I meet every swirl of his tongue with a roll of my own. Give and take. Advance, retreat. I suck on his lower lip before nipping it with my teeth. He rumbles deep in his chest—part sigh, part growl, and the sound unleashes something between us. His lips move against mine with new urgency, his heart thundering under my palm. Heat blooms in my stomach and spreads like wildfire as his scent envelops me.

I want to savor him like a delicacy, like how you’d nibble truffles or caviar, but I can’t hold back.

I devour him like a 1 a.m. pizza.

Want him. Hate him? Need him.

“Henley,” he groans. With his hand clamped to my lower back, he rolls his hips and my eyes nearly roll back in my head. I twine my fingers through his silky hair and push onto my toes. It’s like I’ve tried the first bite of food at a banquet only to realize I’m ravenous. And by the way Graeme is kissing me, moving against me, he’s starving too.

There’s fire in my lungs and Pop Rocks in my soul. And I never want this to end.

“Xiavera… Hey, Xiavera! Wait up, I have a question!” Walsh’s voice cuts through the lust fogging my brain. Her shout is a clear warning—to me.

We burst apart like a seam ripping just as Xiavera appears from around a grove of trees, Walsh dogging her heels. Graeme retreats several steps down the beach. My heart stops completely before trilling in panic.

Xiavera turns around to address Walsh, but then spots us. “Oh, there you two are. We’ve sorted through the existing postcards in the barrel and now it is time to make your delivery. You have a postcard, yes?”

“Right… yes,” I stammer. “We were just… admiring the view.”

Graeme already has his phone out and is taking a picture of the sunset. Quick thinking. Except it’ll probably mean more great photos and even more Instagram likes.

“Okay. Don’t take too long. We’re winding down.”

“Thanks, we’ll be right there,” he rumbles.

Xiavera lifts a nylon backpack from the pile next to the life jackets and strides back toward the path. Walsh waits for her, bouncing on her toes. “Can you tell me more about the history of this post office barrel thing? What year did it start again?”

“We don’t know for sure, but possibly as early as 1813…” Xiavera trails off as they disappear back down the path, Walsh beaming at me over her shoulder.

“We should go,” I say, but Graeme catches my arm in a gentle grip.

“Are you okay?”

I shake my head, mouth suddenly dry. “That was too close. Xiavera almost caught us. What if she told Gustavo, and he told James…”

“It’s okay. She didn’t see anything.”