tactile sensation of her hand in his.
His hand was warm, his fingers strong and slightly calloused from wielding hammers. Her hand felt tiny and soft and. . . safe, wrapped up in his.
Safe. What a wonderful, ridiculous feeling for a guardian angel to have.
She was the one who kept others safe. She was the angel. She was immortal. She performed miracles. There was absolutely nothing a human could give her that she wasn’t perfectly capable of providing for herself.
Except. . . this .
Companionship. Joy. A shared moment.
His footsteps slowed. She wasn’t certain when he’d stopped talking, but he was silent now. He took her other hand in his. They were alone beneath the light of the stars, only a sliver of moon to catch the edge of his features and illuminate him staring down at her the same way she was staring up at him.
The rain had stopped, and the soft breeze rustling amongst the leaves sounded like the fluttering of a thousand angel wings.
He lifted her hands to his shoulders and she immediately twined them around his neck. He was so close. Larger than life. She wasn’t sure whether he leaned down or she stretched up, but the distance closed between them until the only stars she could see were the ones reflected in his eyes.
His mouth brushed against hers. Gentle. Hesitant.
Her lips parted. When his mouth brushed hers for a second time, she was ready. She held him as tight as she’d ever dreamed, as tight as she dared, and swept her tongue into his mouth to taste him.
Jack . He was everything she’d ever imagined. More than she’d ever hoped for. His hands were in her hair, holding her to him as if afraid she might let go. As if she would ever let go. She clung to him, opening her mouth and her heart, recognizing this moment for the miracle it was. A taste of something that could never be hers.
She loved him, but she couldn’t have him. Had never had him. He didn’t truly know who he was kissing. And she couldn’t tell him any more than she could keep him.
All she had was this moment. This man, beneath her fingertips. This heart, beating against hers. This breeze and this starlight, encircling them with magic.
This memory, to cherish forever.
Chapter Six
J ACK WENT to bed with the worst case of blue balls he’d ever experienced in his life.
Knowing Sarah was right beside him, giving an equally Oscar-worthy performance of Faking Sleep, did not help matters. Just saying her name in his head made his heart beat faster.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He hadn’t kissed anyone since becoming a professional nomad. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t felt worthy of anyone’s affection, and he certainly hadn’t felt like he deserved to experience anything as elusive as happiness.
And then—Sarah.
Everything about her surprised him. Not just her bizarre outfits, although the acid-washed denim romper and hot pink jelly shoes were a sight to behold. He hadn’t seen jelly shoes since 1985, when his sister had chucked a similar pair out her bedroom window, claiming her entire foot had scabbed over from chafing against inflexible plastic.
The thing about Sarah was that she seemed to actually understand him. To believe in him. Not in a sycophantic or lemming sort of way, either. She certainly wasn’t shy about making her opinions known when she disagreed with his decisions or accused him of being headstrong.
That, too, was refreshing. He’d already gone from the mogul who could do no wrong to the villain who could do no right. Having someone view him fairly and objectively and still choose to support him was something he’d never anticipated experiencing again.
And how was it possible she’d be willing to spend Christmas repairing tin roofs in the mountains of Bolivia? In the past, he’d never spent time with a woman without providing chauffeured transportation and luxury accommodations. And here he was, borrowing Sarah’s five-star wheels and sharing a tent
His hand was warm, his fingers strong and slightly calloused from wielding hammers. Her hand felt tiny and soft and. . . safe, wrapped up in his.
Safe. What a wonderful, ridiculous feeling for a guardian angel to have.
She was the one who kept others safe. She was the angel. She was immortal. She performed miracles. There was absolutely nothing a human could give her that she wasn’t perfectly capable of providing for herself.
Except. . . this .
Companionship. Joy. A shared moment.
His footsteps slowed. She wasn’t certain when he’d stopped talking, but he was silent now. He took her other hand in his. They were alone beneath the light of the stars, only a sliver of moon to catch the edge of his features and illuminate him staring down at her the same way she was staring up at him.
The rain had stopped, and the soft breeze rustling amongst the leaves sounded like the fluttering of a thousand angel wings.
He lifted her hands to his shoulders and she immediately twined them around his neck. He was so close. Larger than life. She wasn’t sure whether he leaned down or she stretched up, but the distance closed between them until the only stars she could see were the ones reflected in his eyes.
His mouth brushed against hers. Gentle. Hesitant.
Her lips parted. When his mouth brushed hers for a second time, she was ready. She held him as tight as she’d ever dreamed, as tight as she dared, and swept her tongue into his mouth to taste him.
Jack . He was everything she’d ever imagined. More than she’d ever hoped for. His hands were in her hair, holding her to him as if afraid she might let go. As if she would ever let go. She clung to him, opening her mouth and her heart, recognizing this moment for the miracle it was. A taste of something that could never be hers.
She loved him, but she couldn’t have him. Had never had him. He didn’t truly know who he was kissing. And she couldn’t tell him any more than she could keep him.
All she had was this moment. This man, beneath her fingertips. This heart, beating against hers. This breeze and this starlight, encircling them with magic.
This memory, to cherish forever.
Chapter Six
J ACK WENT to bed with the worst case of blue balls he’d ever experienced in his life.
Knowing Sarah was right beside him, giving an equally Oscar-worthy performance of Faking Sleep, did not help matters. Just saying her name in his head made his heart beat faster.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He hadn’t kissed anyone since becoming a professional nomad. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t felt worthy of anyone’s affection, and he certainly hadn’t felt like he deserved to experience anything as elusive as happiness.
And then—Sarah.
Everything about her surprised him. Not just her bizarre outfits, although the acid-washed denim romper and hot pink jelly shoes were a sight to behold. He hadn’t seen jelly shoes since 1985, when his sister had chucked a similar pair out her bedroom window, claiming her entire foot had scabbed over from chafing against inflexible plastic.
The thing about Sarah was that she seemed to actually understand him. To believe in him. Not in a sycophantic or lemming sort of way, either. She certainly wasn’t shy about making her opinions known when she disagreed with his decisions or accused him of being headstrong.
That, too, was refreshing. He’d already gone from the mogul who could do no wrong to the villain who could do no right. Having someone view him fairly and objectively and still choose to support him was something he’d never anticipated experiencing again.
And how was it possible she’d be willing to spend Christmas repairing tin roofs in the mountains of Bolivia? In the past, he’d never spent time with a woman without providing chauffeured transportation and luxury accommodations. And here he was, borrowing Sarah’s five-star wheels and sharing a tent
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