Antonia felt her way around the kitchen, listening to the storm batter the village. She hated to imagine what it might look like the next day. She wanted to avoid thinking about tomorrow for a more pressing reason; Aiden would leave her in the morning. Antonia didn’t want the storm or the night to end.

“Are you alright in there?” she heard him ask.

With her head in the fridge, searching for a wedge of soft cheese that needed rescuing, she called back, “I’m fine.”

She patted things with her hands, feeling for the cheese. When she found it, she put it on the counter and went searching for the crackers. If she remembered correctly, she’d left them on top of the fridge. Blindly, she reached up and swept her hand across the top, knocking over the electric teakettle. It hit the floor with a clatter, making her jump back and yelp. “Shit!”

“What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just knocked something off the fridge.”

In the darkness, she heard his footsteps travel from the living room to the kitchen.

She detected the dark outline of his body against the dim light of the dying fire. She stood in the opposite doorway, watching him take halted steps into the kitchen. “Are you hurt?” His voice was a low and warm vibration that filled the space.

“No,” she said, taking a tentative step forward. “It was the teakettle, but it didn’t hit me.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Crackers,” she laughed. “I swear that I’m not usually a klutz in the kitchen. I can find my way around in the light.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” he said. His voice drew closer. The air became thick and heavy when he closed the distance between them. “This kitchen and its appliances have been giving you problems from day one.”

Antonia’s voice caught in her chest in response to the warmth of his body right before her. She was between a rock and a hard place, positioned before the refrigerator, facing him. He was still shirtless. She closed her eyes and imagined his rippling muscles from earlier. Her breathing became shallow and fast as he drew closer still. “Aiden,” she whispered.

“Antonia,” he replied, his voice thick.

He stood so close to her, his hands hovering over her arms until finally they closed around her. He slid one hand up to her shoulder and to her neck. His long and graceful fingers intertwined through tight coils at the back of her head. Aiden’s movements were agonizingly slow, as if he could not trust his sense of touch in the darkness. As Antonia tilted her head back against his supporting hand, she waited for his gentle exploration to gain traction. His other hand slid down to her hip before traveling to the small of her back, pulling her hips closer to his. It was like yesterday’s washing machine incident. She’d felt the urge then and hoped for release now.

She let out a soft moan as he gently tugged her head back. When his lips pressed against the rioting pulse of her neck, her knees shook in anticipation. Antonia was unsure of what to do with her hands; they hung at her sides helplessly as he kissed her collarbone. Ever so slightly, his chest brushed against her breasts, causing a new warmth to spread throughout her body. Her movements were tentative, as she slowly lifted her hands and placed them on his tight biceps. She held on as her emotions pitched like the restless seas. Her excitement was quickly put on hold when he paused, pulled away from her neck, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”