Little Love Affair (Southern Romance Series, #1) by Lexy Timms

nearby.  Clara looked around herself, holding up her palm to catch the fat drops that made it through the canopy of the trees. He wished he had a coat to give her, but his was bundled away beneath a pile of leaves outside the hut.
    “You should go back to the house,” Jasper said urgently. He held up the armful of yarrow. “How do I use this?”
    “Strip the leaves off and—” A clap of thunder sounded above them and the rain came down in a sudden roar. Clara reached out to grab his hand and yanked him down the hill. “This way!”
    “Where’re we going?” Jasper called.
    “The willow!” Her shout was almost lost in the sound of the downpour. “It always stays dry underneath. I used to hide there during storms when I was little.”
    At the edge of the trees, they hesitated. The willow was next to the winding stream that bordered their property, long limbs trailing into the water that tumbled down from the rapids upstream. Fifty yards away, if not more, and the rain was pouring down.
    “Perhaps we should stay here...” Jasper’s voice trailed off.
    “We’ll be soaked through either way,” Clara said, pointing up at the heavy clouds across the sky. “August storms never clear quickly.” She hesitated, then shot him that mischievous smile that made his heart stop dead...and took off, running out into the rain with a shriek.
    They laughed as they ran, rain running down their noses and soaking their hair. Clara held up her skirts and leaped over little puddles that were forming on the ground, and Jasper followed behind with his hands shielding the precious armful of yarrow.
    They burst into the space under the tree with a gasp. Clara was still laughing, pushing her soaking hair out of her eyes and panting for breath.
    “I love rainstorms,” she managed in between gasps.
    “It is a nice relief after the heat.” Jasper leaned over, hands on his knees.  “I haven’t run like that since I was little.”
    “You acquitted yourself quite well, I thought.” She gave him a bright smile and bent to wring the water out of her hair. “Your shirt is all askew, you know.”
    “It is?” He twisted, trying to see the collar.
    “Here.” She reached up to turn the collar inside out, and Jasper felt himself stop breathing. Her touch was light and capable, the brush of warm fingers against his neck and his stomach while she adjusted the sopping wet fabric under his vest. He swallowed hard. “There,” she said brightly, looking up at him at last, and her smile died when she saw his face. “Jasper? Is something wrong?”
    He shouldn’t. Oh, he shouldn’t.
    Jasper reached down to take her hands, moving gently. He did not want her to realize where she was, who she was with. He only wanted to hold her close, study her face, watch her lips curve. She was frozen in a mirror of his own stillness. They stood, hands wrapped together for a long moment, just as Jasper gathered the courage to step away, shuddering with the effort, he saw her lips part.
    “Please,” she whispered.
    His reserve broke in a rush. His arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close, bending his head to kiss her.

Chapter 8
    H is lips were warm and soft. In the moment before he kissed her, Clara had pictured herself standing up on tiptoe to press her lips against his. She wanted to do so desperately, but she could not seem to remember how to move, or even how to breathe. Now, as he bent his head to hers, she felt herself sway against him. Her fingers clasped around his and she stretched up to meet his mouth. The heat of his palm was burning against her back.
    She did not expect the bolt of heat that shot through her. The touch of his body against hers was warm, solid. She did not realize she had moved until both of her arms were twined around his neck to pull him closer, and she clung to him as if she was drowning. The whole world had faded away, and there was only his mouth against hers, one hand sliding up to her neck to cup the side of