And oh. Oh, damn … There were some men who just knew how to kiss, the kind of kiss that could send a woman reeling. The kind of kiss that could take away problems and awareness and … and everything. The kind of kiss that could shatter her into a trillion little pieces. The kind of kiss that somehow both calmed her body and soul even as it wound her up for more.

Aidan was that kind of kisser. Shocking, really, to also realize that in between their first kiss all those years ago and now, that there’d been nothing like it for her.

Aidan pulled back a fraction of an inch, opened his eyes, and stared into hers.

She stared back because wow. Good. So damn good, and for one glorious moment there she’d let her lips cling to his, let the memories of him and all that he’d meant to her wash over her.

And those memories had all been … epic.

Until the end.

Finding her sanity, she pushed him again. For a beat he didn’t move, just looked into her eyes.

And then, on his own terms, he stepped back.

She pointed at him. “That was …”

He arched a brow.

“Never mind what it was,” she said. “We aren’t going there.”

His smile was grim and utterly without mockery. “Agreed.” But then he hauled her up to her toes and kissed her again.

And again.

And only when she was a panting, whimpering mass of jelly did he finally let her go.

“What was that?” she managed.

“Hell if I know.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, looking uncharacteristically baffled.

She stared at him, a little startled to realize he was no more eager for this than she. Had she done what she hadn’t imagined she could, hurt him when she’d left? “Then we won’t make the mistake of repeating it,” she said, shocked to find the words hard to say. Once there’d been nothing she’d wanted more than him, and she’d really believed it could happen.

But then Ashley had died and Lily hadn’t been able to find her footing in an upside-down world. She’d walked away from Cedar Ridge and Aidan, and it had hurt nearly as much as losing Ashley had. She didn’t want to go through anything like that, not ever again. So she opened the front door in a silent invitation for him to leave.

He didn’t. He just met her gaze, his own hooded, giving nothing away of what he was thinking. “I know you’re so stubborn that you’ll freeze to death before asking for help,” he said. “But I’m going to ask anyway—do you need anything else?”

“No,” she said abruptly, and then sighed. “No,” she repeated, softer now. “Thanks.”

He held her gaze, shook his head, and then he was gone.