Gently, Gabe put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back.

“Oh my god,” I said again. “I am really, really sorry.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I could just disappear.

“Hey,” he said.

I felt his hand on my chin. His thumb stroked the line of my jaw, sending chills through me. I opened my eyes.

His face was right there. His beautiful, perfect face.

“Hey,” he said again.

I could smell the whisky on his breath, but I didn’t mind. I was certain my own breath was probably still fragrant from jelly beans.

“Hey,” I whispered.

Time inched forward as his lips moved toward mine. I thought dimly that if I could live in this moment, in this beautiful anticipation, I would be pretty damn happy. Then Gabe’s mouth touched mine and I realized that this was far, far better than I had ever imagined it would be.

This time, his lips seemed to fit perfectly against mine. They were warm and firm and soft and his hand was still on my face and the combination of the two sensations was enough to turn my insides to Jell-O. I wobbled and sighed and leaned closer.

I was kissing Gabe Parker. Or rather, he was kissing me and I was kissing him back.

His hand slid back and upward, getting lost in my hair. That’s when his lips parted and I slipped my tongue into his mouth. His fingers tightened against my scalp and I thought I felt his breath catch. As if I had caught him off guard. As if I had surprised him. I liked how that kept happening.

If he was surprised, he recovered quickly.

I pressed my palms against his chest and felt the rumble of a groan deep inside. Hot little sparks spread through me as he gave my hair a tug, opening the kiss, taking my tongue with his, his other hand sliding down to my hip to pull me closer.

I didn’t need much encouragement to climb onto his lap, my legs on either side of his hips. My own hips moved forward, the seam of my jeans coming into direct contact with the zipper of his—and everything that was happening behind it.

I sighed. He smiled. My hands clutched his shoulders, his squeezed my ass.

I could taste the whisky on his tongue, but also something minty. Like very fancy toothpaste—the mint grown in the same forest as his exclusive cedar cologne.