He lowered his mouth. She met him halfway, and the world as he knew it ceased to exist. Part of him knew he was on one of Kinship’s busiest streets, kissing the hell out of a woman he’d known for one week.

But the rest of his consciousness was consumed—by the softness of her lips and the deceptively delicate way they parted under his. Inviting him in to be devoured. Her tongue met and twined with his, sending every drop of blood in his veins to his groin. He slid his hands under her jacket and gripped her hips, dragging her against him.

Her arms tightened around his neck, and he saw fucking stars when her breasts pressed against his chest. She moaned or whimpered, and enchanted him.

The sidewalk under his feet, the one he knew by heart, shifted, and he was no longer sure what was ground and what was sky. She was consuming him in ways he’d never experienced.

When her fingers dove into his hair and gripped, he threw aside any attempt at controlling himself. She tasted like dark beer and mysteries. He didn’t know exactly how—if she had led and he’d followed or vice versa—but suddenly Maggie’s back was pushed up against the front wall of Angela’s Butcher Shop. And then his hands were slipping under the softness of her sweater to find the heat of her skin beneath.

She breathed out another whimper when his fingers coasted higher, thumbs and index fingers finding the edge of her bra. Her flesh pebbled under his touch, and the tremor that ran through her body made him feel like a wild man.

They were nothing but breath and touch. Need. Want.

The flavor of her filled his senses. Drove him a little crazy.

Crazy enough to forget that they were standing on the street in full view of most of downtown Kinship.

A car horn followed by a cheerful “Get a room, Wright!” dragged him back to the present.

“Um.” It was the best he could muster.

Maggie looked ravaged. Her hair was tousled, lips swollen and pink, cheeks warm, eyes glassy and bright. It made him want to dive back in. Instead, he took a very deliberate step back.

Her knees buckled, and she leaned against the butcher shop, palms flat against the red plank siding.

“Wow,” she breathed.

Silas shoved a hand through his hair and willed his hard-on to go away before it got a zipper imprint. “Yeah. Wow,” he agreed.

Slowly, she pushed away from the wall. “That was…something.”

He couldn’t look at her and not stay hard, so he focused his gaze down the block.

“We should probably not do that again. At least not for a while,” she said.