliced through me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized the rope had stopped moving and I was vaguely aware of voices in my earpiece. I even felt hands grip my waist, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Couldn’t stop picturing myself spiraling down to my death.
“I c-can’t—”
Suddenly, my view was blocked and warm lips covered mine—the terror inside me immediately ceased. What the . . . ? I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. With Paul’s mouth capturing mine, I’d been thrust into a different kind of spiraling. One where my heart thudded, not in panic of dying, but from the amazing warmth flowing through me.
I wanted more. . . .
My mouth opened and Paul’s tongue connected with mine. Chills vibrated down my neck and flutters danced through my belly as we searched, explored, and savored each other. I slid my fingers into that thick tousled hair, pulling him closer. His arms slipped around me, his fingers kneading into my back, and then I felt something rub insistently against my cheek—tugging me out of the heavenly fog I’d been in.
My eyes burst open and I saw the yellow rope nudging against me, reminding me of danger—only not from falling to the pavement below.
I pulled away from Paul abruptly, and he studied me through heavy-lidded eyes.
My heart pounded and my eyes widened. “Why did you do that?”
“To distract you.” Cupping my face, his thumbs brushed my cheeks, then he leaned his forehead against mine. “Did it work?”
“Yes,” I said, savoring the feel of his skin against mine.
Only now I was scared for a whole different reason.
****
Later that night, my doorbell rang, and I trudged to the front door in my painting sweats. In the twenty minutes I’d been home, I’d already touched up the white paint on my bathroom cabinets. The whole time I’d been painting, Paul’s kiss kept replaying in my mind.
Not good.
Blocking the kiss from my head, I opened the door to find my sister on my front porch. “Mel! What are you doing here?”
She stepped inside, kicked the door shut behind her, and thrust her cell phone screen in my face. “Is this really you?”
“Is what really me?” I snatched the phone and stared at the image on the screen. There it was in color. Me. Paul. Attached to the side of the Geoffries hotel. Kissing. The caption under the photo read Radio Love . I gasped. “What the . . . ?”
Mel grabbed the phone back, tapped something on the screen, then started reading. “Brian Burnside and Kaitlin Murray find love thanks to local Sacramento radio station. It all began for the couple when Mr. Burnside won Descending for Diabetes tickets from—”
“Stop!” I pressed my hands to my ears, dropped down
Wow. Someone willing to help me with my remodel without strings attached . . . that was something new. “That’s really nice of you, Paul. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll show you the tiles when we get down.”
When we get down? Laughter bubbled up inside me. I’d forgotten how high we were. Lost in my conversation with Paul, it felt like we were strolling (backwards) down a mountain or something. It was hard to believe I’d been worried. . . .
Then I glanced beneath me.
Nothing.
My stomach dropped and my feet halted as I gaped at the darkness spread out below. The dotted city lights blurred. “Oh . . . my . . .”
“Kaitlin? Don’t look down. Look at me.” Paul’s voice was low, calm, and commanding. “Right here, Kaitlin. Lift your eyes.”
I wanted to look over at him. I really did. But the horror had grabbed me with its claws, holding me captive, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the vast empty space below.
My knees shook as terror sliced through me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized the rope had stopped moving and I was vaguely aware of voices in my earpiece. I even felt hands grip my waist, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Couldn’t stop picturing myself spiraling down to my death.
“I c-can’t—”
Suddenly, my view was blocked and warm lips covered mine—the terror inside me immediately ceased. What the . . . ? I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. With Paul’s mouth capturing mine, I’d been thrust into a different kind of spiraling. One where my heart thudded, not in panic of dying, but from the amazing warmth flowing through me.
I wanted more. . . .
My mouth opened and Paul’s tongue connected with mine. Chills vibrated down my neck and flutters danced through my belly as we searched, explored, and savored each other. I slid my fingers into that thick tousled hair, pulling him closer. His arms slipped around me, his fingers kneading into my back, and then I felt something rub insistently against my cheek—tugging me out of the heavenly fog I’d been in.
My eyes burst open and I saw the yellow rope nudging against me, reminding me of danger—only not from falling to the pavement below.
I pulled away from Paul abruptly, and he studied me through heavy-lidded eyes.
My heart pounded and my eyes widened. “Why did you do that?”
“To distract you.” Cupping my face, his thumbs brushed my cheeks, then he leaned his forehead against mine. “Did it work?”
“Yes,” I said, savoring the feel of his skin against mine.
Only now I was scared for a whole different reason.
****
Later that night, my doorbell rang, and I trudged to the front door in my painting sweats. In the twenty minutes I’d been home, I’d already touched up the white paint on my bathroom cabinets. The whole time I’d been painting, Paul’s kiss kept replaying in my mind.
Not good.
Blocking the kiss from my head, I opened the door to find my sister on my front porch. “Mel! What are you doing here?”
She stepped inside, kicked the door shut behind her, and thrust her cell phone screen in my face. “Is this really you?”
“Is what really me?” I snatched the phone and stared at the image on the screen. There it was in color. Me. Paul. Attached to the side of the Geoffries hotel. Kissing. The caption under the photo read Radio Love . I gasped. “What the . . . ?”
Mel grabbed the phone back, tapped something on the screen, then started reading. “Brian Burnside and Kaitlin Murray find love thanks to local Sacramento radio station. It all began for the couple when Mr. Burnside won Descending for Diabetes tickets from—”
“Stop!” I pressed my hands to my ears, dropped down