“Bo Crutcher,” she said, relaxing against him. “You’re a true romantic.”
“I am,” he agreed. “And you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because when it comes to you, I think mushy thoughts and I’m not embarrassed or anything.”
“I’m not embarrassed, either,” she said, her voice shaking in a way that touched his heart. “And you’re right—this is the most beautiful place on earth, and I’m glad we’re here. And—” She broke off.
“And what?”
“And I wish you would kiss me instead of just talking about it.”
He touched her face, one hand cradling her cheek. “My thoughts exactly.” He slid his other hand around behind her, pulling her against him and holding her so close he could feel the rhythm of her breathing. His heart was beating so hard, he was sure she could tell. He didn’t care, though.
Their lips were close, almost touching. He whispered her name, and then settled his mouth over hers, drawing a light gasp from her. She put her arms around him, and he deepened the kiss, parting her lips, his tongue slow and languid. She tasted delicious, and her hair smelled like the snowy air, and it was the perfect moment Bo had been thinking about practically from the day he’d met her. He knew that as long as he lived, and no matter what else happened to him for the rest of his life, he would never forget this moment.
With a groan of reluctance, he ended the kiss, holding her for a moment and then pulling back.
She let out a sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat for a long time together, neither of them speaking as they watched the moon over the lake, outlining the forested mountaintops in the distance. It was a scene of such quiet splendor that it felt almost holy.
“What’s that smile?” he asked, gazing down at her.
“Just…everything. You were right about the kiss.”
He smiled back. “Yeah?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
“Me, neither. I’m going to be thinking about that kiss for a long, long time. Like, forever. I probably won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
Bo had always thought he’d known what love felt like. He’d loved other women, but he’d never experienced this intensity. It was an expansive feeling in his chest, both sweet and searing, almost but not quite to the point of pain.
She caught him studying her. “You’re not watching the moon,” she said.
“I’m watching you.”
He kissed her again and once again, soft and romantic, but also slow and sexy. The kind of kiss that made him wish there was nothing between them, nothing at all. Bo had made out with a lot of women through the years, but with Kim, each kiss felt like the first time—new and undiscovered, exciting. He could feel her body respond before common sense told her not to. He couldn’t remember ever wanting to make love to a woman more than he did right at this moment. He sensed an answering need in her, but that was probably wishful thinking on his part, because after a lingering kiss, she pulled away.
“That was…nice,” she said. “I’m not getting involved with you, though.”
“Then why do you keep making out with me?” He moved toward her, slipped his arms around her from behind.
She sighed, reclining back against him. “This is why,” she said quietly. “Because it feels so…” Her voice trailed away on another sigh as he bent his head to gently nip her shoulder.
“Come on, honey,” he said. “Let’s get involved, what do you say?”
Women were so damned easy to love. They had sweet voices. They were soft in all the right places and they smelled so good. And they tasted like…He groaned, leaned down and kissed her again, just at the top of her clavicle.
“It’s a bad idea,” she said. “That’s why. And stop doing those things. I can’t think when you act like this.”
“That’s the plan.”
“It’s not my plan.” Yet it seemed genuinely hard for her to move away from him. “You’re a client. I don’t get involved with clients.”
“What about Lloyd Johnson?”
When she pulled back, Bo could see the surprise on her face. “He’s the reason I made that rule,” she said.
In addition to what Kim had told Bo, he’d done some digging on his own. Johnson was NBA royalty, the whole package of talent, looks and marketability. According to the gossip blogs on the Internet, Lloyd and Kim had been serious right up until a nasty, public breakup. The commentators all pointed the finger right at Kim, accusing her of being controlling, manipulative and jealous. Of course, the commentators hadn’t seen her in the morning after the big drama, in a skimpy evening gown and dark glasses at the airport.
“Listen,” he said, “whatever Johnson did to you, whatever he was to you—I’m not him.”
“Exactly. Because we’re not getting involved. It’s a new policy of mine. No personal involvement with a client. I’m not going to let you turn into another one of my bad choices.”
“Fine, then. You’re fired.”
She let out a brief laugh. “Right. So you’d rather have me than a career.”
He figured he could win her over if he said the romantic thing—To hell with the career, it’s you I want—but he’d never been good at lying. He tugged her toward him and said, “I want it all—the career, the girl, the white picket fence…well, maybe no fence.”
She slid away from him. “Right. You just want to get laid.”
“Let’s think about that a moment,” he said. “Here I am with my golden highlights, in a hot tub with the hottest girl I’ve ever seen, a girl who by the way, kisses like a goddess and tastes like candy from heaven. And you assume I want to get laid.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Hell, you’re so far from being wrong I can’t even tell you. And in case you’re wondering, we are involved.
