First Kiss at Christmas by Lee Tobin McClain

CHAPTER FOUR

MEGHADNEVERfelt anything like Finn’s kiss. It wasn’t the careless, passing thing she remembered from her marriage; he kissed her like she was the most precious and wonderful creature in the universe.

His hair. It was thick and wiry and she wanted to touch it. She did touch it, and ran her hands through it, and her fingers felt alive, supersensitive.

His lips were warm on hers and just firm enough, and electricity seemed to sizzle through her lips and into her heart. Waves of it danced there, shimmering through her stomach and veins.

And they kept on kissing.

Rather than rushing toward some other motive, Finn kissed her in a leisurely way, as if they had all the time in the world. Or maybe it was just that time stood still as they remained in place, kissing, kissing, kissing.

Finally, he lifted his head and looked down at her, one corner of his mouth turning up.

She sucked in air. “Wow. I haven’t done that in a long time.” Ever, she amended silently. I haven’t kissed like that, ever.

He touched her lips with a gentle finger and then leaned closer. “It’s like riding a bike,” he said against her mouth. “You don’t forget.”

“I...don’t think...it’s like riding a bike.”

He dropped a kiss on her again.

“At all. It’s not like that at all.” She reached for him then, clinging on, head spinning, legs weak.

From the direction of the parking lot, a car door slammed and children’s voices rose.

“We might be getting company,” she said. Reluctantly, she pulled away from the warmth of him.

He gave a low growl and pulled her against him. The children’s voices came closer.

She stepped back, regretful. “We should go. I have a reputation to uphold in this town,” she said. “Really. I can’t have any of my kids’ parents finding me kissing the mysterious stranger.”

“Of course.” He brushed a hand over his hair, held out a hand to her and then pulled it back. “No hand-holding, either, I guess.”

“Right. Sorry.”

So they walked back side by side in what felt like a comfortable silence.

Until they got to the parking lot and she looked at his face. What was that expression? Why was his forehead wrinkled like that? Why was he looking at the ground and not at her?

The ride home was quiet, but not quite as comfortable. Halfway there, he cleared his throat. “Meg, I’m sorry.”

“No need—”

“Really, I am,” he interrupted. His voice sounded flat. “I don’t want... I’m in no position to have a relationship.”

She tried to tense against the hurt of that, but it hit her anyway, square in the gut. Why wasn’t he in a position to have a relationship when he seemed to be as rich as Warren Buffet? Was one of his usual arm-candy women serious, or was it just that he didn’t care for her?

Hurtful phrases from the past came back to her in Randy’s voice. “You’re looking a little heavy” and “Can’t you loosen up some?” and “Boy, it’s obvious you don’t have any experience.” Over the years, she’d managed to wipe away that ugliness, or so she’d thought. But there it was again, right under the surface, released by another handsome man.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I really don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’re a great person—”

“Stop.” She said it sharply as she swerved to avoid a Sika deer. “You don’t need to pretend. I’ll be fine.”

HEOPENEDHISmouth a dozen times to speak and then closed it. What could he say?

He could tell her he’d lied, that he did want a relationship. He hadn’t, before coming to Pleasant Shores, but these few days with Meg had opened a window and he was looking through it, looking at something beautiful: love and family and connection.

He wanted a relationship, if he could have one with her.

But he couldn’t, not with what he knew. He couldn’t destroy her image of her past. She deserved her memories.

He’d loved kissing her. She was so sweet, yet so ardent and honest and real. They’d fit together perfectly.

Not only that, but she’d melted into him as if she wanted to be there, as if she belonged there. Not trying to jump him for sex, like some of the women he dated; not pretending to be more passionate than she was in the hopes of impressing him, getting him to take her somewhere exotic.

Meg was real, and that had made kissing her rare and sweet and hot.

The thought of never having that opportunity again made his chest hurt and filled his head and heart with despair.

Could he tell her the truth? She was strong, right? She could handle it.

But he’d been raised to take the burden on his own shoulders, not hand it off to someone else. Right now, there was only one living person who knew what Randy had really been like: Finn. And he couldn’t tear down the man’s false image. Not for Meg, and not for her daughter.

They pulled into the driveway, still silent, and he got out of the car and came around to open her door, years of drilled-in good manners coming to his aid. He took the cooler she’d brought and carried it toward the duplex, walking behind her, silent and miserable.

There was someone on the porch. Kayla. She stood waiting for them, arms crossed, unsmiling, Oscar beside her. “I need to talk to both of you,” she said.