“You know, I was thinking,” Gloria began, taking a step closer. She was looking up at him with mischief in her eyes.

If he didn’t get out of this flower bed in the next ten seconds, he was going to do something stupid that he promised himself he wouldn’t.

“What were you thinking?” he prodded. Promises be damned.

“If we’re going to go out on a date when you come back, shouldn’t we make sure that we’re…you know”—she gave a little shrug, a tilt of her head— “compatible.”

“Compatible?” he parroted the word back to her.

“Imagine a six-month build-up and then we have our first kiss.”

He nodded, imagining exactly that.

“And it sucks.”

He blinked. “Excuse me. Aldo Moretta doesn’t suck at kissing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that. Now, would I?” Gloria teased. She looped her arms around his neck, bringing them body-to-body. His arms went around her reflexively as if they knew exactly where she belonged.

“I can’t have you worrying about a kiss for six months.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She met him halfway, on her toes in the middle of a bed of spring flowers. And when those soft, soft lips found his, he heard music.

His body revved to life like it had been waiting for this exact moment, this exact kiss, to finally, finally live.

He brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks while he savored, sampled. When her fingers tightened on his collar, when she shivered closer to him, he fought the urge to press her against the house and take.

She’d had enough taking. It was his job to give. She opened her mouth beneath his, and he tasted her, gently, thoroughly. Her knees buckled, and damned if his own legs were a little unsteady. The innocence, the eagerness, of her mouth, nearly drove him to his knees. He wanted to touch her, to love her, to worship her.

“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling back a breath.

There were goose bumps on every inch of her skin.

She shook her head, all heavy eyes and soft smile. “What’s the opposite of cold? My vocabulary seems to have deserted me.”

“Hot. Very, very hot.” He kissed her again. A little harder, a little more breathlessly. It was just a kiss, but his cock acted like she’d stripped naked and begged him to take her. He wanted her so badly it hurt. Aldo knew he’d spend the next six months taking this memory out and admiring it every five seconds or so.

“Yes. That’s what I am,” Gloria decided, settling back on her heels.

He wouldn’t push her any further. She’d given him too much already. And he was grateful, humbled, fucking leveled.

“So do you think there’s some chemistry there?” he asked. There was more chemistry between them than a Mentos and a Diet Coke.