Apparently, yes.
She slipped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her closer. She leaned into him, his lips soft and exploring. He lifted her enough that her toes skimmed over the wooden planks. He turned and leaned her back against one of the bridge uprights. She caught her breath as he dropped his head and kissed her neck, trailing up her jaw and finally returning to her waiting mouth—readily waiting, which was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
“Mark,” she said, breathless between slow kisses.
“Yeah?” he asked, his mouth roaming back toward her ear.
“Oh—” she breathed, forgetting what she was going to say. She felt him smile against her skin.
“What was that?” he whispered in her ear.
“Mm—” Seriously, what was she doing trying to think right now?
Madigan, you need to back off right this instant, so help me. Danger! Danger!
“Go away,” she whispered, and Mark’s head came up.
“What?” he asked, setting her on her feet.
“No, no, no, I wasn’t talking to you.” She reached for him again.
He watched her, catching his own breath. “Then who were you talking to?”
She swallowed and clasped her hands behind his neck. “The voice in my head.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “What was it saying?” He leaned toward her again, eyes on her neck.
“Nothing important.” His lips touched her skin, and her eyelids fluttered. “At least, not at the moment.”
“When will it be important?” he murmured.
“Probably later . . . sometime.”
He nibbled her earlobe, sending an electric current down her entire left side. “Sounds important,” he whispered. He pulled himself away and met her gaze. “Maybe you should listen.” He studied her, serious, waiting for a response.
Again, she reached and touched his scars, forming her hand to the contours of his face.
This time he didn’t flinch. He leaned carefully into her palm. His words were low and soft. “Why are you doing this, Riley Madigan? When leaving is still on your mind?”
She shook her head, not knowing the answer, not wanting to tell him he’d made it easy to fall for him. His soulful eyes watched, waiting, reaching to hers for an honest response.
“Because you have to know,” she whispered. “You’re no monster, Mark Rivers. You never could be.”
He lowered his gaze, and they stood together for several moments while she wondered if she’d said the right thing. He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. A cold breeze blew around them, pulling at her hair, uncertainty nudging from the corners of her thoughts. But everything between them stayed warm and close.
Finally, he spoke. “So . . . the kiss was okay?”
She smiled at the simplicity of his question. “Yeah, it was okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Toe-curling.”
He grinned. “I . . . I had to practice, you know.”
“What?” She laughed.
He nodded against her head, becoming serious again. He ran his fingertips through her hair. “I worried. Not just about eating or drinking from a cup again.” He watched her lips as he spoke. “But about . . . in case I ever . . . if anybody would—”
She breathed, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to worry.”
His grin returned.
“How did you practice?” she asked, grinning back.
“It was more like—exercise. And I used a straw. Lots of milkshakes.”
She laughed, reaching out to trace his lips. He playfully caught her finger in a gentle bite.
“Whatever you did, it worked,” she said with a breathy tremble in her voice.
She slipped her finger free and dropped her voice to a whisper. “What about the whole ‘friends’ thing?”
Oh, sure, Madigan, now you think to ask that question.
“You’ve used that word a lot.” He took a deep breath. “I’m finding that I like this new approach to ‘the friends thing.’”
She couldn’t help smiling. We’re in so much trouble.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, holding her more firmly, “it gives the words ‘just friends’ a whole new meaning. Don’t get me wrong. Jay and the guys were great, but uh . . .”
She arched an eyebrow. “No kissing?”
“No. They didn’t smell this good, either.”
Her laughter rose, then faded. His fingers stroked her hair again.
“Riley, people will talk. They’ll jump to conclusions. Rumors will spread. I’m just saying—”
“I know.” She didn’t like it. “Small town.”
He nodded. “Small town. We’ll just have to do our best to . . . keep it real.” He looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His gaze lowered to hers. “Thanks for asking me here.”
She fought her misgivings; her heartbeat an erratic, bewildering dance. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”
His fingers stilled. His voice grew husky. “I’m trusting you, Riley.” His lips brushed hers, the weight of his words resting on her thudding heart.
“I’m not sure you should,” she whispered.
“Too late,” he said with his crooked smile.
She searched his face, recognizing that she was trusting him, too.
“Did you get enough pictures?” he asked.
She nodded, barely noticing the sky brightening over them.
His gaze intensified.
“More practice?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Lots more.”
They picked up breakfast wraps at the Grill-n-Go and ate in Mark’s truck in front of the park. Traffic was nonexistent because of the snow and it being the morning after Thanksgiving. No Black Friday crush in this place. They’d eaten quietly, sharing glances and shy smiles like they were at a middle school dance and her favorite slow song was playing. After the food was gone, he pulled her onto his lap and they kissed until they heard a car drive by.
He dropped her off at her house with a promise to be back later to help her paint the walls.
Until then, she worked on the nativity in a blissfully happy daze. She painted Joseph, but kept pausing, brush hovering over the image, her thoughts wandering to the bridge and Mark’s mouth on hers and his whispered words in her ear. She shook the stupid grin off her face, determined to focus, only to wake up from a haze again. Finally, after discovering that Joseph’s features bore a strong resemblance to the man who’d been kissing her all morning, she set
