His hands slid beneath the hem of my dress—warm, steady, sure—and my breath caught, the world shrinking to the places his fingers touched. He moved slowly, almost reverently, like he was giving me time to pull away, time to change my mind.

I didn’t.

I leaned into him like my body had known him longer than I had.

His lips were back on mine—kissing me with a depth that made my knees weaken. I clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and he let out a low ...